Gospel Story Finder

When I was getting ready to graduate from high school, my friend and I wanted to go to the senior all-night party. It seemed like everybody else was going, so we asked his father, who was our stake president, if we could go.

He said, “Absolutely not. The Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight.” Now, he knows the Holy Ghost doesn’t go to bed at midnight, but he also knows what tends to happen after midnight. Then he said something I will never forget: “Find something positive to do that you’ll be able to think of in years to come.”

We put our heads together and organized a progressive dinner. We went from one house to the next and had a wonderful evening. With planning and a well-placed suggestion from a caring priesthood leader, we were able to stay in holy places while our friends were in jeopardy of being subject to temptations.

Every time Jared Burton Ikihega, 12, of New Zealand, looks up a telephone number in the directory, he sees something familiar—his artwork on the cover.
Jared was one of 20 winners in a national competition to produce a picture for the local telephone directories. His artwork, a linoprint which he called “Looking over the East,” is a view of houses in Porirua East from his school.
Jared’s entry was selected from nearly 600 entries in his area. But this isn’t the first time his art has been recognized. One of his pieces was included in an exhibition of New Zealand school children’s art in Paris. Another work was chosen for a brochure for the Wellington Social Welfare Department.

Some years ago when I was a campus bishop I interviewed with a new member in my ward, Brady. He was a very pleasant young man with a warm and gentle disposition. Yet I could discern he was a little disheartened with a sad wonderment about life. I assumed he was responding to the typical student pressures and young adult uncertainties. Brady had recently served an honorable full-time mission and was doing everything he could to honor his covenants and retain a spiritual centering. As I queried a little more to see how I might counsel with him, he began to unfold some recent disquieting events that led him to wonder if God had forsaken him. He rehearsed how not long after his mission both his parents were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver, and this had left him rudderless. And then, within only a few months prior to our interview, his dear sister had been murdered during a grocery store burglary. This left him despondent, bordering on anger. And though he would never acquiesce to some of his darkest thoughts, he admitted, that at times he wished to disappear into oblivion.
This temperate soul truly mourned, and in his sorrowing he was asking big questions about, “why?” Partly still in shock, and partly in deep reflection, he searched for a perspective he should take toward enduring these realities. He trusted that God loved him, but all the platitudes internalized since childhood did not provide him solace. His one remaining family member, another sister, encouraged him to come to BYU Hawai’i, to start fresh, to move, and if not forward, at least it was movement. So there he was before me, sincerely and nobly suffering, seeking a way to peer through the haze of his grief induced uncertainty and wonder. He supposed God had abandoned him, and was groping for clarity and strength to bear with patience such an unexpected turn in his life.
Through several tender and intimate conversations Brady and I explored ways for him to see, act, and heal. His principled character was displayed at his lowest moment. We talked much over the academic year, and I witnessed how, through the measure of time, mighty prayer, temple attendance, and purposeful service to others, even when he did not feel like it, his wounded heart and soul were being healed, and a purpose for life restored.

The temple is a place of revelation. Many years ago I was walking into the temple, and in my mind I heard the words, Learn public speaking. I thought to myself, When will I ever have need for public speaking? Over several months’ period of time I tried very inadequately to conjure up some enthusiasm to obey the prompting I had received. I even checked out a tape from the local library by a public speaker who admitted that his goal was to someday speak in the Mormon Tabernacle. I thought at the time, I’ll never be speaking in the Tabernacle!
Elder John A. Widtsoe has said, “At the most unexpected moments, in or out of the temple will come to [us], as a revelation, the solution of the problems that vex [our lives]. … It is a place where revelations may be expected” (“Temple Worship,” Utah Genealogical and Historical Magazine, Apr. 1921, 63–64).

We have some sense of the rejoicing that is going on in Quito, Ecuador; Harare, Zimbabwe; Belém, Brazil; and Lima, Peru, both with members and missionaries, based on what happened in Bangkok, Thailand, a year ago when that temple was announced. Sister Shelly Senior, wife of the then-president of the Thailand Bangkok Mission, David Senior, emailed family and friends to say that after she and her husband had listened to President Monson announce that temple, there had been “12 sleepless hours and lots of tears of happiness.” They called their mission assistants at 11:30 p.m. and informed them. The assistants called all the missionaries. The report came back that the “whole mission was awake in the middle of the night jumping on their beds.” Sister Senior humorously admonished family and friends, “Please don’t tell the Missionary Department!”4

As wonderful as the increased attendance was, it presented a problem. We were meeting in a small building off Chung Cheng Road and did not have room for all who wanted to come. So we moved to a larger building on Chung Shan North Road. Though the building was larger, we did not have enough chairs, and in those days it was difficult to obtain materials through normal Church channels. We felt blessed when a member bought 100 chairs and donated them to our chapel. He also bought a piano to replace the old, dilapidated organ we had found in the building.

Yet we had still another problem: no podium. As we prayed to know how to get one, I learned that a local elementary school had some wood we could use. For days I searched for a carpenter who could build a podium from the wood, but I couldn’t find one. Finally, on a Saturday, I decided to build it myself. I had never carried such heavy objects, and I would never have believed I could finish the podium in one day, but God helped me. The podium was ready for church the next day. All the members were amazed, but not as amazed as I was. It seemed a miracle to me.

Since joining the Church, I have not let one day pass without serving in some way. As a result, my life has been blessed with joy, fulfillment, and spiritual riches. Before I joined the Church, my body was weak, but now I feel strong and healthy even as I grow older. I am able to serve often in the Taipei Taiwan Temple. I am grateful for all of God’s blessings, especially the Book of Mormon. In it are words of great beauty. I know that studying the Book of Mormon can bring us spiritual strength and help us deal with the difficult challenges of our time. I know, too, that serving God, no matter what our calling, results in a multitude of blessings. Sometimes even miracles happen.

Pia is a 16-year-old Laurel in the Frederiksberg Ward, Copenhagen Denmark Stake. Her mom is a lifelong member of the Church and Pia can remember going to Primary when she was younger, but Pia has been a Church member for only one year.
“My mom and dad are Church members, so when I was young, I went to Primary. But I never was baptized,” Pia says.
After her parents divorced, Pia, her two brothers, and their mother stopped going to church. Pia turned 8 but wasn’t baptized. She turned 12 and didn’t attend Young Women. For about 10 years there was little Church involvement in her life. Home teachers still came and visiting teachers called on her mom, but the Hentzens stayed home on Sundays.
Then a Young Women leader called Pia and invited her to start attending activities. “My leader wrote letters inviting me to go to church. I went once but thought it was boring and didn’t want to go back. But the missionaries changed my mind about church,” she says, laughing.
The missionaries knew Pia had never been baptized, so they scheduled a time to visit her. At that first appointment, they brought a short spiritual message. That pattern continued for several weeks until one day they tried something different, bringing with them something every missionary has to offer—the first discussion.
“They asked if they could give me the first discussion, and I said, ‘OK.’ It didn’t take long—probably a few weeks—before I finished all the discussions and agreed to be baptized.” About this same time, Pia’s mother started becoming active again, as did her two brothers.
Today, in the small group that makes up the Young Men and Young Women program of the Frederiksberg Ward, Pia is at home. Joining the Church and being active took some getting used to. Now it’s a way of life. “I’m the only Laurel in the ward. We also have two Mia Maids and two Beehives. That’s our Young Women,” she says. Then she stops and thinks seriously about how the Church has changed her life. “I think my life is better now,” she concludes. “I have something I know is true.”

Danette Allred pauses before beginning her transformation from a fair-haired Wyoming girl into a wicked Nephite dancer. Blue eyes sparkling, she relates the events that have brought her here: “I came to the pageant last year with a youth group, and it really touched me. I decided right then that I’d like to be in it. It made me realize that there is more to the Church than I had thought. And even then I knew I’d like to be a dancer and an angel, which is what I’m playing now.”
Because of her double role, Danette spent weeks of rehearsal with a five-hour, four-day-a-week schedule. Did she ever get tired of it? What about the eight performances? “Oh no, never! I get a special feeling during every performance.”

I had just graduated from high school and went to work as a disc jockey at a radio station. As I was making money and gaining valuable experience in broadcasting, the thought of serving a mission was pushed further and further from my mind. After much deliberation I accepted a mission call. I had a great mission and grew to know that some things in life are not as important as we sometimes feel. When I got home, the radio station that I had worked for before my mission called me and asked if I would like to return. I did and had a great opportunity to do sportscasting, my ultimate goal.
I shake when I think of the time that I considered not going on a mission in order to pursue my own goals. I know the Lord will bless you in your life pursuits when you decide to put his work first.
Scott C. Miller, 23Bountiful, Utah

Illustration by Corey Egbert
One day my missionary companion and I were given a referral to teach a man who lived in a village called Tema, near the beautiful city of Accra, Ghana. The numbering of the houses in that village was not quite accurate, so we were given a written description to help us locate the house.
When we arrived in the village, we followed the directions but could not find the man because there seemed to be many houses that fit that same description. Feeling confused, we decided to knock on doors in the neighborhood to ask, but no one seemed to know the man we were looking for. I had the prompting to ask Heavenly Father for help.
After we prayed, I had the feeling that we would find the man we were looking for, so we intensified our efforts. Still, we did not find him. We got tired and decided to return to our proselyting area because we had other appointments. When we got to the taxi park, the taxi driver who had brought us to the village saw the disappointed looks on our faces and asked if we had found who we were looking for. Our answer was, of course, no.
He suggested we go inside a school that stood on the corner and ask there. We told him that was not the description we had been given, but he insisted. We got out of the taxi and headed to the school—not because we thought we would find anyone, but just to please our concerned friend.
As we started walking toward the administration building at the school, a little boy came running in our direction. He smiled and told us that he and his brother were the only members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints living in this area and that he could help us.
My companion and I looked at each other in disbelief. It was a miracle. The boy helped us find the man we were looking for, and eventually he accepted the gospel and was baptized.
This experience taught me that Heavenly Father answers prayers in His own time and in His own way. When we do not get immediate answers to our prayers, we can exercise faith in Him and learn to be patient.

Last summer I attended a Young Women camp on Catalina Island off the coast of California. I met a group of 150 young women and leaders early in the morning when we boarded a chartered ferry to take us to a camp on a small beach called White’s Landing. It was a long, slow journey that gave many of our young campers upset tummies!
So, when the camp finally came into view, there were shouts of joy from very happy girls?we were almost there! When we got close enough to the landing dock, a thick rope was tossed into the front of the ferry where crew members began to pull the boat toward the small pier. As we inched our way closer to our destination, something odd happened. The rope snapped!
A spare rope would have so easily solved the problem, but there wasn’t one, and the boat could not be docked!
The question everyone was asking: “How is it possible that a rope that substantial could have broken?”
While we were carefully being cinched towards the pier moments earlier, most of the travelers had gone below to gather their gear and prepare to get off the ferry. A few of the girls and I stayed up top to enjoy the fresh air and watch our landing. We knew?because we had seen it?why the rope had snapped. For whatever reason, the ferry had backed up! And the pressure on the rope caused it to rupture.
We had been so close! Close enough, in fact, that we could have tossed all the sleeping bags and supplies onto the pier!
We ferried another 45 minutes past our desired destination to the main harbor, where we could dock and unload. With some effort, a small pontoon boat was found and hired to shuttle 20 girls at a time to the camp, a round trip that took two hours. And remember, we had 150 girls.
By 10 o’clock that evening, all the girls finally made it to camp, while supplies and gear continued to arrive through the night. We had lost a day of planned activities. But as a result of our experience with the ferry, we had found a lesson. Don’t back up!
Although we eventually arrived at our destination, the path taken and the time to get there was considerably longer and harder. We basically had to start over. All because the ferry backed up.

A few years ago, I accepted the assignment of driving Church leaders to a conference that was to be held about 330 km away from the city of Lubumbashi. I used to drive regularly on this road, which was very difficult due to its poor condition, potholes, and ravines. No one could drive on it without having a bad experience. So, we decided to take a back road that we thought would be a bit more practical than the poorly-maintained main road. We were certain to get there without any problem, as usual—but unfortunately, this time, that was not the case. We were involved in a serious accident—one that prevented us from reaching our destination. There we were—right in the bush with no means of communication and with a vehicle that could no longer be driven because it was completely damaged. Thankfully, there was no loss of human life and no one was injured except for some scratches on the driver.
Knowing the importance of the task at hand for the leaders whom I was driving that weekend, meaning the Area Seventy, the mission president at the time and his counselor, I was completely devastated! I blamed myself and took upon me all the responsibility for this accident even though I did not know the cause of this unfortunate incident and was not even responsible.
After observing that we were all unhurt and seeing that I was blaming myself, the Area Seventy approached me and said, “We do not know why this accident happened, but God only knows. We will be able to understand this unfortunate incident in the days to come—do not blame yourself but let us thank God that we were not seriously injured.” My heart was calmed a bit and I found relief because of the words he had uttered during this difficult time of our journey. I have always been grateful for the way he looked at the incident and how that had comforted me. I am very grateful for Elder Joseph W. Sitati and for his example to me at that time.

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels, bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold …
I knew the song well. At twelve years old, I knew all the familiar Christmas carols. But I wasn’t impressed. I preferred our own Navaho chants, although of course they meant entirely different things.
While I was willing to put up with all the nonsense about Christmas—the carols, the gifts, the parties, even the Christmas tree I was now looking for—I couldn’t see any angels. I couldn’t hear any “glorious song,” nor any “harps of gold.” What I was hearing was the monotonous clip-clop of my horses’ hooves on the mountain trail. And what I was seeing were ominous clouds looming in the east, the direction in which I was headed.
It was my mom’s doing, of course. “Billy, your sisters want a Christmas tree,” she’d said. “We can’t afford to buy one in town this year, so I want you to go up in the hills on our land and find a nice pine and bring it home.” When I’d let a disgusted look spread over my face, she’d pleaded, “Please, Red Eagle.”
White Feather, my mom, didn’t call me by my Indian name often, so I knew that she was serious.
Now here I was, riding my pony, Jubilee, and leading Old Buck, our packhorse, who would carry the tree home. But my heart wasn’t in it. Why did my silly sisters have to have a Christmas tree?
We were out of school for the holidays, and that part of Christmas I liked. On the other hand, it would take a full day out of my vacation to ride to where I could cut a tree, then return home with it. I could have gotten in a lot of basketball practice in that time. So it wasn’t any glorious song I was hearing.
I’d started out early this morning, and by noon I’d reached the edge of the timber where I hoped to find a just-right tree for the family celebration. Only I didn’t intend to participate. I couldn’t see anything to get excited about. I did, however, remember the third verse* of the carol that kept running through my mind.
O ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!
I could relate to that “crushing load” bit, all right. Lately that’s all my life seemed to hold—study, work, work, study. And the “climbing way with painful steps” figured in, too—I could feel Jubilee’s muscles strain as we scrambled higher up the timbered mountainside.
But I couldn’t sense any “glad” or “golden hours,” not out here in the middle of nowhere. And I couldn’t very well “rest beside the weary road” until I’d at least cut a tree, loaded it on Buck, and begun the lonesome journey home. I sure didn’t hear angels singing yet, either.
I did want to get a proper tree, so I tethered the horses and sat down to eat the lunch Mom had packed for me. That way, I could look around and spot the best-shaped Christmas tree—not too large, not too small, just one that looked like it was meant for our family.
I guess I was tireder than I thought, for I dozed off. Maybe it was “angel voices” that brought me sharply awake. Or maybe it was only Jubilee and Buck, shuffling to turn their backs to the cold wind that suddenly whistled through the pines. It was getting dark, even though it was only midday. I shuddered. Then the carol’s second verse popped into my head.
Still thru the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heav’nly music floats
O’er all the weary world. …
Angles again! If they were there, they certainly weren’t making their presence known now. Not, that is, unless they’d turned into the massive, wet snowflakes that were floating over my own “weary world.” I’d have to cut my tree and head toward home fast.
I’d already picked out one I liked, but since the air was churning with soft, white, wet feathers, I had to stop and figure exactly where I’d seen it. I led the horses to the spot, sawed the tree off at its base, and tied it onto Buck’s packsaddle. By then, there was no way to find the trail we’d followed up the mountainside. There was only that vast white wall of nothingness closing in on us. It was cold, too—a chill that penetrated right through my sheepskin jacket.
I remembered seeing a fallen evergreen not far from the Christmas tree I’d chosen. Its horizontal trunk would offer more protection than the upright pines around me, so I led the horses to it and again tethered them where they could stand with their backs to the wind. Then I hunkered down beside the lifeless log to wait out the storm.
How long it took, I’m not sure. But even though it was cold and the wet gathered in great blotches on the horses’ backs, on my sheltering tree trunk, and even on me, I knew that we would survive. By the time it stopped snowing, my watch showed 4:15, and it was now getting naturally dark.
“We’d better start home,” I told the horses, and I began to lead them to where I thought I’d find the trail down the mountainside. I’d ride later. I didn’t want to chance Jubilee slipping and falling on me.
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hov’ring wing,
And ever o’er its babel sounds
The blessed angels sing.
As we started down the beautiful snow-covered mountainside, I was filled with peace. I could almost imagine the angels watching over us, could almost hear them singing. At home, Mom would be worried, but I’d been trained to take care of myself, so I knew that she wouldn’t panic when I failed to show up on time.
It wasn’t long till a sliver of dim light began to peep over the rim of the tree-lined mountain behind me, and I realized that the moon, almost full, was coming up. It would light my way home, glistening on the snow as we plodded along. And now, instead of the humdrum clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the trial, the rhythm of their subdued tracking through the snow did, indeed, somehow remind me of angels singing.
“Peace on earth, good will to men
From heav’n’s all gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
My sisters would have their Christmas tree. Maybe Christmas had a place in the world, after all. If the world could lie “in solemn stillness … to hear the angels sing,” then I would help them with their song. Jubilee and Buck never even flicked an ear when I started singing: “It came upon the midnight clear, …”

Picture with me a little six-year-old orphan girl traveling across the plains of America. Her name is Elsie Ann. Her mother died when she was two. Her father remarried, and so for a time she had a stepmother. Then her father died at Winter Quarters when she was five. Her stepmother remarried and moved away, leaving this little orphan behind with Peter and Selina Robison, who were related to her stepmother. Elsie Ann left Winter Quarters with the Robisons in July of 1849 to come west. As she watched Selina care for her 10-month-old baby girl, she no doubt ached for the love of her own mother. Sometimes she would even ask, “Where is my mother?”

My heart goes out to this little girl when I think of her facing her uncertain future with no blood relatives to comfort and help her. Elsie Ann was my great-grandmother, and only recently did we find out who her mother really was. For years we thought Elsie Ann was Jane Robison’s daughter. Careful research discovered her true parentage, and after all these years Elsie Ann now has been sealed to her father, John Akerley, and her mother, Mary Moore.

In my first general conference message, I briefly shared how the transformative power of the Savior’s Atonement changed my father.
Today I would like to tell you a little more about how that change began. My father hit a very low point in his life when two ministering brothers began to visit him. One of them invited my father to come with him and his wife to the temple. He accepted the invitation. Each week they picked him up and drove to the next city to worship and serve in the house of the Lord. This continued for three years. Then my dad decided to become a temple worker.
I remember seeing changes in my father during that time. He became aware and attentive to the needs of others. He took better care of his health. He began to care about His relationship with God and subsequently all the relationships in his life. The change was real. He now had the Spirit with him, and I felt it.
Bless this ministering couple for helping my dad. They didn’t judge him for where he was in his life. They walked with him and helped him to develop his relationship with God. They are still my father’s closest and dearest friends.
Because these humble and devoted disciples of the Savior quietly ministered to a seemingly lost and dejected man, my family and I have been eternally blessed.

Lorraine and Janet Fisher of the Worcester Ward explained how they handle going to parties. “We go to our friends’ parties, but it’s never been a problem. One friend brings his instant chocolate and another brings the milk. Never once have I ever been pressured into doing anything I didn’t believe I should. And they admire us. Our friends used to drink at parties, but now they don’t. They stopped drinking because they saw we had a better time. They found out you don’t need to drink to have a good time.”

Through EnglishConnect, Haustia Rocha Ballam took responsibility for her education as she increased her testimony of the gospel.

“Don’t give up on your dreams,” says Haustia, who completed a degree through BYU–Pathway Worldwide.

Photograph courtesy of BYU–Pathway Worldwide
Haustia Rocha Ballam wanted to learn English so she could pursue a university degree through BYU–Pathway Worldwide. As a new member of the Church, she also wanted to learn more about the gospel. EnglishConnect was her ticket to do both.
“I did not speak English,” recalls Haustia, from Bahia, Brazil. “I could only say ‘Hi’ and ‘How are you?’”
Haustia says she will always remember her first EnglishConnect in-person gathering, where she wondered if she would ever expand her English beyond simple greetings. That changed when one of the service missionaries bore his testimony at the end of the gathering.
“I was not understanding anything during the class, but I understood everything he said because I felt the Spirit,” she says. “That helped me not to give up. When I left the gathering, I was so happy, with determination to learn English and to keep studying with EnglishConnect.”
Photograph courtesy of BYU–Pathway Worldwide
With that determination—and a lot of hard work, prayer, and faith—Haustia overcame her shyness and fear. She learned gospel principles “that helped me take responsibility to become what I want to be in the future.” And she became a “lead student,” making lifelong friends, helping others, and gaining confidence.
After EnglishConnect, Haustia continued to BYU–Pathway Worldwide, where she completed foundational courses (called PathwayConnect) and then a bachelor’s degree online in applied health from Brigham Young University–Idaho. She said her education has opened doors to many job opportunities. Today she works in health-related customer support.
“When we learn English and learn about the gospel at the same time, Heavenly Father helps us by giving us revelation to learn,” she says. “I would tell new students, ‘Don’t give up on your dreams. Embrace this incredible opportunity to study through EnglishConnect and BYU–Pathway Worldwide. It will bring you important opportunities to achieve your educational and spiritual goals.’”

In my first week of junior high, my math teacher asked me to complete an equation in front of the class. Simple enough, right? Well, I couldn’t do it. Frightening thoughts raced through my mind. My heart pounded, I started sweating, my muscles tensed up, and I had difficulty breathing. I wanted to run away, but I felt trapped and afraid. For most of the year, I felt this way the moment I stepped inside the school each morning.
These kinds of feelings lasted all through high school. I worried about everything. Taking tests, meeting new people, speaking in public, going on dates, and competing in sports all made me feel uneasy. I worried about the future, and I feared I would never be good enough to face life’s challenges. I felt nervous and on edge much of the time, which made it hard for me to just get through a day.
The anxiety I felt was intense, and when the feelings came, all I wanted to do was avoid them. After a while, I noticed I was avoiding situations at school, with my friends, and even at church. Anxiety was controlling my life. I began feeling weak and too fragile to handle life’s ups and downs. I realized that I needed help with this challenge.
Sure enough, I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I had a hard time dealing with it at first, but with the support of my family and others, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that an anxiety disorder doesn’t mean I lack character or I’m weak. It’s like having high blood pressure or diabetes. It’s treatable and something that needs to be worked on—not something to be ashamed of. Yes, I have an anxiety disorder, but I also have hope.
I thought at first that there would be this one thing I could do that would make my anxiety go away forever. I prayed, fasted, and read my scriptures daily. I hoped that I would find permanent relief, but it never came. The treatment and assistance I’ve received have helped me learn that it takes persistence and patience to learn how to manage and cope with anxiety. I’m still learning, and I still struggle with anxiety from time to time.

Having recrossed the river to Nauvoo that last Sunday, June 23, Joseph sent a letter to the governor in Carthage promising to be there the next day. To meet the governor’s deadline they would have to leave very early—a 6:00 a.m. departure at the latest, and they had had no sleep for two nights.

There are little moments in those last hours that are significant and poignantly memorable. I mention only a few.

After the two brothers returned to surrender state arms as ordered by the governor, Leonora Taylor was in the Smith home when the Prophet went again to say goodbye. He pleaded with Emma on that occasion to go with him, even though she did not want to risk getting the ague, chills, and fevers. She was also expecting a child (four months pregnant) and not feeling well. He begged her to come anyway. She said no. And as he turned away, he said, “Well, if they don’t hang me I don’t care how they kill me.”

It seems likely that Willard Richards overheard that statement and that that is why, in the last moments, he offered—and he meant it—to be hanged in the Prophet’s stead. The Prophet’s statement also tells us that he hadn’t yet been made to know exactly how he would die. There had been threats, one of them published in the newspaper, that his enemies would, as the letter said, “make catfish meat of him.”

There was a moment with Daniel H. Wells, not yet a member of the Church, who was on a sickbed. The Prophet, not feeling well himself, stopped to see him. “Squire Wells, I wish you to cherish my memory, and not think me the worst man in the world either.” Daniel H. Wells had to give up his family in order to join the Church later. He could never speak of that last encounter with Joseph without deep feeling, and he became one of our great ones.

Mary Ellen Kimball overheard the Prophet say, as the group stopped to ask for a drink of water on the way to Carthage that morning, “Brother Rosenkranz, if I never see you again, or if I never come back, remember that I love you.” She felt that to her soul, and fled and wept on her bed.

And then there was the pause the group made at the temple, where the Prophet lovingly surveyed that building, the city, the landscape, and then said: “This is the loveliest place and the best people under the heavens; little do they know the trials that await them.”

A highlight for me was Interlochen, located on a lake in Michigan, one of the best music camps in the world for kids. I sent in my application for the eight weeks of intensive music training and couldn’t believe I got accepted.
The only problem was money. It cost thousands of dollars, and there was no way I’d have time to make that much before the deadline. So I prayed and prayed, and about a week before I had to send in the money, I was called into the office of a man who had a grant for someone with a handicap who was pursuing the arts. That, to me, was a miracle, and I’m really grateful for it. Someday, I’m going to help a musician like that.