Gospel Story Finder

As missionaries in Ghana, we washed our clothes by hand on preparation day. Elder Moss, my companion who had recently arrived from the United States, had not experienced this way of doing laundry. But being a native of Ghana, I was used to it.
Every Monday Elder Moss set out to scrub his clothes, but about halfway through the job, his hands and knuckles would start bleeding. I would then need to take over his work, in addition to finishing my own.
One Monday when washing time came around, Elder Moss seemed a bit worried. I had injured my hand the previous day, and he knew that I was not going to be able to help him with his laundry. I wouldn’t even be able to do my own. He started his washing, but as usual, he needed help halfway through.
Since I couldn’t help my companion with the actual washing, I encouraged him to endure—to let his hands rest and then keep trying. He stopped for a time and then continued. I told him he could find a way to finish. His hands and knuckles were still sore, but he pushed on. When the washing was completed, he said, “I am proud of myself. Elder Asante, are you proud of me?”
“Yes, of course I am proud of you,” I answered.
As I have thought about this incident, I realized that Heavenly Father knows our potential, but He tests us so we can develop diligence, patience, and faithfulness. He is pleased with us when we make righteous choices and prove that we can bear our afflictions.
When we work hard and endure the trials placed before us, we can say, “Heavenly Father, art Thou proud of me?” I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are pleased when we endure and that They will tell us so one day when They welcome us home.

There is a story about a man who was walking down the streets of New York when he fell through a hole into the sewer. All day he called out for help, and no one could get him out. A Wall Street trader passed by and wrote him a check. A reporter saw him trapped and stopped to take a picture.

Finally, the man saw his friend look into the sewer. When he asked for help, the friend jumped into the sewer with him.

“What are you doing?” he yelled at his friend. “I’ve been yelling all day and you were my only hope. Now we’re both trapped.”

“Don’t worry,” the friend told the man. “I know how to get out of here. Follow me.”

The point to this story is when you’re in a hole, you need the experience of someone who has been there before and knows how to get out.

Sarah watched everyone gathered around her baby sister, Hannah. The baby was wearing the lacy white dress that Grandma had made. It was so long that when Sarah first saw it, she thought it must be for her. But no, like everything else, it was for the baby.
The doorbell rang. Sarah’s face brightened when she saw Aunt Karen at the door. But then she saw the gift her aunt was holding.
“Another present for the baby,” Sarah thought. She slumped down on the sofa.
When Mom and Dad first told her there was going to be a new baby in the family, Sarah was excited. When Dad took her to the hospital to see her new baby sister, she was thrilled.
But now Sarah wasn’t so excited. Whenever she wanted Mom to help her with something, Mom was taking care of the baby. Everyone wanted to see the baby and hold the baby.
Sarah frowned. It wasn’t fair. No one noticed her anymore. Now Aunt Karen was talking to the baby in a silly, babyish voice.
“She doesn’t know what you’re saying,” Sarah muttered.
“You were sitting so quietly that I didn’t even see you,” Aunt Karen said.
“I always have to be quiet, or I’ll wake up the baby,” Sarah complained.
Aunt Karen sat down by Sarah. “It’s not always easy being the big sister, is it?”
Sarah shook her head.
Aunt Karen handed Sarah the present she was holding. “I brought something for you.”
Sarah’s eyes opened wide. “For me?” she asked.
“It sure is,” Aunt Karen said.
Sarah pulled the ribbons off the package, tore off the paper, and lifted the lid off the box. Inside she found a hair bow, a coloring book, and a pink shirt with glittery letters.
“What does it say?” Sarah asked, holding up the shirt.
“It says, ‘I’m the big sister,’” Aunt Karen said. “I have one for Hannah that says, ‘I’m the baby sister.’”
Sarah gave Aunt Karen a big hug. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re the best aunt.”
“I’m also a pretty good big sister,” Aunt Karen said.
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.
“When I was about your age, my mom had a baby,” Aunt Karen explained. “And do you know who that baby was?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Your mom.”
“Really?” Sarah said.
“It’s true,” Aunt Karen said. “Most of the time I liked being a big sister, but sometimes I felt like the baby was getting all the attention, and I didn’t like that.”
“I feel that way too,” Sarah admitted. She picked up her new hair bow and coloring book. “All the other presents are for Hannah.”
“That’s not true,” Aunt Karen said. “Your mom and dad gave you a great present.”
Sarah was puzzled. “What did they give me?”
“They gave you a baby sister,” Aunt Karen said. “My baby sister was the best gift I ever had, until I got a wonderful niece.”
Sarah giggled. “I’m not just a wonderful niece,” she said. “I’m also a pretty good big sister.”

Recently, I had the unique opportunity to hold a page of the original manuscript of the Book of Mormon. On this particular page, for the first time in this dispensation, these bold words of Nephi were recorded: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”
As I held this page, I was filled with a profound appreciation for the efforts of the 23-year-old Joseph Smith, who translated the Book of Mormon by the “gift and power of God.” I also felt appreciation for the words of a young Nephi, who had been asked to perform a very difficult task in obtaining the plates of brass from Laban.
Nephi knew that if he continued to stay focused on the Lord, he would be successful in fulfilling what the Lord commanded him. He remained focused on the Savior throughout his life even though he suffered temptations, physical trials, and even the betrayal of some in his immediate family.
Nephi knew in whom He could trust. Shortly after exclaiming, “O wretched man that I am! Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh,” Nephi stated, “My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.”
As followers of Christ, we are not spared challenges and trials in our lives. We are often required to do difficult things that, if attempted alone, would be overwhelming and maybe impossible. As we accept the Savior’s invitation to “come unto me,” He will provide the support, comfort, and peace that are necessary, just as He did for Nephi and Joseph. Even in our deepest trials, we can feel the warm embrace of His love as we trust Him and accept His will. We can experience the joy reserved for His faithful disciples, for “Christ is joy.”
In 2014, while serving a full-time mission, our family experienced an unexpected turn of events. When riding down a steep hill on a longboard, our youngest son fell and sustained a life-threatening injury to his brain. As his situation deteriorated, medical personnel rushed him into emergency surgery.
Our family knelt on the floor of an otherwise empty hospital room, and we poured our hearts out to God. In the midst of this confusing and painful moment, we were filled with our Heavenly Father’s love and peace.
We did not know what the future held or if we would see our son alive again. We did know very clearly that his life was in God’s hands and the results, from an eternal perspective, would work out for his and our good. Through the gift of the Spirit, we were fully prepared to accept any outcome.
It was not easy! The accident resulted in a two-month hospital stay while we were presiding over 400 full-time missionaries. Our son experienced a significant loss of memory. His recovery included long and difficult physical, speech, and occupational therapy sessions. Challenges remain, but over time we have witnessed a miracle.
We understand clearly that not every trial we face will have a result we wish for. However, as we remain focused on Christ, we will feel peace and see God’s miracles, whatever they may be, in His time and in His way.
There will be times when we will not be able to see any way that a current situation will end well and might even express, as Nephi, “My heart sorroweth because of my flesh.” There may be times that the only hope we have is in Jesus Christ. What a blessing to have that hope and trust in Him. Christ is the one who will always keep His promises. His rest is assured for all who come unto Him.
Our leaders deeply desire all to feel the peace and comfort that come through trusting in and focusing on the Savior Jesus Christ.
Our living prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, has been communicating the Lord’s vision for the world and for members of Christ’s Church: “Our message to the world 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.”
This invitation to “come unto Christ” has specific implications for Latter-day Saints. As members of the Savior’s Church, we have made covenants with Him and have become His spiritually begotten sons and daughters. We have also been given the opportunity to labor with the Lord in inviting others to come unto Him.
As we labor with Christ, our most deeply focused efforts should be within our own homes. There will be times when family members and close friends will face challenges. The voices of the world, and maybe their own desires, might cause them to question truth. We should do everything we can to help them feel both the Savior’s love and our love. I am reminded of the scripture verse that has become our beloved hymn “Love One Another,” which teaches us, “By this shall … men know … ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”
In our love for those who are questioning truth, the enemy of all joy might try to make us feel that we betray those we love if we ourselves continue to live the fulness of the gospel and teach its truths.
Our ability to help others come unto Christ or return to Christ will largely be determined by the example we set through our own personal commitment to stay on the covenant path.
If our true desire is to rescue those we love, we ourselves must stay firmly with Christ by embracing His Church and the fulness of His gospel.
In returning to Nephi’s story, we know that Nephi’s inclination to trust in the Lord was influenced by his parents’ propensity to trust in the Lord and by their covenant-keeping example. This is beautifully exemplified in Lehi’s vision of the tree of life. After partaking of the sweet and joyful fruit of the tree, Lehi “cast [his] eyes round about, that perhaps [he] might discover [his] family.” He saw Sariah, Sam, and Nephi standing “as if they knew not whither they should go.” Lehi then stated, “I beckoned unto them; and I also did say unto them with a loud voice that they should come unto me, and partake of the fruit.” Please note that Lehi did not leave the tree of life. He stayed spiritually with the Lord and invited his family to come where he was to partake of the fruit.
The adversary would entice some to leave the joy of the gospel by separating Christ’s teachings from His Church. He would have us believe that we can stay firmly on the covenant path on our own, through our own spirituality, independent of His Church.
In these latter days, Christ’s Church was restored in order to help Christ’s covenant children stay on His covenant path.
In the Doctrine and Covenants we read, “Behold, this is my doctrine—whosoever repenteth and cometh unto me, the same is my church.”
Through Christ’s Church, we are strengthened through our experiences as a community of Saints. We hear His voice through His prophets, seers, and revelators. Most importantly, through His Church we are provided with all the essential blessings of Christ’s Atonement that can be realized only through participation in sacred ordinances.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is Christ’s Church on the earth, restored in these latter days for the benefit of all of God’s children.
I bear witness that as we come unto Christ and live as Latter-day Saints, we will be blessed with an added measure of His love, His joy, and His peace. Like Nephi, we can do difficult things and help others do the same, because we know in whom we can trust. Christ is our light, our life, and our salvation. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Not long ago I was in a country that has had missionaries only in the last 15 years or so. The member of the church who was driving me to a meeting made a comment as we drove past a cathedral. “That’s where I first felt the Spirit” he said. He went on to explain, “When I was a boy I went in that cathedral and as I was looking at the paintings and thinking about Jesus I suddenly knew that he was real and that what I had heard about him was not just a fable but was true.” He said that years later when the missionaries came he felt the same thing again as they taught him. He learned the truth by the Spirit and loved the truth. It has made all the difference in his life. He has an eternal marriage and is finding true joy raising his young family.

Where am I? Ashley Brown wondered, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. She was lying in her own bed, that was certain. The toys on the shelf beside the cupboard were hers, but the window was too high, and the door was green.
Then Ashley remembered. She gave a sad sigh and turned on her side. She and Mum and Dad had moved to a new house, and she had left all her friends behind in Clayton.
Slowly Ashley got out of bed and walked to the window. Tall trees shaded the house. The street was empty—except for a girl walking up the sidewalk to Ashley’s house! Ashley pressed her face against the window. The girl had blond hair and was dressed in jeans and a red shirt. She looked up, grinned, and propped up a paper on a porch chair. Then she ran into the park at the corner of the street.
“I wonder what that girl is up to,” Ashley murmured.
After dressing quickly, she hurried downstairs, opened the front door, and grabbed the piece of paper. She read:
“Take twenty-four steps beside the road—You’ll come to a stone that looks like a toad.”
“Mum! Mum!” Ashley called, running into the kitchen. “Look what I found on our front porch.”
Mum was making toast and putting out her special strawberry jam. She read the note while Ashley ate.
“I saw a girl put it there,” Ashley said between gulps of milk. “She was wearing a red shirt, and she had blond hair.”
“How about if I sit on the porch and watch while you find the toad stone?” Mum suggested. She smiled and gave Ashley a big hug as they went out.
Very carefully, Ashley counted twenty-four long steps. And there, right in front of her, was a strange stone. It was high and round. A smaller stone had been placed in front of it, like a head. Ashley smiled. It did look like a toad!
Under the smaller stone was another piece of paper. Ashley read:
“Across the street
Is a short spruce tree.
Look near the trunk
For a clue to me!”
She waved to Mum and held up the new message. Then she crossed the street to the tree. It was dark in the shadow of the green branches. Where’s the next verse? she wondered. On a low branch, Ashley found it. She read:
“Under the bench
At the nearest bus sign,
You’ll see a clue
And know that it’s mine.”
“Why, the bus stop is right across the street from our house!” Ashley laughed as she realized that she’d been walking in a big square. She ran to the bench and looked under it. Sure enough, there was a folded note taped to the bench. She sat on the bench and read:
“Walk down this lane;
Look at the sky.
In the maple tree,
I’m way up high.”
Walking down the lane that led to the bus stop, Ashley looked up at the sky. Soon she saw the maple tree.
All at once she felt shy. What if the girl in the red shirt doesn’t like me? Ashley stood up tall and straightened her shoulders. I wanted a friend, so I’ll have to act friendly, she decided as she hurried over to the tree.
Suddenly she heard a swooshing sound. The end of a rope ladder dropped from the leaves and hung against the bark of the tree trunk.
This was exciting! Ashley put her foot on the bottom loop. It sagged under her weight and swayed back and forth. She grasped both sides of the ladder and started up, her heart beating quickly. When the ladder ended, she squinted and looked around, trying to see where she was. Just above her was a wooden platform. And looking down at her, smiling, was the girl in the red shirt.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Erica Greer. I watched the movers carrying in your furniture. I was sure glad to see you.”
“Hi. I’m Ashley Brown.” As she climbed onto the platform, she saw that it was the floor of a terrific tree house. The roof and sides were made of plastic, and the whole thing was secured to branches of the tree. In one corner was a wooden box with a lid. Erica opened it and took out a tin of cookies, two paper cups, and a bottle of fruit juice.
“I told my mum about the clues and everything,” Erica said, pouring Ashley a cup of juice. “She made us this picnic before going across the street to visit with your mother.”
Ashley munched on a cookie. “I just thought of something,” she said.
“What?” Erica asked.
“No matter where you go, you can make friends—especially if you have friendly clues to follow.”

The memory of that year is still strong. I can remember the smells, the colors, the people, the way the air felt and tasted. I was young, quite young then, but I can still remember.
The transition of summer fading into winter had already begun. The air was cold enough at night to leave a frost on the windows. The leaves of the poplar trees had turned from green to bright yellow, and the potawatomi plums were ripe.
I’d gone down to a thicket of potawatomi trees that grew near Grandma Gleaves’s place with two of my friends. The fruit was warm and fragrant from lying in the sun and was juicy and sweet. We sat under the trees eating and watching Grandma Gleaves’s house. The juice, the color of ripe canteloupes, streamed down our faces.
“I wonder if she’s in there.”
“She never leaves the place.”
“Come on, she’s gotta go out sometime.”
“Nope, Mr. Wilson brings her groceries to her every Saturday.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve watched him. I sat right here.”
“Ever see her?”
“I saw something move through a window once, and I heard her say something to Mr. Wilson when he was bringing her a load of coal.”
“What did she say?”
“It was too far away. I couldn’t hear too well.”
“It’s not that far.”
“I bet you can’t hit it from here.”
Kim reached down and picked up a bright red globe and then stood up.
“I wonder what she looks like.”
He leaned back and threw. The potawatomi arched up into the blue sky and then dropped down, splattering on the ground in front of the porch.
“I can do better than that.”
“Maybe she’ll come out.”
“Naw, she never comes out.” Rick stood up and threw. A fiery golden streak came down and smashed against the side of the house.
“Not bad.”
“Try for the window. Maybe she’ll look out if you hit it.”
I carefully picked out a potawatomi, one that was just a little green, a little harder than most of them. I wound up and put my weight into the throw. It hung in the sky, a second golden sun, and then flashed down.
“Oh, oh!”
The sound of the breaking glass was small and fragile. Reflected pieces of blue sky and of the yellow weeds that grew around the house dropped from the window frame, leaving a dark, jagged hole bordered with waving lace curtains.
We stood frozen, breathless, paralyzed by curiosity. A dark form moved in the broken window.
“Run!”
Rick and Kim turned and ran. I hesitated. The door opened, and in the time it took me to gulp a deep breath of air, I saw her, an old woman, thin, pale, and frightened.
I crashed into the sharp, black branches of the thicket. Potawatomis were crushed under my feet, making my footing slippery. I fell and scrambled, crawling out the other side of the trees, and then ran into a grain field, my heart pounding, the image of the old woman still in my mind.
The grain was bent down, showing the trail that Rick and Kim had made. I followed. Something caught my leg and I fell, tumbling. Rick and Kim were laying in the thick grain laughing.
“Great shot.”
“Got it on my first try,” I said, trying to forget the old woman.
Rick reached over and slapped me on the back.
“If your arm gets tired of patting yourself on the back, I’ll take over. You look like you saw a ghost. Did you see her?”
“No.”
“Do you think she saw us?”
“I doubt it.”
I knew I was in trouble as soon as I got home that night. My father was waiting for me. He wasn’t smiling.
“Where have you been?”
I looked him in the eye brazenly.
“Nowhere.”
“It looks like you’ve been eating potawatomis.”
“Maybe.”
My shirt and pants had orange stains on them.
“There are some potawatomi trees down by Mrs. Gleaves’s, aren’t there?”
“I guess.” I knew I was caught.
“You broke Mrs. Gleaves’s window, didn’t you?”
“I … we …”
“Somebody saw you do it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
My heart was beating so hard now that it felt like a bird in a cage trying to get out. My legs were weak. It wasn’t that I was afraid of being punished. I was just embarrassed that I’d been caught.
My father, the muscles in his jaw flexed tight, watched me quietly for a few minutes.
“I don’t know what’s happening to you, Danny, throwing tomatoes at cars last week, letting that snake loose in the movie house, letting McLuhan’s sheep out during the Pioneer Days parade. You weren’t like this before. Ever since your—”
He stopped abruptly and looked away, silent. We’d never talked about it. It was never mentioned. He hadn’t cried during the funeral, not before and not after. He had just sat silent. After the funeral he’d taken everything that was hers and put it in boxes, taped them shut, and carried them to the basement. Everything about her he had taken and hidden. All that was left was the pain.
“You’re going to apologize to her.”
“No. I won’t.” This wasn’t the punishment I’d expected. I could still see the thin face and the white hair and the fear. It was too much. I couldn’t go back there and face her. I’d rather walk through the cemetery at night, alone. I knew he wouldn’t think much of having me walk through the cemetery at night for punishment, though.
“You can ground me for a month. I’ll sit in my room and I’ll only leave to go to school and church.”
“I don’t see that you have any choice.” His face hardened.
“I’ll rake all the leaves. I’ll clean the garden up.” I was getting desperate. “I’ll wash the dishes for two months.”
“I want you to go down there in the morning.”
“Three months.”
“I want you to tell her that you’ll replace the window and that you’ll help her with her yard work or any other work she needs done every Saturday for a month.”
“That’s too much for one window.”
“It takes a lot of good to make up for something bad. I’ll pick up the glass, and tomorrow after I get back from work, we’ll put it in. Tell Mrs. Gleaves we’re coming.”
It was early when my father dropped me off at the lane that led to Mrs. Gleaves’s house. My father smiled at me when I opened the car door to get out.
“Don’t forget to tell her we’ll be by to put the window in tonight.”
I closed the door, and he drove off leaving a thin vapor trail of dust hanging over the gravel road. I watched until the dust settled and the air was clear again. I kicked a furrow in the soft, dry earth and then started walking slowly toward the house. The fence posts and the trees that lined the lane cast long shadows. A rooster pheasant with his head ducked down ran across the road in front of me and then vanished into tall, yellow grass.
As I walked, I remembered vividly a story about two Mormon missionaries during the Mexican Revolution.
“Will you deny the truth?”
“No. Never.”
“Blindfold?”
“No. I don’t need one.”
I imagined walking bravely to the wall in front of the firing squad. I had reached the gate on the picket fence that surrounded Mrs. Gleaves’s house. I turned around and faced the firing squad. The guns exploded.
Mortally wounded I fell to the ground. I stood up again and looked at the gate. It couldn’t have been any worse for the missionaries to face the firing squad than what I had to do. I felt terrible. It wasn’t just that I felt bad about breaking the window. It was also that I’d been caught doing it.
I walked through the gate. The fence was gray with age and several pickets were broken. There was a large cottonwood tree in the front yard. The bark at the trunk and in spots on up the tree was the same gray color of the fence and was wrinkled like elephant skin. The tree was ancient looking. Everything about the yard looked old, neglected, forgotten.
To the left and in front of the house was the thicket of potawatomi trees sitting red and gold in the morning sunlight. In a direct line from the thicket was the broken window, a dark vacant hole surrounded by the sky and clouds. The house was made of square-cut logs that were fitted together and chinked with plaster. The wood was black-brown from years of exposure to the sun. It made the house look ominous.
I knocked on the door. From deep within the house something stirred, and then the house was silent again. A small wind came up, rustling the leaves that covered the grounds around the house. A few leaves drifted down from the cottonwood tree. Clouds drifted slowly across the sky. The steady sound of a thrasher working an unseen grain field could be heard in the distance.
Finally, after what seemed like several hours, the door opened a crack.
“Who is it?”
“Danny Anderson.”
“What do you want?” Her voice was distant and soft.
“I broke your window yesterday.”
“Window?”
“I broke your window yesterday. It was an accident.”
“Window.” The door closed a little.
“My father and I will come back tonight to fix it. And to pay for it, I’m supposed to do yard work for you.”
She opened the door a little more.
“I’ll be by on Saturday to do the work.”
She closed the door, and I backed off the porch.
That evening, after we finished replacing the window, my father went into Mrs. Gleaves’s house and talked to her while I waited outside.
“She’s expecting you on Saturday,” he said when he came out.
“She’s weird,” I said.
“She kind of withdrew into herself when her husband was killed in an accident. That was 20 years ago. I don’t think she’s been out of her house more than a couple of times since then.” My father was quiet the rest of the way home.
Saturday came too soon. She opened the door and handed me a small bucket.
“Fill it with potawatomis and bring it back to me.”
A few minutes later I handed her the bucket filled with the ripe plums. She took the bucket.
“You can rake the leaves.”
The leaves were almost half a foot deep and covered most of the yard. I’d finished my second pile when the most delicious aroma I’d ever smelled came from the house. It was the fragrance of bread baking and of something wonderfully sweet simmering. I had to rake harder to keep from thinking about it.
At about noon she came out onto the porch and waved to me to come over. She was carrying a plate with two three-inch thick slices of steaming homemade bread covered with melting butter and a golden-red jam. The aroma was indescribable.
She pointed to the porch steps with a hand that held a large glass of milk.
“Sit.”
She handed me the plate and sat down next to me. She watched me quietly as I savored the fragrance of the bread and then took a large bite. Hot homemade bread, fresh butter, hot homemade potawatomi jam—it was delicious. I smiled at her.
“It’s good.”
A smile cracked on her face and then faded. She turned and looked out at the yard.
“It looks awful now. No one has worked on it for a long time. It was once beautiful. We painted the fence every year.”
She pointed to the fence line.
“There were roses there, and in the back we had a garden. The best one in the valley. We had the biggest watermelon in the state once. It took first prize at the state fair. It was as long as you are. We had all of our friends here after the fair. We sat under that cottonwood and ate the melon.”
She sat silent for a long time looking at the yard. I finished the milk and set the glass down. I looked at the yard, trying to see what she was looking at. A small wind blew in short puffs stirring the leaves on the ground and starting more falling from the trees. The air was cool and smelled of fall, and the sun was bright and warm.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful it was then,” she said. She wasn’t exactly talking to me.
“I’d better get back to work. My father will be here at 2:00.”
I stood and picked up the rake I’d leaned against the porch.
“Thanks for the bread and jam. I’ve never had potawatomi jam before.”
“It was John’s favorite. He planted the trees.”
That fall passed quickly. The following week while I chopped down the patches of tall yellow weeds and piled them, she made pie from apples I had picked from the tree that grew out behind the house. The week after that she made cookies filled with blueberries. I’m not sure when or why I started looking forward to Saturdays. I even enjoyed the work.
On the fifth Saturday my father came along to help. We brought paint that we had left over from painting our house. He repaired broken pickets while I painted. At noon Mrs. Gleaves brought out sandwiches and fresh-made doughnuts and milk. We sat underneath the old cottonwood tree while we ate. It was a cool day. The air was cold, but the sun was warm. Mrs. Gleaves had a sweater wrapped around her shoulders.
“It looks good,” she said. “The yard is looking real good.”
My father touched me on the shoulder.
“Mrs. Gleaves was my Sunday School teacher,” he said. Mrs. Gleaves laughed.
“That was a long time ago. Your wife was in the class too. She wasn’t your wife then, was she though?”
My father was silent. He kept eating like he hadn’t heard her.
“She had a temper, didn’t she? I remember we were building models of the city of Bethlehem out of Epsom salts one Sunday. I don’t remember what you did, but she got mad at you and dumped the whole bucket of salt on you right there in church.”
My father looked up laughing.
“I’d forgotten about that. She didn’t get angry very often but when she did. … When we were first married, I told her that the mashed potatoes she’d made were burnt. She picked up the bowl and walked over to me. She smiled and opened my shirt front and dumped the whole mess in. ‘You don’t have to eat them,’ she said.”
We all laughed. My father suddenly stopped. He looked down at his hands. They were trembling. A tear streamed from an eye. My throat felt raw, like something was caught in it.
“She died, didn’t she?”
My father nodded, still looking down at his hands.
“I thought I remembered hearing that. It’s a hard thing.”
My father stood.
“I’ve got to be going,” he said. “Dan can finish with the painting.”
After he’d left, she said, “He took your mother’s death pretty hard, didn’t he?”
I nodded. She sat silent, looking at me.
“He’s lucky he has you.” She continued. “You’re a good boy.”
She stood up slowly, kneeling first and then bracing herself on the tree. My father had told me that she was at least 80 years old.
“John and I never had any children.” She looked up at the sky and held the sweater tight around her shoulder. “The snow will be here before next Saturday,” she said. “You’ve done good work with the yard. Thank you.”
She closed the door going into her house. I was alone. The air was growing even colder than it had been. The sky had clouded over and was a dark, slate color. The whole valley seemed to have darkened. I looked over at the potawatomi trees. Deep, deep inside of me a pain was swelling up. I walked over to the thicket. A covey of quail were feeding on the soft, overripe plums. They ran single file back into the thicket as I approached. The branches on the trees were dark, bare skeletons now. I reached down and picked up one of the plums. It smelled sweet and earthy.
I hadn’t helped my father. I looked at the window that reflected the dark clouds and the barren fields. I’d hurt him, maybe not intentionally, but just the same I’d hurt him. I’d been too busy feeling my own pain to help anyone, him or even myself.
The potawatomi squashed in my closed fist. The fragrant juice squeezed out between my fingers. I wiped my hands on my pants and went back to finish the fence.
The next week the fence looked good in the snow, white on white. A few leaves had fallen from the trees after the snow had come, coloring the white with gold. I helped Mrs. Gleaves bring coal in for her stove. I helped her with the coal and with her groceries the rest of that winter. Mr. Wilson was glad to have the help. He was getting old himself. And sometimes on particularly cold nights I would go to her house in the evenings and sit next to her old-fashioned stove, feeling the radiant warmth and talking, and sometimes my father came with me.

“Missions are fine for some people, bishop, but not for me. I’ve been out with the missionaries, and all the good we did was to relieve some people’s frustrations by letting them slam a door in our face, and someone else threw a beer can at us. Now what good is that? If you ask me, bishop, I’ll do the world a lot more good by getting through school and becoming a doctor. Besides, if I went on a mission I would lose my scholarship.”
The bishop sat calmly through my whole speech. I don’t know how he could be so calm, because he had heard this speech twice before. He just leaned back in his chair, sighed softly, and said good naturedly, “You are stubborn, aren’t you? Well, I’ve done everything I can to help you understand how important a mission is, but the final decision is yours and I guess you have made it. If anything changes your mind,” he added with a smile, “be sure to tell me.”
“If anything can change my mind, you will be the first to know.”
I saw my friend Ted sitting underneath a tree in the middle of the church lawn as I walked outside. I walked over to where he was and sat down beside him. Neither one of us spoke for a moment, but then Ted said, “So, what happened?”
“It was just the same old speech by both of us. He told me to let him know if I changed my mind,” I said with a chuckle.
“Maybe you will.”
“Now come on, Ted. You know me better than that. Nothing could make me change my mind.”
“All I know is that the bishop is pretty inspired sometimes.”
“We’ll see,” I said confidently. “Come on, let’s go home.”
The early spring air was still a bit cool, but it felt good blowing through my hair. The budding maple trees on the side of the street disappeared behind us one by one as we passed by.
Ted and I had grown up together. We lived just a few houses apart on the same street. He had just recently decided that he was going to go on a mission. He would be leaving soon after graduation, which was in a few months. It really made me feel bad that we wouldn’t be rooming together at college like we had originally planned.
When we reached Ted’s house, we both sat down on his porch steps for a minute.
“Hey, Ted,” I said, “after you eat dinner do you want to go to the creek and see if any water snakes are out yet, just for old times’ sake?”
“I’d like to, but I’m going home teaching after dinner.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll see you at school in the morning.”
I jogged on up to my house and ran into the kitchen just in time to hear the “amen” of the blessing on the food. My mom and dad and little sister greeted me as I sat down. I knew they were all wondering how my talk with the bishop had turned out. Of course, I had discussed it with my parents before. They had encouraged me strongly to go on a mission but had always let me know that it was my decision. Just so they wouldn’t ask me any uncomfortable questions now at dinner, I hinted at what happened by remarking how I would miss Mom’s cooking while I was at college. I knew they were hurt and disappointed, but the bishop was right when he said I was stubborn.
After dinner I helped Mom with the dishes. Through the kitchen window I could see the hay fields behind the house and the creek which lay beyond. It looked so nice outside that I thought I would walk down by the creek even if Ted couldn’t go. After the dishes were done, I changed my clothes and started walking across the empty hay fields. The sun was warm on my back, and the air was cool and clean. It really made me feel good. When I got to the creek I lay down on my belly in a patch of tall grass. The bank where I was lying was about three feet higher than the creek and was eroded quite badly. I just lay there soaking in the sun and listening to the forlorn call of the mourning doves. The sound of the moving water lulled the thoughts of a mission and the bishop out of my mind. I had almost forgotten about my original idea of walking along the creek to look for water snakes and was almost asleep when I felt something wet and slippery slide up my pant leg. Now I know it isn’t manly to scream, but I’m no John Wayne, and I let out a yelp and leaped forward. The eroded bank gave way, and I tumbled into the creek. That water was really cold. Not wanting to impose on the snake’s territory, I quickly waded ashore and climbed back up the bank to level ground. I was surprised to see a girl my age with a concerned look on her face standing there watching me.
“Are you all right? Here, take my jacket. You must be freezing.”
Hesitantly I took her jacket, wrapped it around me, and then sat down in the sun to rest and dry off.
“I hope you will forgive me. I didn’t mean to scare you that bad.”
From the confused look on my face she must have gathered that I didn’t understand what she was talking about, so she went on to explain.
“I saw you lying there and I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know if you were asleep, so I touched your leg with this stick I pulled out of the creek. You were awake all right,” she said with a giggle.
My face went kind of red. “I thought it was a snake. There’s a lot of them around here, you know. Anyway, who are you?”
“I’m Susan Ward. My dad and I moved into that red brick house about a half mile up the road yesterday.”
“Just you and your dad?”
“My mom died a few months ago in a car accident. There were too many memories of her in the old house, so we moved.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. We both sat quietly for a moment. I threw a couple of rocks into the creek. Then I changed the subject.
“Are you in high school?”
“Yes, I’m a junior this year. I’m kind of nervous about going to school tomorrow. I don’t know anybody there.”
“I can understand that.” I thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to sound forward, but I would be happy to pick you up and take you to school tomorrow and show you around to your classes.” Then I added, “Just don’t tell anyone how we met.”
She smiled. “That would be nice, and I won’t say a word.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
We talked a little longer, and then because of my shivering I decided I’d better go home and change clothes, so we said good-bye and went our separate ways.
My family had a hard time finding out how I got all wet and muddy. When they finally pried the truth out of me they had a good laugh.
Later that night I was in bed reading when my little sister tiptoed into my room.
“Hi, Chad.”
“Hi, Sara. What are you still doing up?”
Sara is eight years old. She has sandy hair and blue eyes. And she and I are good buddies.
“I couldn’t sleep. Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Did you catch a cold or anything from falling in the creek?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
Sara sat there playing with her toes for a moment. Then she looked up at me and asked, “What does Susan look like?”
I leaned back and thought for a minute, trying to picture her in my mind.
“Oh, Susan is a lot shorter than me. She has short, brown hair with threads of red in it. She has big brown eyes and a cute little nose.”
“She sounds pretty.”
“She is. Kind of spunky, too,” I added thoughtfully.
“Is Susan a Mormon?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then are you going to convert her?”
Sara was looking me right in the eye when she asked that question. I don’t think I would have felt any more uncomfortable if it had been a General Authority who had asked me.
“Uh, well, maybe. What makes you think that Susan would be interested in the Church?” I was trying to put Sara on the spot just like she had done to me, but she answered quickly and sincerely.
“Don’t you think that she would like to be able to live with her family and Heavenly Father forever if she could, just like you and me?”
Now my bishop had given me all kinds of reasons for being a missionary and I had always been able to come up with excuses, but it was different coming from my little sister. All I could say to her statement was, “Yeah, I guess she would.”
“Well, I’m tired now. I better go to bed.” With that she reached over and gave me a hug and then disappeared out my bedroom door.
Leave it to my little sister to find my conscience. In her simple way she had made missionary work sound important. I didn’t sleep very well that night.
I picked up Susan a little early the next morning so I would have time to show her where her classes would be. It ended up that she was in my chemistry class. I have seminary last period in the seminary building across the street from the high school. Susan must have seen me come out of it after class, because when I was taking her home she asked me what class I had in that building. I told her that it was seminary, which is a religion class for my church. When I told her that, I remembered my talk with Sara last night and thought, “Here’s my chance to see if Susan wants to know about the Church.” It took a minute to build up nerve, but finally I asked, “Are you interested at all in religion?”
Susan stiffened up a little when I asked that question. She answered curtly, “No, I’m not. I used to believe in God until he took my mother away. But not anymore.”
I was embarrassed and scared to say anything else. Every time I do something to try to spread the gospel people get mad. It’s good I’m not going on a mission, I thought.
I continued to pick Susan up and take her to school for a week. By then she had made some girl friends and they took over. After that I didn’t see Susan much except in chemistry. We were lab partners, and we had a lot of fun working together. She never let me forget about the snake and the creek. I never forgot about the religion discussion we had in the car, but I never brought it up again.
It wasn’t long after that short discussion that Sara asked me if I had told Susan about the Church yet. I told her what happened in the car, thinking she would be satisfied with my attempt. All she said was, “You just approached her the wrong way.”
I was a little irritated that Sara thought she knew more than me. “Then show me how you would approach her,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, walking to the phone. “Tell me her number, and I will show you.”
Her seriousness surprised me. “No way. You just tell me how you would do it.”
“You are just a scaredy-cat,” she said accusingly. With that she stomped out of the room. I wanted to argue more with her, but I knew she was right. I was a scaredy-cat.
About three weeks before graduation, Ted and I decided to have a party at my house. We invited ten friends of ours and told them to bring dates. I had a hard time finding a date. I called a couple of girls from my ward, but both of them were busy that night. I didn’t know it, but my little sister was sitting outside my bedroom listening to me trying to get a date. After my second strike she stuck her head through the doorway and said, “Ask Susan.”
I usually get after Sara when she listens to me talking on the phone, but this time her suggestion caught my attention first. “Well, I guess I could.”
“Do it. Then maybe you could talk to her about the Church again.”
“Sara, this will be a party, not Sunday School.”
“But you never know what might come up …”
I cut her off. “Maybe, but I don’t want you saying anything about religion to her unless she asks. Okay?” I said that because I knew Susan wouldn’t ask.
“Okay,” my sister said with a shrug.
I didn’t trust her.
I did call Susan and was excited when she said that she would like to come.
The night of the party came, and so did all of my friends and their dates. We had a barbecue out back and then went down in the family room and played some games. After the games, Susan and some of the other girls went upstairs to the kitchen to fix some banana splits. Since I was the host, I went up after them to see if they could find all of the things they needed. When I got to the kitchen I found all of the girls working on the banana splits except Susan. “Where’s Susan?” I asked.
“I think she is in the front room with your little sister,” answered one of the girls.
“Oh no,” I thought as I walked to the front room. Sure enough, there was Susan sitting next to my little sister, who was in her nightgown. They had the big book on the temples in their laps. I was in the process of giving my sister a “You are in big trouble” look when Susan said in a serious voice, “I asked your little sister about that cross-stitch picture on the wall that says ‘Families are Forever,’ and she was just showing me these temples and telling me how families can get that way.”
Sara just smiled at me.
“Your sister was telling me that I could be with my mother again someday. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is,” I managed to say.
Susan sat there quietly thinking, and I stood there quietly wondering what to say next when Sara mouthed out the words, “The missionaries.”
I don’t know how I did it, but I heard the words coming out of my mouth, “Would you like to come back tomorrow night and talk to a couple of young men who could tell you a lot more about how families can be forever?”
I was getting ready for another rejection when Susan answered excitedly, “Yes, I would. Could my father come, too?”
I was too shocked to answer, but my sister spoke up. “Yes, that would be great!” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I don’t remember what happened the rest of the night except that when I got back from taking Susan home I found Sara lying asleep on my bed. I picked her up gently and carried her to her room. As I tucked her into bed I thought of the scripture, “Except ye … become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).
I wanted to wake Sara up and tell her I was sorry for being so afraid of being a missionary, but instead I kissed her on the cheek and went to my own room.
Three weeks after Susan and her father had their first discussion, they were baptized. I had the honor and privilege of baptizing Susan, and my father baptized her father. My heart did a lot of changing during those three weeks. I guess while the Spirit was converting Susan and her father, it was also doing a little work on me. It wasn’t until I heard Susan’s father bear his testimony after his baptism that my heart was totally changed. This is part of what he said:
“I could become a millionaire, or I could become famous, but nothing greater could happen to me than to have the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and know that I have the opportunity to live with my Heavenly Father and my family forever.”
Then I understood fully how 18 months spent on a mission could do more good than 50 years as a doctor. After the closing prayer my little sister came up to me, gave me a big hug, and said, “Missionary work is worth it, isn’t it?” A tear rolled down my cheek as I nodded. Then I said, “Let’s find the bishop. I have something to tell him.”

Here is an example. On a recent flight from Salt Lake City to New York City, my seat assignment was changed at the last moment—in this case, perhaps not without purpose.

I asked my new seat companion if she was traveling to New York or Milan, the plane’s final destination. The question opened a conversation. After explaining she had spent her life as a bilingual, bicultural Italian-English translator, she began quizzing me about Italian art and culture.

As she queried me about Michelangelo, I remembered a BYU humanities class with Professor Todd A. Britsch. I was able to say that in Michelangelo’s statue Pietà, the same piece of Carrara marble feels alive and lifeless at the same time. Mary is alive with compassion while the body of her son, our Savior, hangs lifeless.

My airplane companion nodded approvingly. We then talked about the Sistine Chapel, where God’s vibrant hand touches Adam’s limp hand, and about Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece The Last Supper in Milan.

Then we talked about Dante. After studying Shakespeare for five years in London, she thought Shakespeare might approximate Dante’s genius and accomplishment. What did I think?

I remembered BYU classes on Shakespeare with Professor Arthur Henry King and others, but I diplomatically suggested both Shakespeare and Dante were great literary figures.

Then something unexpected happened. Seemingly out of the blue, this good woman quietly asked, “You want to know how my son died, don’t you?”

We had been discussing Italian art and ­literature—her language of love. I am an amateur in that language, but perhaps because I was willing to try to listen with my heart, she felt she could say, “My son committed suicide. I am going to Italy to make arrangements.” She then added, “I feel you are a man of God. God put you here today because I have no one I can talk to about these things.”

For the rest of the flight we spoke tenderly about God’s plan of happiness, the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and how families can be together forever. I testified of ordinances and covenants found in the holy house of the Lord and invited her to visit the Manhattan New York Temple or, someday, the Rome Italy Temple.

Thank you, BYU, for teaching general and discipline education and the language of the heart. Such enriches our lives and, in unexpected times and places, allows us to connect with others in ways they understand and value.

I have learned from personal experience that this is true. A few years ago, when my youngest child was in junior high, I began to get a prompting that I needed to go back to school and finish my education. I had only had one year of college before I was married; all I ever wanted to do was be a mom, and I loved being a mom; it was my favorite job ever, but life doesn't always work out the way you planned. It's full of surprises, so be prepared to adjust! Anyway, at that time I had a very strong impression that I needed to get an education and that I needed it NOW. I thought about all the majors that would get me a job making lots of money, but that just didn't seem to be what I was supposed to do. My great love was literature, so after some consideration, I decided that what I really wanted to do was major in English and teach at Ricks College. I prayed about it and had a confirmation of the spirit that that was what I should do. I finished my associate's degree at Ricks College and then I had to move on to a 4-year university. Just to see what my chances of teaching at Ricks College were, I went to visit with the person who was the English Department chair at that time (I won't mention any names, and I'm sure that person won't remember this). He told me that the department had all the teachers they needed and that he didn't foresee any need for more teachers for a long time. He said, "If I were you, I would change my major." Well, that was a little discouraging, but I knew what I had been told to do, so I went ahead with it in spite of the odds. I knew that if that's what the Lord had told me to do, there must be a reason, although I couldn't necessarily see it at the time. I finished my bachelor's and master's degrees at Idaho State University, and interestingly enough, the year that I finished, there was an opening in the English Department. There has been almost every year since, so here I am. Obviously, the Lord knew something that that English Department chair did not—well, actually none of us did! If I had not followed the promptings of the Lord, I would not have been prepared when the opportunity came. And, more importantly, I would not have been prepared to provide for my family when, the year after I graduated, my husband died suddenly of a heart attack. I could not have foreseen that, but my Heavenly Father knew, and He helped me to be ready. I love the Lord; I trust Him, and I absolutely know that I could not do any of the things I do without His help. I don’t know the whole plan for my life, but I know that He does, and I know that if I try to live worthy and follow the promptings of the spirit, I will be prepared for whatever happens in my life.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”

One Wednesday afternoon, I really made a difference in my life as well as in another person’s life. A girl in my class had been very annoying and had refused to answer our teacher when he asked her questions. He very patiently asked her to go to the principal’s office, but again she refused, so he decided to do something different.
All the girls at our group of desks were stunned when he had her sit by us. Then he told us that since she was being disagreeable, we could move our desks away from her. One by one, the other girls moved their desks.
We all know how it feels to be left alone without anyone. I could have increased my popularity by going off, too, which I thought about doing. Or I could stay with her and be more Christlike and not have a guilty conscience. I remembered all the times that Jesus stood up for those who had no one, and I decided to be like Him.
The poor girl started crying, so I put my arm around her and comforted her. I knew that I had chosen the right, and I knew that Father in Heaven smiles when He sees us love each other. That was the day when I knew that, indeed, it is very possible to love one another.

When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.

Before the trek began, youth and adults spent hundreds of hours building handcarts, welding wagon wheels, sewing clothing, preparing food, and planning. The youth, wanting to make the trek their own, put much of their own effort into the preparations.

Kaylene Forbes, a Laurel of the Soldotna Ward, said, “I did a lot of sewing to prepare for the trek. The skirts and the aprons weren’t very difficult, but the bonnet was hard. After I was finished, though, especially on the trek, I was glad that I did everything myself.”

Each handcart “family” was led by a young man and young woman, called a Pa and Ma, and were also accompanied by adult leaders. The Mas and Pas even arrived early for special training.

“We worked hard,” Brother Forbes, Soldotna’s Young Men president, said. “Hundreds and hundreds of hours, but it was worth 100 times the effort that went into it. It was better than we could have ever dreamed.”

Throughout the trek, efforts to bring to life 19th-century pioneers included a mock Mormon Battalion march and a women’s pull, but no one could plan for one disheartening element they had in common with the pioneers—the weather. One of the original handcart pioneers, John Southwell, who traveled in the Haven handcart company crossing Iowa in 1856, records that they experienced hail, rain, wind, and ankle-deep mud.

One hundred and fifty years later, when the Alaska participants reached the trailhead on the first day of their trek, rain gushed down. The long, muddy trail wandered up tall hills, and the handcart wheels sunk in deep sand.

On the third day, the group awoke to a terrible storm with winds blowing more than 50 miles per hour. Pegs pulled loose, tents collapsed, the rain pounded down, and dark clouds covered the entire sky. Fearing that the weather would stop the trek, the leaders knelt in prayer. President Randy Eberline of the stake presidency asked the Lord to calm the storm. Throughout the camp, trek families also knelt and prayed for relief from the weather. Suddenly, the clouds parted and a bowl of warm sunlight shone down. Kelly Maxwell, a priest from Sterling, described the answer to their combined prayers: “President Eberline prayed for there to be sunlight, and I was also hoping and praying that it would work. Minutes later we saw a break in the sky, and we started to see blue and then the sun just came out of the clouds.”

Kaylene described it this way: “The wind stopped, and you could see the clouds parting and the sun coming out. It was like seeing Moses parting the Red Sea, except this time God parted the clouds for us.”

Brother and Sister Matt and Jodi Clark arrived that evening to speak at a fireside. They reported that on the 100-mile drive from Anchorage it had been pouring rain. As they crested the last hill before reaching the camp, they saw the most incredible sight. Sunlight flooded the camp while the rest of the sky, as far as they could see in all directions, was full of dark clouds.

James Barrett, a priest from the Kenai Ward, said, “It was wonderful to feel the sun again, the warmth and the light that brought encouragement and hope. It was a miracle. It was as if the Lord had stretched out his hand and protected us from the harsh weather by surrounding our camp with sunlight.”

The next day included special devotionals, a memorial fireside, and a testimony meeting, solidifying the spirit of the experience. It started with a devotional in the wilderness for each handcart “family.” At the devotional the youth received a letter written by their parents. Some of the youth later said that during this quiet time they received their first witness of the truthfulness of the gospel. Cyril Zufelt, 17, of Soldotna said, “When I got my letter, I was touched. That was a huge turning point in my life. I’m never going to forget it.”

Then, after walking for several miles, the group was halted by the trail boss who instructed each person to pick up a rock. In a valley between two large hills, they held a special memorial service dedicated to all of the pioneers left behind on the trail, especially those of the Martin and Willie handcart companies, who had lost so many to the early winter weather and starvation. Each person placed their rock on a small memorial of the earlier pioneers. Sister Meyer remarked, “I couldn’t believe how hard it was to walk past that little memorial and think of the families that left loved ones behind. I don’t know how they had the strength to do it.”

As they packed up their tents, put away their bonnets and suspenders, and returned to inside plumbing, the youth took away more than blisters and soggy hiking shoes—they took with them an appreciation for the Saints who traveled 150 years ago and 3,600 miles away. Most of all, they took with them a stronger testimony of the gospel.

Lyssa DaVaney, a Laurel in the Homer Ward, said, “When I left for the trek, I knew that I would be coming back. The pioneers knew they would never go back to their homes again. The trek was such an awakening experience for me. I learned so much about the pioneers, Heavenly Father, and myself. I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything.”

“A Latter-day Saint missionary couple at the trading post baptized my husband when he was ten years old, and he attended Church services from that time on. He was selected to be part of the Church’s placement program and was to be sent to Utah to live with a foster family and go to school. An hour before the bus was to leave, a friend, Brother Bloomfield, put a bowl on his head and gave him a quick haircut. All of his belongings were put into a shoe box—he had no shoes. There were more holes in the Levis he was wearing than there was denim material. He was put on a bus at night, given two dollars by Brother Bloomfield, and told that he would arrive there by morning.”
At this point, I was thinking how difficult it must have been for that little boy to leave his family to go all alone on a bus to a place with a different culture where he knew no one. The only tie that he had with them was that he was a member of the Latter-day Saint Church.
The General Authority’s wife continued: “On the first day at his new school in Utah the children all gathered round my husband. They had never seen an Indian before. ‘Where’s your war paint?’ they asked. ‘Where are your moccasins?’
“The new foster parents were concerned because their Indian son was so shy. In fact, the only words he spoke to them during the first three months were yes and no. At Christmastime they gave him some new clothes—two pairs of pants, four shirts, two pairs of stockings, etc. The mother asked him to go upstairs and try them on. After quite a while he came downstairs with all of the shirts, pants, and socks on at the same time. It was difficult to get used to a new language and customs.
“Even though my husband’s now very busy, he enjoys football and basketball. When he’s hot, he has a great corner shot and can’t miss! When he has spare time, which isn’t often, he loves to play the harmonica. Last Christmas he played for the General Authorities at their Christmas party.
“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”
His small children had these comments: “When Daddy comes home, he tells me that if I eat my dinner he’ll give me a horsey ride. Sometimes he’ll give my friend a ride too!”
“Dad is helping me to save money for my mission.”
“My daddy shows us how to clean. He always tells us to clean the counter when we wash the dishes.”
“He’s kind.”
“When he plays football with us, we all have to speak nicely.”
When asked about her husband’s favorite topic to speak on, she said, “He always says that we’re all God’s children, no matter what color we are, and that our church has no room for prejudice. When he speaks, he represents the whole Church, not just the Lamanite people.”

Let's move forward again to November 1991 and get a picture of one of the best BYU-Hawaii basketball teams ever, playing a game in Idaho. There was, on this team, our oldest son Dave, President Shumway's son Jeff, and about the best leaper in college basketball in those days, whose name was Barry Hardy. This guy could practically dunk it with his elbows. He was doing slam dunks from the free throw line before Michael Jordon was. In the game he came down wrong and tore his anterior cruciate ligament. The doctor who examined him thought the injury was so severe that he was through for the season. Our son wrote us a letter the other day, containing a wonderful account of what happed next:

"We were playing in Idaho and Barry hurt his knee pretty bad. Dr. Nielsen looked at it on the court, then went with Barry into the locker room. Later, he told Coach Wagner that Barry was done. His knee was injured pretty severely."

"That night, the entire team and the coaching staff and school administrators, gathered in Barry's room. Somebody had asked Barry (who was not a member of the church) if he wanted a blessing and Barry said, 'Oh, I don't know.' One of the other non-LDS players told Barry, 'You better do it. Those blessings really work.' It was a cool experience. All the Melchizedek priesthood holders on the team stood in a circle around Barry and we blessed him (following the anointing from Jeff Shumway). Even though the coaches and administrators were in the room, they did not participate in the blessing. This was a team thing. It's not like we planned it this way, it just sort of naturally happened. Looking back on it, I don't know why the coaches and President Shumway were not invited into the circle...we probably should have! I suppose it was akin to the brotherhood we felt as a team. Anyway, it was a spiritual moment for everyone, member and non-member alike."

"Within three weeks Barry was playing with us again. Our best athlete, and Nike slam dunk champ, was again flying above the rim for the rest of the season."

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”
As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

When the Hinckleys began the trip home, they learned that the plane would refuel on the island of Saipan. President Hinckley asked if there were any missionaries on Saipan and was told that there was a small number. Although he was at the end of an exhausting trip, he wanted to meet with those few missionaries: “I asked if we might somehow get word to them that we would land in Saipan about 7:00 p.m. and would try to come out at the airport to greet them.”
Hours later in Saipan, 10 missionaries and about 60 Church members were there to greet the Hinckleys. “They threw their arms around us,” President Hinckley recorded. “They were so grateful to see us, and we were grateful to see them. We could spend only a very short time with them since only a brief time was needed to refuel the plane. We left our blessing with them and went back to the plane.”12

Some time ago, I had experiences that caused me to stray. I stopped going to church and reading my scriptures, and I started doing and saying things I shouldn’t. I didn’t care at all. I put God at the back of my thoughts and out of my heart.
Then my seminary teacher brought up a question that changed my perspective. He asked, “Would you like to know when you’re going to die? And if you did know, what would be some things you would change?” Most of the students in my class said they would be more charitable, read their scriptures more consistently, and make up with people they were mad at.
As I was pondering about this, I thought, “Shouldn’t we already be doing those things? It shouldn’t take the matter of death for us to decide to do them. And if we do them, we don’t have to worry about our salvation.”
Then I thought about the things I was doing and how, if I continued to do them, I probably would not end up in the place I wanted to be. I told myself that I won’t have to worry if I try harder to do the things I need to and should do, but first I had to give my heart back to God.
I know that we are children of our Heavenly Father and that bad things happen for a reason: to strengthen us and our faith. If we continue to do the things we should and remember that God always loves us and wants us to be eternally happy, then we will be happy.

In 1959 when I received my call to preside over the Northwestern States Mission, it came at a most inconvenient time. But both Sister Richards and I felt that if the Lord wanted us to go, then we should go.
Many of our friends, Church members and nonmembers, indicated that they felt we were making a real sacrifice. We felt otherwise, and as President McKay set me apart, he promised me that it would be the happiest time of our lives. And it was, because our entire time was spent in serving our fellowmen. And we remembered the words of King Benjamin, “… when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17.)