Gospel Story Finder

That same day, the Martin company was still 325 miles (523 km) back on the trail, continuing to suffer from cold and inadequate food. A few days earlier, they had crossed the Sweetwater River to reach what is now called Martin’s Cove, where they hoped to find protection from the elements. One of the pioneers said, “It was the worst river crossing of the expedition.” Some of the rescuers—like my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who was just 17 years old, along with his young friends “George W. Grant, Allen Huntington, Stephen Taylor, and Ira Nebeker—spent hours in the frigid water,” heroically helping the company make the Sweetwater crossing.

“When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, … the other [boys laughed] at him, … calling him a ‘sissy’ because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that … he … made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor’s old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly … sleep at night. He kept on practicing and … improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on the team that] won the [territorial] championship!”

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.

“Raúl,” Mother called, “will you stir the frijoles (beans), please?”
“Yes, Mamá.” Raúl stirred the beans, then joined his mother in the cool front room, where she ironed. Silently he watched as she used the iron to lovingly smooth the wrinkles from the white temple clothes.
“There,” she said happily as she finished the last piece. “I’m through.” Carefully she folded the clean clothes and placed them in an old suitcase before going to the kitchen to make tortillas.
Smells of chili verde (green chili peppers) cooking drifted through the little house. Raúl followed the aroma. “Mamá, could I have just a little of that? It smells so good!”
Mamá laughed and dished up a small bowl of the chili verde, added some beans, and placed a still-warm tortilla on top. “Here. I’m sure there’s enough for you to have some.”
Using the tortilla as a scoop, he dipped the spicy food out of the bowl and into his mouth. It tasted so good! When it was gone, he washed his bowl and put it away. “Mamá, may I go with you today?”
“I’m going there to work. What would you do?”
“I could help.”
“Do you know what I do there?”
Raúl knew that his mother had been called to help Saints coming from Mexico to attend the Arizona Temple. It cost so much to travel that sometimes people sold everything they had in order to get there. When they arrived, they were hungry, they needed a place to stay, and sometimes they even needed clothes to wear. Since his mother spoke Spanish, she helped them feel comfortable in their new surroundings. Sometimes she also went to the temple with them. “You’re going to help those who want to go to the temple,” he answered now. “I want to help them too.”
Mama wrapped the still-warm tortillas in a towel and placed them in a cardboard box. “I will be gone a very long time. Are you sure you want to come?”
He nodded.
“If you promise to help, I will take you with me.”
“I promise.”
His mother put on her Sunday blouse and skirt. Then she packed a bag with another skirt and blouse to wear when she served the supper. Raúl put on his shoes and socks. Soon they were both ready to go.
At the stake center, people scurried everywhere like ants. They wanted to be ready when the Saints from Mexico arrived. Raúl was drawn into the activity. He set tables and poured glasses of water. He cut cake into squares and put the pieces on plates. When the bus pulled into the parking lot, food was steaming in the kitchen, and the tables in the dining hall were ready for the visitors.
Raúl watched as the people climbed down from the bus. They were tired and hot after having traveled for three days and nights. As Mamá walked forward and greeted them in her soft Spanish, the tired faces broke into smiles. Soon she was surrounded by happy, chattering people.
Following her directions, the Saints from Mexico entered the building. Watching for someone his age, Raúl spied a boy carrying a small baby and waved at him.
The boy walked towards Raúl. “Me llamo Nefi. Cómo estás? (My name’s Nephi. How are you?)”
“Is your name really Nefi?” Raúl asked. “Wow! My name’s Raúl Samuel Rodriguez. I’m named after Samuel the Lamanite.”
The boys chattered happily as they walked into the building. Suddenly the baby began to cry.
“This is Lupita, my little sister. I think she’s frightened and maybe a little thirsty.”
Raúl ran to get water for the baby. When he returned, Nefi’s mother was comforting Lupita. Gratefully she took the glass and let her drink. “Gracias (Thank you),” she said. Then she turned to Nefi, “I’ll take care of her now if you want to eat. Don’t go far, because after lunch we are going to the temple.”
Raúl talked to his new friend while he ate. “I brought a puzzle my abuelo (grandpa) gave me. We can put it together if you want.”
“That would be great. First, though, I need to get cleaned up. I must be clean to go into the temple.”
Raúl showed Nefi where the showers were, then waited for him in the hall. When Nefi came out, his hair was wet and slicked back. He was wearing the same clothes as before, but he had brushed them clean.
“I’m ready now,” he said happily. “Let’s put the puzzle together.”
“Where are your shoes?” Raúl asked. Then, realizing that Nefi didn’t have any shoes, his face got very red.
“Won’t they let me in without them?” Nefi asked fearfully. “I told Mama they wouldn’t.”
Raúl felt awful. What should he do? “Of course they’ll let you in. No one will mind.” He looked down at his own feet. His shoes were not new, but they had just been polished. “You could go without them—but would you like to wear mine?”
Nefi began to smile. “You’d let me wear your shoes? I’d like that.” Quickly he sat down and pulled on Raúl’s shoes. As he walked around, his feet slid around in them. “They’re a bit too big!” he said, disappointed.
“I know just what to do,” Raúl said. He hurried to the washroom, grabbed some paper toweling, and hurried back to his friend. “Put this in the toes.”
“Nefi,” his mother called. “Apúrate (Hurry)! It’s time to go.”
Quickly the boys stuffed the toweling into the shoes. Nefi put them on and tested the fit. “It worked!” He hurried after his mother.
“You look good, Nefi,” Raúl called.
“Thanks, Raúl. We’ll put the puzzle together when I get back, OK?”
It was late that evening when Raúl wearily helped his mother carry the empty pots out to their car. “I’m glad I came,” he said.
“I’m glad that you came, too,” she answered. “You were a big help.” She glanced down at his feet. “Are you sorry now that you gave Nefi your shoes?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Oh no, Mamá. I’m glad you let me do it. He was happy to wear them to the temple. It helped make this day even more special for him. He’ll grow into them soon, too, and I still have a pair at home.”
Raúl noticed that his mother was in her old skirt and blouse, even though she’d just got back from the temple. “Where are your Sunday clothes?” he asked.
“Oh,” she said quietly, “someone else needed them more than I do.”
Raúl remembered a young mother whose dress had hung in tatters. She was just about his mother’s size. It made him happy that Mamá had helped her.
“I remember when we went to be sealed,” he said softly. “I loved being in the temple. It was so peaceful. I’m glad we were able to help others feel comfortable there. Going to the temple is important.”
“Yes, mi hijo (my son), it is.”

Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. The one man between me and the office of general in the British Army became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner.
I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the general, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for 10 years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.
Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and on his desk, I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly, and went out.
I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure.” When I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.
And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have Mutual. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their singing:
“But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.”
(Hymns, no. 270)
I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to Him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go.

Recently Sister Oswald and I decided to teach our five-year-old twin granddaughters how to jump the rope. Jumping the rope is a children’s game in which participants jump over a rope as it passes under their feet and then over their heads. After receiving some simple instructions, both girls tried but failed on several attempts.
Just as we were ready to give up, two older neighbor children walked by, and we enlisted their help. Both of the neighbor girls were experienced rope jumpers and were able to show our granddaughters how to jump the rope. As they jumped the rope, I noticed that the neighbor girls sang a song that helped them jump to the rhythm of the swinging rope.
Once our granddaughters understood the principles of rope jumping and were shown how to jump the rope, the rest of the lesson was easy. With a little practice, both of the twins were well on their way to mastering the fundamentals of rope jumping.
During the rope-jumping lesson, another granddaughter, only three years old, was sitting quietly on the lawn observing. When someone asked her if she wanted to try to jump the rope, she nodded, came forward, and stood next to the rope. As we turned the rope, to our great surprise she jumped just as she had seen her sisters do. She jumped once, then twice, and then again and again, repeating aloud the same song the older children had sung.
All three granddaughters had observed that there was an art to jumping the rope. It was a simple thing that all of them could do after learning a few basic principles and being shown how. So it is with gospel teaching. When we learn a few fundamental principles about teaching and are shown how to teach, all of us can do it.

The first time I passed the sacrament as a new deacon, I felt a great feeling of peace. I remember thinking to myself that I was doing something the Savior had done long ago when He blessed and administered the sacrament (see Luke 22:19–20; 1 Corinthians 11:24–25). I realized that the priesthood I had just received allowed me to pass the sacrament. I was acting on the Savior’s behalf! It was a wonderful feeling, and I promised myself that I would keep myself clean and pure so that I could always use the priesthood to serve others.

After graduating from college and breaking away from these friends, I moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to work and live. I also began taking part-time graduate classes to determine what I wanted to study in graduate school and which school I might want to attend. As part of this process, I met with one of my professors to discuss graduate school options, and he suggested that I consider schools in Utah. I was not sure why my professor suggested Utah, but I did look at schools there and eventually decided to attend Utah State University. I can still remember landing at the Salt Lake City airport and driving to Logan for graduate school interviews. It felt good to be in Utah. After meeting with faculty and students there, I knew I wanted to move to Utah to attend graduate school. I did not realize it at the time, but I was again feeling the call of the Lord, this time to move to Utah and to begin my new life as a graduate student.

Around this time of loneliness, one of my friends participated in a 100-day gratitude challenge where she posted something she was grateful for on social media every day. At first it seemed ridiculous to me.
But as President Russell M. Nelson recently taught: “Counting our blessings is far better than recounting our problems. No matter our situation, showing gratitude for our privileges is a fast-acting and long-lasting spiritual prescription.”1
I have always been taught that gratitude can bring happiness, but I didn’t really believe it. But if there was a chance that it could help me feel joy, then I was going to try practicing gratitude too.
At first I focused a lot on the extravagant things in my life I was grateful for. But soon I noticed everyday blessings, like my cat, good relationships, the inspirational quotes on my social media feed, and my talents.
I’m always grateful for the moments of peace I feel, and I silently thank God when I notice His mercies that often carry me through the day, reminding me that He has great things in store for me.
I remember when President Nelson invited the sisters and youth of the Church to do social media fasts. Since accepting that first invitation, I’ve fasted from social media multiple times when I’ve felt that it’s creating the “impression that everyone except [me] is leading a fun, adventurous, and exciting life.”2
Through taking much-needed breaks from social media, I’ve learned about the importance of real-life relationships and gained a greater appreciation for finding joy through hobbies and spiritual habits.
I’ve also been able to see others from a more Christlike view instead of judging them by the life highlights they post. As President Nelson added, “Social media … creates a false reality,”3 and if we take a break from it, we can better remember the things that matter most, overcome the world,4 and focus on the Spirit.
When I felt lonely during college, I always had this thought: “If I’m feeling lonely, someone else is too.” That would motivate me to reach out to a friend or acquaintance. Our conversations would always lift both of our spirits.
I’ve realized that when I focus on helping others, I’m happy. This happens every time I listen to my friends’ struggles and offer them love and support. Just as President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said, “To find real happiness, we must seek for it in a focus outside ourselves.”5
As I continue to apply these practices to my life, I keep realizing that I do have a “best” life and I don’t have to wait on specific blessings to feel joy. Sometimes I let my unmet expectations overwhelm me, but I reorient myself to notice my blessings and remember that through trusting Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and keeping my covenants, I can find a lasting joy I can’t get any other way.
I still may not have all the blessings in life I desire right now, but I like to remember these words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “The day will come when you turn the final pages of your own glorious story ... and experience the fulfillment of those blessed and wonderful words: ‘And they lived happily ever after.’”6
Until then, I will keep focusing on enjoying the best life I have with God’s help.

When Yukari was three years old, her preschool served milk with coffee in it. Because Yukari’s mother had taught her about the Word of Wisdom, Yukari would not drink the coffee milk. She would fill up her cup with water and drink that instead.
One day Yukari said to her mother, “I want to drink coffee milk like everyone else.” Her mother sat down with her and helped her understand that Heavenly Father loves her, that He doesn’t want her to drink coffee, and that it is a commandment. From that day on, Yukari was sure she never wanted to drink coffee. More than a year passed.
One day when Yukari’s teacher could not be there, another teacher came to the class. As usual, Yukari was drinking water. The teacher saw this and asked, “Why are you drinking water?” Yukari explained that she attended church and she had promised Heavenly Father she would not drink coffee. The teacher was impressed. From that time on, the preschool stopped serving coffee milk and served other drinks instead.

A mission president told the story of an unsuccessful missionary serving in one of the European missions. After giving the elder several transfers and still consistently receiving poor reports, the president decided to call the missionary in for a special interview. He asked the young man, seemingly so eager to do the Lord’s work, why he found it so difficult to become involved with his assignments. The missionary replied that he just could not keep his mind on missionary work.
Probing deeper, the mission president discovered that before the young man left home, he had become friends with a lovely young girl. They had spent a lot of time together—with friends and family—and had grown to enjoy each other’s company. Though they were smart enough not to make any commitments, both said that they hoped they would find each other’s company equally as enjoyable when he returned.
There was nothing out of order with that, the mission president concluded; so he looked for something deeper. When the president asked how often the young man heard from this young lady, the missionary told him that the girl called on the phone frequently, wrote lengthy letters daily, and sent expensive packages every week.
“She misses me terribly,” the missionary said, “and I wonder if I can wait the rest of my mission to see her again.”
The mission president concluded his story by saying, “Her selfish immaturity ruined his mission. He worried so much about her that he had no time or energy to worry about, and more important, grow to love the people in the field.”

In addition, we should “sufficiently retain in remembrance” experiences from our own life. I believe we need to have a memory of our own lessons learned and our own personal feelings felt. Let me give you an example. In 1987 I suffered an accident when I fell 19 feet from the roof of our neighbor’s home onto a concrete driveway. In the middle of a six-hour surgery, Dr. Robert Jackson left the operating room to tell my wife that he would probably have to fuse my ankle bone and that I would not be able to bend my ankle ever after. Try walking without bending your ankle. He returned to the operating room, and he said that as he resumed his efforts, he imagined a way—in his mind’s eye—to fashion 11 screws and 2 plates into a working ankle joint depending almost solely on that hardware because there were no solid pieces of bone with which to work.

I spent almost two weeks in the hospital at that time, and I remember very clearly the overwhelming feelings of an experience that I had one week after the surgery. The nurses had carried me to a chair that Sunday evening to watch television. It was tuned to KBYU, and a program entitled “How Rare a Possession” came on. As I watched that production, a swirling of simultaneous emotions swept over me. I felt gratitude for an outstanding doctor. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and His Son. I felt a powerful reaffirmation of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As a result, I felt a strong feeling of recommitment to be a better person and to serve the Lord in any way he desired. I will never ever forget the tears that poured from my eyes as I felt those feelings and learned some valuable lessons. As I look back on it, I know that I was given a gift that without the accident I would not have received. There will be events and happenings in all of our lives that will become defining moments for us. You will know them when they come. We need to “sufficiently retain in remembrance” such times.

As we moved forward in our relationship, Annie (my wife) and I agreed on a few things. The first was that there was no easy escape clause in our marriage. Divorce wasn’t an option unless infidelity or abuse were involved. We agreed that everything else could be worked out. We also recognized that the behavior patterns we had seen in our homes growing up didn’t work. We needed a better way: that way is the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because Annie and I had both previously been endowed, temple attendance was an important part of our courtship. We went regularly and enjoyed the Spirit together. We started studying the Book of Mormon together. This formed a good basis for our discussions about what we wanted to create in a marriage.
The same month that my wife and I got engaged, the Church released the proclamation on the family, which counsels, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”2
Similarly, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) in speaking of the increase in divorces throughout the world, identified one major reason: “It appears to me that there are some obvious reasons that account for a very high percentage of these problems. I say this out of experience in dealing with such tragedies. I find selfishness to be the root cause of most of it.”3
It’s easy to blame our spouse for problems, especially the small annoyances that bubble up with daily living. If we concentrate on those problems, they can grow into huge divisions that can sink a marriage.4 I’ve often found that selfishness makes those frustrations grow. Knowing this has helped me to think more about Annie and her needs and helps me to ignore minor annoyances.
We have now been married for 22 years. It hasn’t always been easy. Annie and I have had the normal relationship bumps. There have been difficulties over the years. But because of our commitment to the relationship and a willingness to turn to the Lord for answers, we have grown together. As different situations and questions have arisen, we have been able to turn to the scriptures, the teachings of the prophets, and prayer to find solutions.
The average length of a first marriage that ends in divorce is nine years (in the USA).5 Because Annie and I built our marriage after the manner the Lord has shown us, we beat those odds. I’m glad we didn’t let fear of the world we were raised in stop us. There’s always more work to do, but we are both confident that our marriage will continue to improve through the years to come.

I first saw the Liahona (Spanish) when my brother was baptized and ward members gave him back issues. I read all of them. As I did, I felt something I could not explain, which made me cry for joy and happiness.
While my brother served a full-time mission, we lost contact with his ward—but we had the magazines. I read them over and over and always found something of help to me.
When my brother returned from his mission, he taught me the gospel. I was baptized in June 1987.
Later, the magazine was an extra companion for me when I was called to the Mexico Guadalajara Mission. My full-time mission is now over, but I still use the Liahona as a missionary tool. I take copies for the customers to read at the laundry where I work.
The rest of my family has not yet joined the Church, but they read the Liahona, and they are touched by the same spirit that touched me eight years ago.
These past eight years have been the happiest of my life. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for my spiritual progress and for the counsel we receive through the pages of the Liahona.
Magdalena Cervantes ReynaFresno Ward, San Luis Potosí Mexico Stake

Some of the full-time missionaries in the Ilopango Zone—(from left to right) Elder Monterroso, Elder Payne, Elder Albino, Sister Rivera, and Elder Cammack—do a puppet show to teach children to eat healthy foods and to avoid tobacco, alcohol, drugs, and other addictive substances.

The missionaries gave the puppet show at a local hospital and in a parking lot of a large supermarket. Those who saw the show, including members of the hospital staff, enjoyed it and appreciated the missionaries’ efforts.

Brother Ashton Garcia of the Port of Spain Trinidad Stake shared his experience of preparing line upon line. He said, when his wife was serving as Relief Society president, she received personal revelation after reading the words of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to start a food storage.7 They learned valuable lessons of following the prophet, starting a kitchen garden, storing fruits and vegetables managing a budget and using resources wisely. He shared that “As we moved forward in faith and followed the Lord’s commandments, the Lord guided us with revelation line upon line on how to act and not be acted upon. We received peace from the Spirit by knowing we were prepared and keeping the commandments.”

In my home ward growing up, Brother Smith (not his real name) was the choir director for as long as I can remember. It was not until years later that I learned that Brother Smith had a Word of Wisdom problem that he never completely overcame. I am grateful to the members of our ward who made room for Brother Smith in the inn. I am also grateful to Brother Smith, who came to church and served despite his weakness. We, like the members of my home ward, should do our best to welcome all of God’s children at the inn. Most importantly, we should see ourselves as always welcome at the inn.

Jenelle heard her best friend, Michelle, invite their friend Rebecca to her birthday party on Sunday. It was going to be a swimming party.
Michelle had already invited Jenelle, and Jenelle had not given her an answer yet. But she knew she wouldn’t be going to the party.
Michelle and Jenelle had been friends since they were six years old. But after Jenelle’s family had become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints nine months ago, things had changed between them. Becoming a Church member hadn’t changed what Jenelle felt for her friend, but Michelle was having a hard time understanding why Jenelle was different than before.
After school, Jenelle trudged home more discouraged than ever. Everyone else Michelle had invited to her party would be there. Mom will know what I can do, Jenelle thought. I always feel better after talking things over with her.
At home, she told her mother the whole story. “What am I going to do?” she asked.
Mom put her arm around Jenelle’s shoulders. “You have to decide what’s more important to you—going to your friend’s party or obeying the commandments,” she said.
Jenelle sighed. She knew what she should do. That didn’t make it any easier, though. She didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings, and she wanted to go to the party. But she couldn’t break one of the commandments, especially after hearing the prophet speak in general conference about the importance of keeping the Sabbath day holy.
She knew what she had to do. After school the next day, she hurried home and wrapped the present she had made for Michelle. Then she walked to her friend’s house.
“I made you something special for your birthday,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t come to your birthday party. It’s because it’s on Sunday.”
Michelle unwrapped the present and held it up. “A birdhouse!” she said. “This is great! You made this yourself?”
Jenelle nodded. “At Primary achievement day.” She told Michelle about Primary and the achievement days for girls her age.
“What’s the big deal about going swimming on Sunday?” Michelle asked after thanking Jenelle for the gift. “We’ll be going in the afternoon, after your church is over.”
“The prophet said we need to keep the Sabbath day holy,” Jenelle explained.
“What does that mean?” Michelle asked.
“It means we don’t shop on Sunday or go swimming or to ball games—stuff like that.”
“What do you do?” Michelle wondered.
“We go to church, spend time with our families, listen to music, read the scriptures.” Jenelle smiled, remembering last Sunday. “Sometimes we take a nap.”
Michelle frowned. “Who is this prophet? Why do you have to do what he says?”
“He’s the President of the Church,” Jenelle explained.
“So he’s like the boss?”
Jenelle smiled again. She’d never heard the prophet described as a boss, but she supposed it made sense to people who weren’t members of the Church.
“What makes the prophet so special?” Michelle asked.
“He teaches us things Heavenly Father wants us to know.”
“You mean he talks with God?”
“Yes,” Jenelle answered firmly. She knew a lot of people didn’t understand that.
“Who is he?” Michelle asked.
“Our prophet’s name is President Gordon B. Hinckley.”
“Do you have to do everything he says?”
“We don’t have to. We choose to,” Jenelle said, hoping Michelle understood.
“Can you come to my birthday party next year if it isn’t on Sunday?” Michelle asked.
Jenelle hugged her friend. “I’m already counting the days till then!”

President Archie Brugger of the San Antonio East Stake in Texas shared an experience worthy of your interest. While he served in the military (in Germany, I believe), a young officer came to him one day and said, “Colonel Brugger, do you know there are only eight straight arrows in our entire company?” A straight-arrow is a soldier who does not have an illicit affair with a woman. He said, “I know you are a straight-arrow and so am I.” A few weeks later this young officer returned again and said, “Colonel Brugger, now there are only four.” It was only a matter of a few more weeks and he returned a third time and said, “Colonel Brugger, there are only two, you and me.” President Brugger said to this young man: “I intend to remain clean. I am a Mormon and I have a wife back in the United States who is keeping herself clean also while I am away. I trust her and she trusts me, and we both honor the teachings of the Church.” The young man said: “You are leaving in six weeks to go back to the United States and I will remain here. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.” President Brugger said, “My young friend, if I can do it you can do it. The Lord will help you.”

“I can’t believe people go to work this early,” someone says, watching the lonely headlights of a car appear and then quietly disappear down the streets of the still-sleeping town. It is dark, early-morning dark, in the church parking lot. The coolness of the early hour inspires thoughts of sleep and warm beds rather than the day of work ahead, but work is what everyone has come out to do. After all, this is no ordinary Saturday morning; it is the beginning of the second annual Wood Run.

This year, as they stand waiting in the church parking lot, the young men say things will be different.

As the last cars pull in and the sun begins to rise, the dark shapes in the parking lot take on identity, and a spirit of competition begins to whisper through the crowd. In the new light the Laurel and Beehive advisers look around and confer.

“Do they have more people than we do?”
“I think so.”
“We’re outnumbered!”
“Well,” concludes Charlene Swapp, Beehive adviser, “there are more boys this year, but we’ll still beat them.”
The girls seem to agree. “Are we going to whop ’em?” asks the Young Women’s president, Jo Anne Goodfellow. “Yeah!” comes the resounding chorus from a group of enthusiastic young women.

The men are not in agreement, however. Loral Linton, teachers quorum adviser, stands by, listening to the boasts with a knowing smile on his face. “We’ll get even this year,” he says smugly.
This attitude seems to prevail among the young men and has resulted in a slight alteration of the event’s original name. Among themselves the event has become known as the Revenge of the Wood Run.

Soon everyone in the parking lot has piled into cars and trucks to head for the Kaibab National Forest to make good their claims of victory.

“That’s where we’re going,” someone says, pointing to a smooth, flat-topped hill of purplish hue that rises in the distance across the border into Arizona. “That’s the Kaibab.”
“That’s the Kaibab?”
The words of a lifelong resident, a man who homesteaded his own land out here and really knows the area, come to mind. “Kaibab is Indian for mountain lying down,’” he’d said, looking off in that direction and adjusting his cowboy hat.
Well, the Indians were right.
From this distance the level swell on the horizon hardly resembles the picture that the word mountain conjures up. Where are the jagged cliffs, the snow-capped peaks, the single vertical summit rising up to pierce the clouds?
It’s hard to believe that this level mountain stretches out to form the towering north and south rims of the Grand Canyon. And harder still to believe that it provides enough wood to keep one of the largest sawmills in Utah and Arizona in business.
But as the caravan of cars and trucks works its way closer to the Kaibab, the sage-covered plains give way, almost imperceptibly at first, to hills sprinkled with pine. The caravan climbs higher, and the air becomes cooler. Sparse pine becomes forest. Suddenly you’re a believer.

After bumping over dusty dirt roads, the caravan stops, and everyone climbs out. Instructions are brief. “Women stack on the right side of the road and men on the left. Three chain saws to a team. The winner is whoever stacks and loads the most wood onto the trucks before lunch.” Within minutes chain saws are buzzing, chips of wood and sawdust fly, and the strong scent of freshly cut pine fills the air.

“This is all waste wood that loggers have left piled up,” says Bishop Jack Frost, referring to the large, unkempt piles of wood and brush that are being cut into with a vengeance.

The young women have quickly formed a log-passing brigade, and from what looks like just a pile of brush come the beginnings of what will soon be a healthy-sized stack of clean, much-needed wood. According to Bishop Frost, the cutting and stacking are just the beginning of the project. Once the wood is taken home, it must be split and then delivered throughout the winter to those that need it for fuel.

Although much of this year’s Wood Run still lies ahead, for now everyone seems intent on gathering as much wood as they can. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s the best service project I’ve ever been on,” says Bishop Frost. “The kids all get a sense of usefulness out of it. They feel like they’ve accomplished something. And they have. It’s hard work to gather this much wood.”

Nobody would argue with him on that point. Across the road and farther up from where the girls are working, the young men are diving into their pile of wood in a less organized but equally effective manner. As soon as the chain saw has rendered a log into chopping size blocks, the blocks are thrown onto a pile and then loaded onto a truck.

Echoing the bishop’s feelings, Chad Goodfellow, teachers quorum president, says that the Wood Run is a better service project than most he’s been on. “There’s a lot done here. This is an activity, but it also does some good for everybody else.” He’s right. By the time the project is over, nearly everyone in the ward will have had the opportunity to take part in helping others.

With this kind of response awaiting their work, the workers find the day goes quickly.

Before long the trucks begin to fill with wood, and lookouts are sent to spy on the opposing team. Extra sweatshirts or jackets are laid aside or tied around waists as the morning’s cool edge melts into afternoon.

The log-passing brigade formed by the young women continues to function but at a slightly slower pace—slow enough, anyway, to allow a good sawdust fight and accommodate plenty of laughter and talking.

“It’s very hard work,” says Shelley Allen, a Mia Maid and veteran worker from the previous year, “but it’s fun when you’re all working together. And when you take the wood to people’s houses, they like it. That’s the neat part.”
Jamie Leavitt, Beehive president, shakes some clinging bits of sawdust from her hair and agrees that delivering the wood to people who need it really does make all the hard work worthwhile.

Of course, hard work or not, none of the young men is so tired that he can resist climbing the sides of the huge diesel truck to scale the mountain of wood it holds and shout claims of victory to those below.

The deadline that seemed years away while the workers were standing sleepily in the cool morning dark at the church parking lot has arrived. It is time to declare a winner.

The noisy crowd gathers. Dusty gloves are dropped to the ground and then joined for a rest by their equally dusty wearers. Examining the cuts and scrapes on her uncovered arms, one young woman suggests that the winners be determined by comparing the number of scratches on the arms of the opposing teams. Seeing the dirt embedded in the young women’s shirts and ground into the knees of their jeans, someone else suggests the winners be judged by the amount of dirt they’ve accumulated. If dirt is the criterion, the young women are certainly the day’s winners!

Although some claim the wood got heavier as the day wore on and some reactions to getting up so early were not always positive, the young people feel good about the work they’ve done.

Most of the day’s work is done now, and everyone takes advantage of the free time to relax. Well, almost everyone.

What may prove to be the toughest job of the day is still waiting. It belongs to Bishop Frost, who must judge the work and come up with a winning team. Both sides feel they’ve won.

“I don’t know if you dare judge,” counsels one adviser. But drawing on the wisdom and the example of Solomon, the bishop thinks it over and makes his decision.
In an odd twist guaranteed to satisfy both teams, the bishop declares the young men to be the official winners, but before any cheers can be raised, the bishop gives the young women the honor of having worked the hardest. It seems to work.

Lunch is cleared away, jackets and gloves are retrieved from tree stumps, and everyone gathers for one last picture by the side of the huge diesel truck. The edge of competition so evident earlier that morning in the church parking lot has faded. They are friends.