Gospel Story Finder

A queer-looking bed wagon, with a woman comfortably settled in it, stopped at the toll bridge. The keeper smiled in amusement. Then he saw the anxious look on the face of the boy who was driving, and he hid his smile. The boy explained that his father had helped him make a special wagon for his ailing mother.
“Any boy who is that good to his mother can drive over the bridge without paying,” said the toll-keeper. He bowed low and waved the wagon on.
The boy was Brigham Young, who had been born in Whittingham, Vermont. His family moved to Smyrna, New York, a few years afterward, but today, 170 years later, he is still remembered in Whittingham. Opposite a store on Route 8, many visitors stop to see the marker that has been placed there in his honor. It reads:
“Brigham Young’s birthplace. Founder of Utah born here. Southward up the steep hill was the birthplace of Brigham Young, June 1, 1801. Three years later the family moved to New York state where he became a Mormon. He led the people from Illinois to Utah and founded Salt Lake City in 1847.”

A story written by Karen Nolen, which appeared in the New Era in 1974, tells of a Benjamin Landart who, in 1888, was 15 years old and an accomplished violinist. Living on a farm in northern Utah with his mother and seven brothers and sisters was sometimes a challenge to Benjamin, as he had less time than he would have liked to play his violin. Occasionally his mother would lock up the violin until he had his farm chores done, so great was the temptation for Benjamin to play it.
In late 1892 Benjamin was asked to travel to Salt Lake to audition for a place with the territorial orchestra. For him, this was a dream come true. After several weeks of practicing and prayers, he went to Salt Lake in March of 1893 for the much anticipated audition. When he heard Benjamin play, the conductor, a Mr. Dean, told Benjamin he was the most accomplished violinist he had heard west of Denver. He was told to report to Denver for rehearsals in the fall and learned that he would be earning enough to keep himself, with some left over to send home.
A week after Benjamin received the good news, however, his bishop called him into his office and asked if he couldn’t put off playing with the orchestra for a couple of years. He told Benjamin that before he started earning money there was something he owed the Lord. He then asked Benjamin to accept a mission call.
Benjamin felt that giving up his chance to play in the territorial orchestra would be almost more than he could bear, but he also knew what his decision should be. He promised the bishop that if there were any way to raise the money for him to serve, he would accept the call.
When Benjamin told his mother about the call, she was overjoyed. She told him that his father had always wanted to serve a mission but had been killed before that opportunity had come to him. However, when they discussed the financing of the mission, her face clouded over. Benjamin told her he would not allow her to sell any more of their land. She studied his face for a moment and then said, “Ben, there is a way we can raise the money. This family [has] one thing that is of great enough value to send you on your mission. You will have to sell your violin.”
Ten days later, on March 23, 1893, Benjamin wrote in his journal: “I awoke this morning and took my violin from its case. All day long I played the music I love. In the evening when the light grew dim and I could see to play no longer, I placed the instrument in its case. It will be enough. Tomorrow I leave [for my mission].”
Forty-five years later, on June 23, 1938, Benjamin wrote in his journal: “The greatest decision I ever made in my life was to give up something I dearly loved to the God I loved even more. He has never forgotten me for it.”

“Brother Ng,” the man’s voice began. Being addressed as “brother” by a gwailouh (foreigner) caught Ng Kat Hing’s attention. A group of clean-cut Americans wearing dark suits had wandered into the furniture store where he was employed, and their unusual appearance fascinated the 25-year-old Hong Kong native. But he was even more intrigued by being called “brother.”
When Ng Kat Hing questioned them about the title, one of the Americans, who wore a name tag identifying him as President Heaton, asked, “Do you believe there is one Father in Heaven?”
When he nodded, the man continued, “Then we are brothers, and I will call you that.”
Forty-three years later, Brother Ng still recalls his response. “I was touched, and in that moment, a little bit of the restored gospel was manifest to me. I wondered about it all that day and through the night. Four days later when the man called back to confirm the furniture order, I knew I wanted to know more.”

Rex watched the dust cloud around his bare feet as he walked up the path from the river in the summer sunshine. As he came within view of the farmhouse, he saw his mother tending the vegetable garden out back. She was a hard worker; her pantry was filled with canned beans, beets, tomatoes, and sweet fruit for the winter. She sewed and baked and took care of her family, but when she had a moment to spare, she spent it on her little flower garden in the front yard.
It wasn’t much to look at. With the list of chores she tackled each day, it was difficult to find time to weed and water her flower patch. Each year when the seed catalog came with the mail, she spent a week’s worth of evenings sitting by the fire, carefully turning through the pages to find just the right seeds for the coming year.
Suddenly, something flapping in the front yard caught Rex’s attention. His mother jumped up from the vegetable patch and ran toward her flowers. “Scat! Get out of here, you old turkeys!” There, in her flower garden, a flock of turkeys made a mess of her summer efforts. All the stems had been snapped, the flowers ruined.
Rex ran to help his mother, shooing the flock back to Mr. Lukin’s farm. Like many of the local farmers, Mr. Lukin had recently traded in his hens for a pack of turkeys. But the turkeys’ wings were stronger than hens’ wings, and they had escaped.
“Get on home!” Rex’s mother yelled, her face red. The turkeys waddled single file, demolishing every plant in their path. “Rex, chase those turkeys back where they belong.” She looked sadly at the trampled flowers.
Rex quickly herded the turkeys back down the road, yelling and flapping his arms to spur them on. As the turkeys entered Mr. Lukin’s yard, Rex decided to make one last attempt to make them stay. Looking down, he grabbed a rock lying on the ground. He yelled and threw the rock with all his might, intending to give them a good scare.
Thunk. Rex watched with horror as the largest of Mr. Lukin’s turkeys toppled over. Oh no. Thoughts of old Mr. Lukin raced through Rex’s mind. The man had never been kind to Rex or his brothers. Walking over to the turkey, Rex gave the bird a nudge with his foot, hoping for some sign of life. Nothing—the bird was dead.
What was he going to do? Mr. Lukin would be furious. Looking around, he realized no one had seen him throw the rock. No one would ever know what had happened. Maybe Mr. Lukin would think the bird had died of old age or eaten something bad. Maybe Mr. Lukin wouldn’t even notice the bird was gone. Without another thought, Rex grabbed the turkey and hid it in the bushes. He wouldn’t say a word. No one would ever know. He turned and ran home as fast as he could, fueled by uncertainty and guilt.
His mother praised him for his quick work with the turkeys, unaware of the turmoil in Rex’s belly. How could he tell her what he had done? What would she think of him? As the sickness welled inside him, tears filled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
He ran to her arms, sobbing as he unloaded the whole story, complete with his fears of Mr. Lukin’s anger. Finally, as his sobs quieted, she pulled back to look at him. “Rex, take the bird to Mr. Lukin. If you tell him what happened—”
“Oh no! I couldn’t do that!” Rex panicked as he imagined Mr. Lukin’s angry response.
“Rex, believe me,” his mother said. “You will never have peace if you don’t face him and confess. Mr. Lukin deserves to hear the truth.”
“Mr. Lukin will be so mad! He’s mean and he’ll yell at me.” Rex’s eyes filled with fresh tears as he looked at his mother’s tender face. Then he thought of Heavenly Father. Rex realized Heavenly Father expected him to tell the truth.
Finally, looking down, Rex asked quietly, “Will you go with me?”
The walk to Mr. Lukin’s house was torture. Leaving his mother in the yard, Rex stepped to the front porch with the dead turkey. He cautiously knocked, praying Mr. Lukin wouldn’t answer. The door opened.
“Hi, Mr. Lukin.” Rex handed him the bird. “He dug in Mama’s flower beds and I had to chase him out. I threw a rock and he fell. I … I guess I killed him. I’m sorry! Oh, please don’t be mad, Mr. Lukin!” Rex looked at the ground, too frightened to watch the reaction.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Mr. Lukin spoke. “That’s all right, that’s all right. We’ll eat him for dinner today.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Rex couldn’t believe what he had heard. As he walked home with his mother, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized that doing the right thing was truly easier in the end. Facing his consequences had been far less painful than living with the guilt.

“What took you so long?” Robby asked as I stomped out the back door and into the backyard, where he and Ryan were waiting for me.
“I’ve been hauling out the garbage,” I grumbled, dropping down under the cherry tree, “and I’m sick of it. All I do at home is work! I have to make my bed when I get up, clean my room, hang my clothes up, take a bath at night, work in the garden, empty the garbage. Brother! All I do is work, work, work. And if I even look cross-eyed at Annie or Sarah, they start complaining and Mom and Dad yell at me for teasing them.”
“You have it pretty tough all right,” Robby muttered, sitting next to me, “but no worse than I do. I have a hundred chores to do too. That’s the trouble with being a kid. Everybody is always bossing you around and making you do things.”
“I can hardly wait until I’m a dad,” Ryan said with a smile. “I’m not going to do anything that I don’t want to do. I’ll make my kids do everything.”
“You’ll still have to go to work,” Robby pointed out. “Dads do have to go to work, you know.”
“Yes, but they do fun work,” Ryan said. “All my dad does is sit at a desk and sign papers and talk on the phone.”
“That’s why he gets to boss you around,” Robby pointed out. “He makes all the money.”
“Then if we were making our own money, we could do anything we wanted.”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t think my dad would care how much money I made. He’d still boss me around.”
“Our parents couldn’t boss us around if we weren’t around to boss,” I said, excited. “Let’s leave home and be our own bosses. I already have a little over six dollars.”
“I have four dollars and twenty-three cents,” Robby volunteered.
“And I have five dollars and two quarters,” Ryan added. “That means that we have”—he closed his eyes and started counting on his fingers—“almost sixteen dollars!”
“And we could get more, lots more,” I said. “We could collect cans and sell them to the store.”
“Sister Wheeler pays me to run errands for her,” Ryan put in.
“And sometimes Brother Randall pays me to rake the grass after he’s mowed,” Robby added.
“Wow!” I declared. “We’ll have tons of money. Just think—no more chores!”
“But where would we stay?” Robby asked.
We sat down, put our chins in our hands, and did some hard thinking. “The fort!” I suddenly burst out.
We all laughed out loud because we were so excited. There was a vacant lot behind the Petersons’ place a couple of blocks away. It was filled with old boards, abandoned cars, big metal drums, and lots of other good junk. We had used some of the boards to make ourselves a fort between two old cars.
“That’s it!” Ricky agreed. “We’ll live in the fort.”
“And if we live there,” Ryan added, “we won’t have to worry about making our beds or doing chores or anything.”
“Do you suppose our moms will care if we run off and live in the fort?” Robby wondered aloud.
I gulped. “Well,” I mumbled, “I don’t think that we should ask them. But,” I added quickly, “we can leave them a note.”
We stood up. I was a little scared, but I just knew that I’d have to leave home or always get bossed around and have a million chores to do.
It didn’t take long to pack my things. I grabbed two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, a pair of socks, my basketball shoes, my football, and the little can that held my money. I rolled everything up in two blankets and tucked them under my arm. Just before I slipped out again, I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, “I’ve gone to live in the fort with Robby and Ryan. Somebody else will have to do my chores. Don’t worry, we’re getting jobs. I’ll come back to visit.”
A half hour later we were pulling Ryan’s loaded red wagon toward the fort and laughing and talking. We could hardly believe how lucky we were. We’d all been able to pack our things and slip back outside without being seen.
When we reached the fort, we spread our blankets on the ground inside to sleep on, then stuffed everything else into the corners. The place didn’t look nearly as big as we remembered it. Everything fit, but just barely.
For a few minutes we just sat cross-legged on the floor of the fort and looked around and grinned. Boy, were we proud of our new place!
“The first thing that we’d better do is get some food,” I finally suggested. “We can take the wagon so that if we find any cans along the way, we can pick them up. And we can haul all our food back in the wagon.”
By the time we reached the store, the wagon was full of cans. A checker took us to a scale at the back of the store. “That comes to fifty-two cents,” she said.
“Fifty-two cents!” We all gasped. “Is that all?”
We added the money to what we already had, grabbed a shopping cart, and started down the aisles. “What do we need?” I asked.
“I want some soda pop,” Robby spoke out.
“And we just have to get some candy and some doughnuts,” Ryan added.
“And I want some cookies and potato chips,” I said. “They’re my favorites.”
It was great to be able to buy anything that we wanted without anybody telling us no.
“Is that about enough?” I asked.
“We probably ought to get some good food, too,” Robby muttered.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “Let’s get some cereal.”
We grabbed a box of sugar-coated cereal and a jug of milk and pushed the cart to the checkout counter. “That will be twenty-one dollars and eighty-seven cents,” the lady announced with a smile.
“Twenty-one dollars!” I yelped. I looked over at Ryan and Robby. All of us studied our groceries. “Let’s put these back,” I said, grabbing the cereal and milk and one bag of candy. “We don’t need them for a few days. We’ve had enough good stuff at home.”
It was way past noon when we made it back to the fort. And we had been so hungry that we munched on doughnuts, granola bars, cookies, and licorice as we walked.
When we got there, I asked, “Should we have lunch now?”
Ryan made a face. “I don’t want to eat anything,” he moaned. “My stomach is making funny noises, and it feels as though it’s going to pop. I think I’ll lie down for a minute.”
“You’re not going to take a nap, are you?” I gasped. “We don’t have to take naps.”
“That’s right,” Ryan said, sitting up.
So we just sat in the fort and munched on chips and talked about how great it was to be on our own. Pretty soon it got warm inside the fort, and I began to yawn and stretch. Finally I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I lay on my blanket and went to sleep.
It was starting to get dark when we finally woke up. We sat up and looked around. I grabbed a bag of chips, and Ryan and Robby started on a bag of candy. We tried to wash everything down with soda pop, but it was warm and just gagged us.
“My hands are sure sticky,” Robby muttered. “I sure wish I could wash my hands. I wouldn’t mind a bath.”
The sun had gone down, and the only light in the fort came from the sunset’s last glow. Once a cat scratched across our roof and we all jumped. A while later a dog barked.
“Maybe we ought to have some supper and go to bed,” I suggested in a whisper. “We’ll have to get up early and find work.”
“What’s for supper?” Ryan asked.
“We could have some more cookies or marshmallows or—”
“Yuck!” Robby gagged. “I don’t want any supper if that’s all there is.”
“Me either,” Ryan muttered.
We were quiet again, just sitting and listening.
“You know,” Robby whispered after a while, “I didn’t really have a lot of chores at home.”
“Me either,” Ryan agreed. “Mom did lots more than I did. She had to wash the dishes and the clothes. She made dinner. Why, she was working all the time. And she didn’t ever get to play.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Moms never have it too good when it comes to doing chores. Everybody did chores around my place too. I wasn’t the only one that had to take out the garbage. My sisters helped, too, and had other things to do.”
“I’m tired of being sticky,” Robby whined. “And I’m tired of being scrunched up in this dirty old fort.”
“Do you know what I could be doing if I was home?” Ryan asked. “I could be playing catch or working in the garden with Dad. Shoot! I didn’t mind working in the garden when Dad was there. He made it fun and would tell me stories.”
We were quiet for a while. Then Robby started to sniffle. “Do you think our moms and dads would let us come home?”
“We could ask them tomorrow,” I muttered. “We could—”
“I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” Robby whimpered. “I want to go home right now. I’m sick of doughnuts and cookies and junk and this old fort. It’s all your fault,” he accused me, jabbing a finger in my direction. “It was your big idea to run away!”
I ducked my head. “Maybe they haven’t found our notes yet,” I offered.
“I don’t care if they’ve found my note or not!” Robby burst out. “I’m going home right now.” He didn’t even wait to pick up his things. He just started out the door and headed for home.
“Well, if he’s going,” Ryan said, “I’m going too. You can have all the rest of the junk we bought.”
I didn’t stay there alone very long. I grabbed my blankets and clothes and started for home.
It seemed awfully late, but the porch light was still on and so were some of the lights in the house. I was about to walk inside, when I remembered that I didn’t live there anymore. So I reached up and rang the doorbell. The door flew open, and there was Dad. “Well, hello, stranger.”
“Did you find my note?” I blurted, looking down at the floor.
“Your mom said something about a note.”
I swallowed hard. “Well, then I guess that I’m just coming for a visit,” I said, disappointed.
“Well, stranger,” Dad said, “you can visit us anytime. Come in. I’ll tell your mom that you’re here.”
He didn’t have to, though. She’d heard me talking and came running from the kitchen. She hugged me and kissed me. I didn’t even pull away as I usually did. It felt good to have her squeeze me.
“Did you get a good job?” Dad asked.
“Well, we sold some cans.”
“How long can you stay?” Dad asked.
“How long will you let me stay?” I whispered.
“Oh, you could stay an hour or so,” Dad answered. “You’re probably anxious to get back to your fort and Robby and Ryan.”
“Not really,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Well, if you’re not in a hurry to get back to your fort,” Dad said, “why don’t you spend the night? Or you can stay here forever, if you want.”
I looked up at Mom and Dad. They were both grinning, and I could feel my heart thumping madly in my chest. I wanted to jump and shout and squeeze them both around their necks. “You mean it?” I gasped. “Even though I ran away, you’ll still let me stay?”
“Sure we mean it,” Mom answered, hugging me again.
“And I’ll take a bath,” I promised. “And I’ll do my chores.”
I never thought a bath could feel so good. And before I climbed into bed, I cleaned and straightened my room. Sarah and Annie came to see me, and I didn’t even tease them.
Mom and Dad came in and tucked me in between the clean-smelling sheets and kissed me. When they were gone, I slipped out of bed and knelt down and said a little prayer. I didn’t ask for anything. Not one thing. But I did a lot of thanking because I had a mom and dad who loved me enough to let me come home, the best place in the world!

Moving was a challenge for Mary, too, but she met it with independence and tenacity. Once when they moved, “I took her to Germany, dropped her off in Frankfurt with the two boys, and then I had to fly on to Berlin for a temporary assignment,” says Elder Hales. “Mary got the boys into school, learned to find her way around the busy autobahn, and eventually learned to speak German. This was typical. She has always made it work.”

Let me illustrate. Some years ago I was working with the missionaries in Korea. We walked into a furniture store in downtown Seoul and were soon introduced to the proprietor. He was very kind to the elders. I listened to them encouraging him to accept a copy of the Book of Mormon. I do not speak Korean, but I understood enough to know the proprietor was friendly and open to the missionaries. In a few moments he invited us upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to what we thought was a window, where he drew back the curtain to reveal a bookshelf. It held at least 12 copies of the Book of Mormon in the Korean language. Obviously, someone had been there before us. My thought at that time was, “We need to place a copy of the Book of Mormon in this man’s heart, not on his bookshelf.”

Scripture study has helped Stephen Odhiambo Mayembe to find answers that he says we can’t find by ourselves. “By studying the scriptures, we can find the answers to some of the problems we have in our day-to-day lives,” he says. “And also by studying the scriptures, it gives us that courage to endure to the end because the scriptures will always be there to teach us and tell us what to do.”

Studying the Book of Mormon helped Stephen gain a testimony of the Church. During a visit to his aunt who was a member, she invited him to go to church. After he started reading the Book of Mormon, he prayed to know if it is true and received an answer.

He says that reading the scriptures regularly helps him keep Church standards even when those around him question his beliefs. “By being a member of the Church, my faith has been strengthened, and through that I can say that I cannot be shaken [see Jacob 7:5],” he says.

I was in despair and needed strength beyond my own.
I had recently gotten divorced from my husband and still had an unhealthy relationship with him. I had also just given birth to a baby girl, but after praying and pondering about my unique circumstances, I made the difficult decision to put her up for adoption because I felt like I wouldn’t be able to raise and support her on my own.
My self-worth was at its lowest point.
Grieving the loss of my marriage and baby girl at the same time was almost unbearable. I believed in eternal families, but my divorce and adoption placements were final, and there was no hope of being a family with these two people in the eternities. The pain felt truly overwhelming.
Through all the pain, I stayed active in the Church, being the best disciple of Christ I knew how to be. Nevertheless, I could not seem to break my unhealthy relationship with my ex-husband, which often occurs in a cycle of emotional abuse (like the one I was in). I knew logically that I needed to set stricter boundaries for myself with him, but I could not make myself do it.
I talked to my bishop about my situation and how I felt like my ex-husband had an unseen hold on me. In his attempts to support me, my bishop asked questions like, “Are you going to church every week?” “Are you faithfully magnifying your callings?” “Are you saying your prayers daily?”
I was able to answer yes to all these questions.
But then he asked, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon regularly?”
I admitted I was not.
He challenged me to start reading it, and I did.
When I got to Jacob chapter 2, the messages really started to resonate with me.
Jacob’s soul was burdened because of the strict commandment he had received from God—to admonish his brethren according to their crimes. Jacob 2:7 says, “It grieveth me that I must use so much boldness of speech concerning you, before your wives and your children, many of whose feelings are exceedingly tender and chaste and delicate before God, which thing is pleasing unto God.”
Jacob 2:35 says, “Ye have broken the hearts of your tender wives, and lost the confidence of your children, because of your bad examples before them; and the sobbings of their hearts ascend up to God against you.”
As I read, the Spirit testified to me that God was aware of my situation. God knew I was one of the tender wives whose hearts were broken. I shed many tears over my situation.
I experienced increased hope and fortitude as I continued to study the Book of Mormon faithfully. I journaled my thoughts and the truths I learned as I read. Within just a few weeks, I felt stronger than I had ever felt in my life! I found the strength and power to see clearly and begin to let go of my grief, and I was able to start moving forward. I knew this power came from studying the Book of Mormon.
President Russell M. Nelson recently taught: “Few things build faith more than does regular immersion in the Book of Mormon. No other book testifies of Jesus Christ with such power and clarity. Its prophets, as inspired by the Lord, saw our day and selected the doctrine and truths that would help us most. The Book of Mormon is our latter-day survival guide.”1
When I heard our prophet say this, I realized we receive strength from reading the Book of Mormon because it testifies of Jesus Christ with more power than any other book. Jesus Christ is the source of strength! And regular immersion in the Book of Mormon builds our faith, which gives us the power to face and overcome challenges.
I am so grateful I was blessed with the strength to break the unhealthy cycle with my ex-husband. It took a while for me to forgive him, but as I continued to study the Book of Mormon, I learned it was possible for me to forgive through the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement.

My favorite year of rugby was the year after high school. The team of which I was a member was both talented and committed. We were the champion team that year. However, one day we were to play a lowly ranked team, and after the game we all had dates to take to the big, annual college dance. I thought that because this would be an easy game, I should try to protect myself from injury so I would be able to enjoy the dance fully. In that game, we were not as committed in the hard contacts as we might have been, and we lost. To make things worse, I ended the match with a very swollen, fat lip that did not enhance my appearance for my big date. Perhaps I needed to learn something.

It all started when I went baby-sitting one night for my favorite family, the Tiltons. They have three boys, ranging from seventh grade to diapers. Eric is 12 and he just sat typing away at his computer. Doug is in second grade. He likes robots. Chris is two. He’s just a cutie. All evening I played some sort of space cadet with a transformer in one hand and Chris’s binky in the other. I was mostly around Doug, though. Little did I know.
Mrs. Tilton called two days later to say that Doug had come down with chicken pox. I grimly started counting the days before I, too, fell to the itching red spots, boredom, and fever.
I was concerned about missing school. High school wasn’t getting any easier. But I was most afraid of all my friends not really noticing or caring that I was gone. I could picture a classroom with an empty chair and not a, “Oh, where’s A. J. today?”
They would go on without me and that made me feel empty. I could see my friends walking by my locker and not noticing my absence. They would laugh and talk, and I wouldn’t be with them.
With all this thinking, I got very depressed. I itched, felt icky, had Calamine lotion applied every couple of hours, and had red spots everywhere. Because I had them on my face, I felt especially dreary and hid every time someone came to the house. Mom and Dad laughed over that.
I didn’t go to church or anywhere that weekend of course. But when my mom came home from sacrament meeting on Sunday, she said that a few people had asked where I was. At first I was happy, then a little angry. It wasn’t fair that I had to get this stupid disease and stay home.
Tuesday after school when a blue car drove up, I promptly ducked into the bathroom. But I could hear Sonja and Robin from church. I peeked out to see what they were doing when Mom called me out. They had come to see me! I stepped out gingerly to exclamations of sympathy and caring. I grinned and said, “I feel as bad as I look.”
But that’s not what mattered the most. They had come to see me. They had cared enough. I was even more surprised a minute later when Sonja gave me a package. I opened it and there inside was a Sesame Street coloring book, six crayons, and a chocolate Santa. I couldn’t believe it. I looked up, determined not to cry. All I could say was, “Thank you, oh, thanks so much.” Sonja and Robin smiled.
“You see, it’s sort of an inside joke,” Sonja explained.
“When I was little and broke my leg, Sonja gave me a coloring book, crayons, and a candy bar,” said Robin, grinning up at her older sister.
“Since you’ve already had chicken pox, do you mind getting a little of this stuff on you?” I asked, pointing to the pink lotion on my face and hands. “If you don’t, I’m going to hug you.”
They laughed and didn’t mind at all. I knew then that the book and crayons and the candy didn’t matter half so much as the cheerful words.
I went on through the stages of chicken pox, but something inside me had changed. I had always been the one sort of in the shadows, alone. Now I felt a part of things because somebody cared. The visit made a difference.

Shortly after I returned from my mission, my stake president asked me to interpret for Elder Hartman Rector Jr., then of the Seventy, who had come to Mendoza, Argentina, to preside over a stake conference. These marvelous opportunities have continued over the years. I interpreted for President Thomas S. Monson and other General Authorities during the 11 dedicatory sessions of the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.
During four of those sessions, I read the dedicatory prayer in Spanish from the pulpit in the celestial room. My voice broke up several times because of my emotions; tears filled my eyes and flowed down my face. I was reading the inspired prayers and promises for my country from Heavenly Father, who lives and reveals His will, just as He did 12 years earlier through my mission president when I accepted the challenge to learn English.
I also interpreted for the prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, during the four dedicatory sessions of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the four dedicatory sessions of the Asunción Paraguay Temple.
It’s difficult for me to explain how sacred those moments were for me when I stood alongside prophets, seers, and revelators in the Lord’s house. I felt somewhat like Peter, James, and John when they had the amazing experience of seeing Jesus transfigured. Peter expressed my feelings when he told Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here” (Matt. 17:4).

I was born into a family of all boys, I married into a family of all boys-I even have a twin brother-and I am the mother of all boys! That is a lot of boys! When our sons were 7, 4 and 1, our family planned a trip to Palmyra, New York. For months prior, we spent almost every family home evening studying about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the significance of the historic sites that we had planned to visit.
We found plane tickets that were too good to be true. Well, they were true, but not necessarily good. It took us two layovers and almost 18 hours of travel time for our young family to safely arrive from Salt Lake City, Utah to our hotel room in Rochester, New York.
After baths, brushing teeth, bedtime prayers, and pure exhaustion-from mom and dad, our three little boys giggled excitedly as they climbed into a shared hotel bed. We then kissed them and said, “Now go to sleep, because the first thing we are going to do when we wake up tomorrow morning is visit the Sacred Grove.”
Young Eli, only 4 years old, enthusiastically sat straight up in bed and declared to his older brother, “Did you hear that Briton! Tomorrow we are going to see Heavenly Father and Jesus!” My dear husband and I looked at each other with tears slowly running down our cheeks. Oh, the faith and purity of little children!
Later the following day while visiting the Grandin Building, where the first five thousand copies of the Book Mormon were printed, a missionary was sharing her testimony of Jesus Christ. I then overheard little Eli tell his older brother, “Even though I didn’t see Heavenly Father and Jesus in the Secret [Sacred] Grove, I sure felt Them there.” To which Briton responded, “Eli, you can feel Them anywhere.”

My father had come for a visit, and I stayed home from work to talk with him. After breakfast, we spoke only briefly before he tired and went to sleep on the small sofa. It was quiet except for the sounds of his breathing, and I found myself filled with thoughts and feelings that surprised me with their intensity.
I could easily recognize the signs of his advanced age. What was left of his hair was gray. His face, wrinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth, still had the look of character and sensitivity I had often seen as his son. Then, because of a cold, he also looked tired. My father’s hands are larger than should be the case for one of moderate build. His fingers are wide and strong. One little finger is permanently bent because of a farming accident. As a small child I had spent many sacrament meetings rubbing this finger thinking it would feel better.
I sat for several minutes looking at him and reflecting about our life together. I wondered how much longer he would live. He had been very lonely since Mother died three years earlier. And, though sad for me, maybe he would be happier to go soon. I felt very protective as I watched him, much like a parent feels toward a sleeping child who requires concern because he is vulnerable. I leaned back in my chair and fell deep into the memories of long ago.
I was never told by anyone to be like my father. It just seemed natural to follow his footsteps in the snow, or to be interested in music as he was, or to compare myself with him in many other ways. One way I compared myself to him was in his work habits. He was a very hard worker. He began early and worked late on our family farm, which required him to milk cows and irrigate before breakfast. He then put in a full day’s work like other people before milking and tending the irrigation water at night. It was hard to keep up with him, but my brothers and I often tried. Once started he could keep going steadily without resting. At least he did not rest often enough for me.
I am his youngest son, so I was given increased responsibilities as I grew older and was gradually expected to do a “man’s work.” Sometimes when I was extra tired and reluctant to get my own chores done, I would finally arrive only to find he had done them for me. I was glad but ashamed.
Sometime around my 17th birthday, I had achieved my full growth with the usual bulges and ripples in the right places. Dad and I were alone together on the farm since my older brothers were married or at college. One day we were stacking bales of alfalfa hay. I was placing them from the truck on a long conveyer that carried them to where Dad was placing them in the right position on the haystack. The sound of the small motor drowned out any possibility of talk, so, lost in my own thoughts, I worked rapidly to finish the job. I was startled when Dad yelled. I looked up to see that I was sending bales of hay up to him faster than he could place them. After waving for me to stop, he sat down to rest. Dad pulled out a red bandana handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. At that moment I realized I was no longer a small child following my father’s footsteps in the snow. My father was more tired than I was.
I had never before realized that this was natural since I was 17 and he was 55. I was instead a bit shocked by the recognition that he was no longer going to be the person I compared myself to in order to see if I was doing all right. Truthfully, I felt a bit anxious as if I were suddenly without a leader and were on my own. As I sat looking at him, a wave of emotion passed through me. I could not understand all of it, but I knew something significant was taking place. He suddenly looked a bit older to me and more tired than I had been willing to notice.
As we began to work again, and I more slowly, my father seemed a bit less than he used to be. I felt a little disappointed and even resentful. Some fate had robbed me of a security I had as a child, but I gained an understanding that has been a wonderful part of my life. I understood that more than an unattainable example of manhood, my father was just a man. He was a mortal like me, and what he did I could someday do too. Knowing this was far better than trying to be like someone and never succeeding. My father became to me a real person who had feelings and ideas, strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams.
My disappointment was brief, and I began to view him differently, even feeling protective of him. As the days followed, I became more responsible in doing my chores and tried in many ways to be more helpful to him. I began to tell him more things about myself, and we became closer. Though he was by nature a reserved and quiet man, we became more openly affectionate with each other. We are not equals. I am better in some areas because of an advanced education he gave me. He is wiser because of his experience.
As I returned from these thoughts of my youth, I was impressed that my father had in this way taught me about being a father. Working by his side, I came to know him well, and I could become like him. But, I wondered, what about my sons? They do not work with me every day. How are they learning about being fathers? Do they even think it is important to learn? Caught up in a whirl of sports, school, friends, and play they do not often see far into the future. Yet the years since I was 17 have seemed to pass like fleeting moments. Someday my sons will, like me now, consider fatherhood the most important of all they do.
It is a mistake to think that a boy will learn about fatherhood later after having children. It is usually too late then if a boy has not learned successfully, and his sons and daughters will receive the brunt of his inadequacies. It is much wiser to think that men are better fathers when they have learned about it when they are sons.
Most of us know that fathers should teach their sons, but most sons are not aware that they could and should learn about being fathers. As a result, boys often do not ask the very questions or participate in special experiences that could teach them. Boys may want their fathers to watch them play ball or teach them how to fish, but they forget to ask their dads how to be a good father. Sons could ask their fathers about many different aspects of family life. Some of these are listed as follows:
Financial Planning. In order to survive, fathers and mothers have had to prepare and make financial plans. Ask your parents how they organize their finances, who pays for which bills, what their biggest problems are, and what they wish they would have done differently.
Child Discipline. Ask your father about the reasons for family rules. Ask what your father learned about child discipline from his parents.
Organizing Family Activities. Successful vacations, family prayer, family home evenings, even chores, require organizational skills. You can ask your father or mother what he or she has learned about making them succeed.
What Your Parents Have Learned as Parents. Being a parent has helped, even forced, parents to learn about themselves. Ask about their experiences as parents and what they have learned since having children. Find out about what they have done that was successful and what they would do over again.
What Your Parents Think and Feel about You. Ask your parents about their feelings toward you. Note their ideas and ask about reasons for their thoughts. Each parent will have his or her individual ideas.
Teaching the Gospel. Ask your father and mother how they teach the gospel. Find out why they do what they do. Inquire about their successes and failures.
I decided not to wait for my sons to ask me to teach them because it seems too important to neglect. In their preparation for fatherhood I would like my sons to know the importance of showing genuine respect for girls and of showing courtesy and consideration in all their dating. They can begin doing this by showing regard for their mother and their sisters. I want them to develop good work habits which will enable them to provide for their family. Each of my sons has work to do and is rewarded for doing it. I believe they need to control their tempers and develop patience, which will be needed with their children. I try to set an example of this. I want them to be creative teachers of the gospel, so I assign them to teach in family home evenings. We read and discuss the scriptures and tell gospel stories to each other. I am trying to prepare them for missions.
I want them to spend time with their children, so I try to spend time with them. I ask what they plan to be like when they are fathers, and we talk about it. Even with all of this, I wish they would ask more questions about being a father.
Still they seem more interested in what they are doing right now, and I do not object too much about that because I have been their age. I would like them to ask me about fatherhood so I could tell them what I believe. Someday they will look at me when I am old and remember the time when they surpassed me. They will know me as I am, just a man, and we will be friends. Then, learning, they will recognize that just as my father continues to teach me, I will also prepare them for what is to come. I am living just a few moments ahead, and my age calls to them as if to say, “Come this way my sons.” I want them to hear, and I want to see them succeed.

President Monson told of arriving in Toronto, Ontario, Canada to begin his service as mission president. He said: "I hadn't been a missionary. I'd received no preparatory training for this important calling. I was young (32). I needed the help of the Lord. I went out behind the mission home and found a secluded spot in the trees where I could pray. I included in my prayer: I'll not be a quitter. I'll give it everything I've got."

Every departing missionary and every one of us involved in other righteous endeavors would be wise and blessed to follow his example and say to the Lord in a private solemn prayer: "I'll not be a quitter. I'll give it everything I've got."

I would like to illustrate an example of living up to our privileges. I have permission to share a valuable insight a friend gained from a conversation with Elder Bednar when he was president of Ricks College as it developed into Brigham Young University-Idaho. She asked him, "How did you handled the stress of having the prophet say, 'You are the president of a two year school. Now figure out how to make it a four year university'?"
He responded, "You are looking at that really funny. What I heard was 'You are the president of the Lord's two year college. Now He wants you to be the president of His university. Ask Him how and He will tell you'--and He did".
He shared with her a valuable pattern for receiving answers to prayer that he had been taught by Elder LeGrande Richards, and he told her that he had done this for 30 years. He opened his planner to a page with questions listed on one side. Those were the questions he needed to answer. During the day he would do everything he could to find the answers. Then, when he would pray at night, he would bring those questions to Heavenly Father. He would ask Him for the answers and promise that tomorrow he would give Heavenly Father his first and his best. Then in the morning, he would write down the answers that would come to him.[10]

Sometimes it may not be easy to take counsel or chastisement, to admit we have made an error and need to repent. One of the reasons I have a testimony that Joseph Smith was, indeed, a true prophet and a man of God, is that he was willing to have recorded in the Doctrine and Covenants his chastisements from God. I don't think a fraud would have been willing to be so exposed.

If ever there was a young man who wanted the safety and security of good friends to stand by him, that young man was Joseph Smith. He eventually found such a friend in Martin Harris. Harris was all that Joseph Smith was not. He was more mature, better educated, more prosperous, and well respected in Palmyra. To have such a man as a friend and benefactor was truly as blessing to the young prophet.

When Martin Harris requested permission to take the first 116 pages of the translation of the plates home so that his wife could see them and stop nagging him about his support of Joseph Smith, Joseph took the request to the Lord. The answer was no. Finally the third time, the Lord said, "yes" and Martin departed from Harmony, Pennsylvania with the 116 pages to show his wife in Palmyra, New York. Martin was given strict instructions about the precious document. It was the "only one" in existence. No scribe had made a copy. It wasn't "backed up" in any way.

Tragic family circumstances kept Joseph Smith from thinking about Martin Harris and the manuscript for a time. But, he eventually became worried, so worried that he traveled to Palmyra to retrieve the 116 pages. When finally confronted with the fact that Martin Harris no longer had the manuscript, Joseph felt that he had lost his soul. He knew the parameters the Lord had set. He also knew that he had wearied the Lord with repeated requests. He lost his gift of translation. He was devastated.

But Joseph was willing to be entreated after this terrible error, an error anticipated by the great prophet Mormon who was persuaded by the Spirit to include the small plates of Nephi with his own abridgement "for a wise purpose" unknown to him. The Lord chastised Joseph in section 3 of the Doctrine and Covenants with these words, "Remember that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but the work of men.... For, behold, you should not have feared man more than God...you should have been faithful; and I [God] would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble... remember, God is merciful; therefore repent of that which thou has done which is contrary to the commandment which I gave you, and thou art still chosen, and art again called to do the work."

Joseph heard the counsel, was submissive and easy to be entreated, and became the great prophet of the restoration who did "more save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it."

As a new General Authority, Elder Marion G. Romney (1897–1988) felt inadequate in fulfilling his important calling, so he sought advice from his friend Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The counsel offered that day both surprised and motivated Elder Romney. Elder Lee said: “If you are to be successful as a General Authority, you will need to be inspired. You will need to receive revelation. I will give you one piece of advice: Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested and then in the quiet of those early morning hours, you will receive more flashes of inspiration and insight than at any other time of the day.”
Years later, reflecting back on that experience, then-President Romney said: “From that day on, I put that counsel into practice, and I know it works. Whenever I have a serious problem, or some assignment of a creative nature with which I hope to receive the influence of the Spirit, I always receive more assistance in the early morning hours than at any other time of the day.”1

On the second Sunday in July, just three weeks after I had received the Aaronic Priesthood, Trixie and I were rushing to complete my paper route so I could attend priesthood meeting. At a full gallop, she ran into some fencing wire which had been carelessly left on the ground. Her feet tangled, and she fell down with me. Newspapers were scattered all over. Yet Trixie stood by until the milkman found me some time later lying unconscious on the ground. I woke up 18 hours later in a hospital in Evanston, Wyoming, the closest hospital to our home. My leg had been badly broken, which forced me to use a wheelchair and crutches for the next six months. Trixie willingly continued her work during the next months with my younger brother on her back. He and she filled my responsibility to my newspaper customers without a single complaint from either.

My friend of many years spent his life as a rancher, doing the hard work of raising cattle and sheep in the rugged Rocky Mountains. He once shared with me the challenges and hazards associated with raising sheep. He described that in early spring, when snow on the expansive mountain range had mostly melted, he placed the family herd of approximately 2,000 sheep in the mountains for the summer. There, he watched over the sheep until late fall, when they were moved from the summer range to a winter range in the desert. He described how tending a large flock of sheep was difficult, requiring early days and late nights—waking well before sunrise and finishing long after dark. He could not possibly do it alone.

Others helped tend the flock, including a mix of experienced ranch hands assisted by younger hands who were benefiting from the wisdom of their companions. He also relied on two old horses, two colts in training, two old sheepdogs, and two or three sheepdog pups. Over the course of the summer, my friend and his sheep faced wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, drought, and just about every other hardship one can imagine. Some years they had to haul water all summer just to keep the sheep alive. Then, every year in late fall, when winter weather threatened and the sheep were taken off the mountain and counted, there were usually more than 200 that were lost.

The flock of 2,000 sheep placed in the mountains in early spring was reduced to less than 1,800. Most of the missing sheep were not lost to sickness or natural death but to predators such as mountain lions or coyotes. These predators usually found the lambs that had strayed from the safety of the flock, withdrawing themselves from the protection of their shepherd. Would you consider for a moment what I have just described in a spiritual context? Who is the shepherd? Who is the flock? Who are those who assist the shepherd?

The Lord Jesus Christ Himself said, “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, … and I lay down my life for the sheep.”7
The prophet Nephi likewise taught that Jesus “shall feed his sheep, and in him they shall find pasture.”8 I find abiding peace in knowing that “the Lord is my shepherd”9 and that each of us is known by Him and under His care. When we confront life’s wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, and drought, the Lord—our Shepherd—will minister to us. He will restore our souls.

In the same way that my friend tended his sheep with the assistance of young and old ranch hands, horses, and sheepdogs, the Lord also requires assistance in the challenging labor of caring for the sheep in His flock.

As children of a loving Heavenly Father and as sheep in His flock, we enjoy the blessing of being individually ministered to by Jesus Christ. Simultaneously, we have a responsibility to provide ministering assistance to others around us as shepherds ourselves. We heed the words of the Lord to “serve me and go forth in my name, and … gather together my sheep.”10
Who is a shepherd? Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom of God is a shepherd. No calling is required. From the moment we emerge from the waters of baptism, we are commissioned to this work. We reach out in love to others because it is what our Savior commanded us to do. Alma emphasized: “For what shepherd … having many sheep doth not watch over them, that the wolves enter not and devour his flock? … Doth he not drive him out?”11 Whenever our neighbors are in distress temporally or spiritually, we run to their aid. We bear one another’s burdens that they may be light. We mourn with those who mourn. We comfort those who stand in need of comfort.12 The Lord lovingly expects this of us. And the day will come when we will be held accountable for the care we take in ministering to His flock.13

My shepherd friend shared another important element in the watchcare of sheep on the range. He described that lost sheep were particularly vulnerable to the dangers of predators. In fact, up to 15 percent of his and his team’s total time was devoted to finding lost sheep. The sooner they found lost sheep, before the sheep drifted too far from the flock, the less likely the sheep were to be harmed. Recovering lost sheep required much patience and discipline.

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.”14 This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

In the New Testament, we find a parable and instruction from the Savior that provide further insight pertaining to our responsibility as shepherds, ministering sisters and brothers, of lost sheep:
“What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
“And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”15
As we summarize the lesson taught in the parable, we find this valuable counsel:
We are to identify the lost sheep.
We search after them until they are found.
When they are found, we may have to lay them on our shoulders to bring them home.
We surround them with friends upon their return.
Brothers and sisters, our greatest challenges and our greatest rewards may come as we minister to lost sheep. The members of the Church in the Book of Mormon “watch[ed] over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness.”16 We can follow their examples and remember that ministering is to be “led by the Spirit, … flexible, and … customized to the needs of each member.” It is also critical that we “seek to help individuals and families prepare for their next ordinance, keep [their] covenants … , and become self-reliant.”17
Every soul is precious to our Heavenly Father. His personal invitation to minister is of greatest value and importance to Him, for it is His work and glory. It is quite literally the work of eternity. Each one of His children has immeasurable potential in His sight. He loves you with a love you cannot even begin to comprehend. Like the devoted sheepdog, the Lord will stay on the mountain to protect you through the wind, rainstorms, snow, and more.
President Russell M. Nelson taught us last conference: “Our message to the world [and, may I add, “to our ministering flock”] is simple and sincere: we invite all of God’s children on both sides of the veil to come unto their Savior, receive the blessings of the holy temple, have enduring joy, and qualify for eternal life.”18
May we raise our sights to this prophetic vision so we can shepherd souls to the temple and ultimately to our Savior, Jesus Christ. He does not expect us to perform miracles. He asks only that we bring our brothers and sisters unto Him, for He has the power to redeem souls. As we do so, we can and will secure this promise: “And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.”19 Of this I testify—and of Jesus Christ as our Savior and our Redeemer—in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.