Gospel Story Finder

Once while I was visiting a class of young women, the teacher asked the class to write their top-10 goals in life. Then she asked them to share what they had written. Abby, who had recently turned 12, was sitting next to me. This was Abby’s list:
Go to college.
Become an interior designer.
Go on a mission to India.
Get married in the temple to a returned missionary.
Have five kids and a home.
Send my kids on missions and to college.
Become a “cookie-giving” grandma.
Spoil the grandchildren.
Learn more about the gospel and enjoy life.
Return to live with Heavenly Father.
Abby had a vision of the plan Heavenly Father has for all of us. When your path is focused on that most important goal of returning to Heavenly Father, you will get there!

Here is an example of how this played out in my gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon.

I came home to Honolulu after my freshman year at BYU, planning to work for the summer and submit my mission papers. As a way to prepare, I thought it would be a good idea to read the entire Book of Mormon before I received my mission call.

I recorded in my journal that I completed the final interviews with the bishop and stake president for my missionary application on June 3. It was an exciting time, and I anticipated receiving my call a short time later.

After two weeks, my expectations began to build. (I know a two-week wait for anything seems long nowadays). Yet, every day when I checked the mailbox, nothing came for me. After the 3rd week passed, I was slightly worried, but towards the end of the fourth week, I was getting frustrated. I was at a “how is it possible?” intersection wondering what was going on.

In my heart, I was starting to murmur, wanting reasons to blame for the delay. I had followed the process with the then required language test, done the dental check-up, medical exam, and interviews. I was working double shifts at a restaurant to earn money to help support me for two years. How could it be taking so long?

I thought I had done the right things and was disappointed that the situation was not going the way I expected. In reality, it was disappointing that things were not going as they should for a much different reason. It did not occur to me that my slow progress in reading the Book of Mormon might be a contributing factor.

I had been enjoying a care-free summer, and in being honest with myself, when I started reading the Book of Mormon, it was not with real intent. I had not made it a serious goal and was not committed enough in renewing my testimony of it. I had become too casual in my scripture study. I needed to repent, change my schedule as well as my heart, and be humble in my preparation to be a full-time missionary.

When I finally began to act with a “sincere heart” and “real intent,” [5] I stopped thinking about wanting a mission call and instead tried to focus on what Heavenly Father wanted me to learn. The Book of Mormon became a priority, and I found it fascinating to read. As Alma taught, when we plant and nurture a true seed in our hearts, it begins to enlarge our souls, enlighten our understanding, and becomes delicious to us. [6]

When I eventually finished the last chapter of Moroni, I closed the book and said a prayer. I felt a real thrill, a sense of accomplishment, as well as peace. I knew it was true and was excited to share it with others.

At that moment, I also felt assured that my mission call would come the next day. That would be July 23rd, and sure enough, when I went out to the mailbox, the envelope with my mission call to Hong Kong was waiting for me. In reflecting on this experience, I have learned that a seed planted with faith and purpose will grow and bear fruit, whereas a seed planted with hesitation and excuses will result in an empty pot, or in my case, an empty mailbox.

So how is it possible that the Lord would teach me so personally and directly about the importance of the Book of Mormon? The envelope from Salt Lake City had been postmarked the 20th, so the Lord knew of my progress and timed it perfectly, as he always does. It took seven weeks for me to receive my mission call, but it wasn’t just a lesson in patience. It was an investment the Lord made in me with the gift of testimony. I still marvel today how I was specifically tutored. I needed to pay the price to learn what I wanted to teach. As a result, I was able to enter the mission field with motivation and enthusiasm to share the truths of the Book of Mormon. I was able to serve with greater confidence and sincerity because I knew from God how important it was and that it was true.

The personal miracle I speak of had its earliest beginnings with the Prophet Joseph. He introduced the concept of constructing temples where sacred ordinances and instruction could be received. You’ll remember the first temple was built at great sacrifice in Kirtland, Ohio. It was completed and dedicated in 1836.

The saints had hoped to build additional temples; but, during the next few years, circumstances prevented them from doing so. In 1839, the main body of the Church moved to a bend on the Mississippi River known as Commerce. Now it is known as Nauvoo, meaning beautiful.

Under the direction of the Prophet Joseph, the Saints drained the swampland and created one of the most prosperous and populous cities in the state of Illinois. That was a big miracle.

The following year, plans were underway to construct a temple, a sacred House of the Lord. The Prophet Joseph appointed Brother William Weeks as the architect of the temple. Yet it was the prophet who gave significant instructions regarding the design of the building: “I have seen in a vision the splendid appearance of that building”, he said, “and [I] will have it built according to the pattern shown me.”[6]

An official cornerstone laying ceremony was conducted on April 6, 1841.

In addition to their financial contributions, Church members also gave a tithe of their time – one day in ten to working on the temple. Men labored in the construction areas and women sewed clothing for the workers and provided food, as well as raiment.

Because of donated labor and the donation of many building materials, it is very difficult to accurately calculate the cost of the six-year construction project. However, some estimate that in the monetary value of the time, the temple cost in excess of $1,000,000.00. That was a very big miracle!

Portions of the temple were dedicated and used prior to its completion in the spring of 1846. The first of several public dedication services for the Nauvoo Temple took place on May 1, 1846.

An uncontrolled lawless element forced the Saints to leave Nauvoo, broken-heartedly, leaving their temple behind. In October 1848, an arsonist destroyed the interior of the temple. In May 1850, a tornado knocked down one wall of the gutted structure and weakened the other walls. They were eventually taken down.

Now move forward with me almost 100 years.

In 1937, ninety-one years after the main body of the Church left their beautiful city and headed west, the Church purchased portions of the original temple site in Nauvoo. Over the next half a century, other properties, formerly owned by the Church and its members, were purchased and restored.

One day in early 1999, at the conclusion of a regular Temple Sites Meeting, President Hinckley mentioned that he was very seriously considering rebuilding the Nauvoo Temple. He said something like, “My father wanted to rebuild it back in 1946, when he was serving as President of the Northern States mission. Father actually wrote a letter to the First Presidency and he was turned down. Now you brethren, Elder Sorensen and Bishop McMullin and your associates, need to find a way to reconstruct the temple. The plans we have in the historical department are inadequate and incomplete.”

In April 1999, President Hinckley announced the Church would rebuild the Nauvoo Temple on the original site. He said, "The new building will stand as a memorial to those who built the first such structure."[7]

Groundbreaking ceremonies for the temple took place on October 24, 1999. "A sense of joy and spirituality returned to the Temple Lot,” wrote a newspaper columnist."[8]

Traditional cornerstone ceremonies were conducted on November 5, 2000. Under priesthood direction, prayers and talks were given on each of the four cornerstones. This tradition dated back to April 6, 1841, the original Nauvoo Temple dedication date, in the days of the Prophet, Joseph.

The dedication of the restored Nauvoo Temple commenced on June 27, 2002. It was the 158th anniversary of the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph Smith and his faithful brother, Hyrum. The limestone exterior of the restored temple is a near duplicate of the original temple, including the design elements.

The restored building has six floors, circular stairs, and is crowned with an upright statue of the Angel Moroni with the trumpet in his hand.

This is a facsimile of the original Angel Moroni that adorned the first temple until it was destroyed.

Yet, 150 years later, Sister Sorensen and I and several members of our family were at the dedication of a beautiful temple, the exact replica of what once was, in that beautiful city, Nauvoo, being led by a Prophet of God, Gordon B. Hinckley. We were now a prosperous and blessed people. His watchful eye had prevailed.

The terrible sacrifice and loss of those early saints made everything possible. In that moment, when everything seemed lost, everything was actually being won. As real as the suffering was, Heavenly Father was working in His mysterious way to bring to pass a great miracle.

Another time, Joseph was again playing ball with some men and young men from town. When the game was finished, Joseph called the men together.
Brethren, hitch up your teams.
The men did just as Joseph asked and drove into the forest to gather wood.
This is the 39th and last wagon.
We did good work today, brother. Would anyone like to pull sticks?
Joseph was strong and good at a game called pulling sticks. He pulled up each opponent, one after another.
When they finished pulling sticks, Joseph called the men and young men around again.
Take these wagons out, and cut the wood for anyone who needs it.
The Saints loved to do what the Prophet asked, even if they were weary from a long day of hard work and play.
Haul ’em out, boys! Let’s do what the Prophet asks.

One year for Christmas, my family decided to give the money we would have spent on gifts for ourselves to a family who could use some help. We prayed to know whom to help. I kept the money in an envelope in my purse so I would be ready when the prompting came.
A few days before Christmas, my kids went sledding. When I arrived at the hill to pick them up, I watched as they made one more fun run down the hill.
Soon, I noticed two little girls who were not dressed for the cold weather. They wore rain boots, pants with holes in the knees, spring jackets, and one mitten each from the same pair. They were having a great time sliding down the hill on a piece of cardboard.
As I watched them run up the hill to their mom, I felt an unmistakable impression that this was the family we needed to help. I walked over to speak to the mother. When she turned around, I was stunned to realize I knew her.
I am grateful I reconnected with this dear sister. That day, not only did Heavenly Father answer the prayers my family had offered to find a family to serve, but He also blessed me with an opportunity to forgive myself for a previous mistake. I had not expected this gift, but it’s one I’ll never forget.

Her brother Carlton Collins, from the Junction Branch, one of the few youth who went on the trip, explained that a week before he knew that he was attending, he faced a lot of discouragement from friends. Carlton explained that he realized that the devil wanted to rob him of the experience he would have at the temple. He said that at the end of the trip, his testimony and resolve to serve the Lord had been strengthened.

Five years ago, I started a journey towards finishing my post-graduate studies in agriculture, specialising in plant breeding. I was offered a bursary from a prominent research institute in South Africa. Despite the challenge of raising a family, I embraced this dream. From a young age I have always been drawn to outdoor activities that had to do with touching soil and planting greens. Growing up in Mozambique, I used to love working with my grandmother on her small plot on the outskirts of Beira where she planted, amongst other things, sweet potato and rice. I cherish those memories and hold them very close to my heart.
When I embarked on the journey to become a plant breeder, I was on track to finish my studies and graduate in the winter of 2020. I had endless dreams of how perfect life was going to be. Looking at the demand for such scarce skills in the industry in previous years, I was really excited for the new possibilities that were unfolding before me. I had been a freelance language and media consultant for most of my working career. I was looking forward to finally being able to work in research and applying the skills that I had been acquiring in my studies.
With the rapid spread of the COVID-19 pandemic in South Africa, it became clear that although I had submitted my thesis at the end of 2019, I was not going to make it for the winter graduation as I had hoped. The most important thing for me was not the graduation ceremony, but to be able to complete the degree and to get a good job. I knew that it would take time to find the kind of job that I was looking for—I sent out one job application, then two—and eventually there were so many sent that I lost count.
This experience taught me some valuable lessons: some of our plans in life do not unfold exactly how we wish them to. Here, a year later, I am still searching for that dream job. This is not just for me, but my immediate family and society in general also have high expectations for someone with an academic degree like mine.
Upon meeting a friend, she asked how things were going in my life and if I had been able to find a job. I replied that I had not yet found one. We talked about several things. As I drove home, I was reflecting upon my lifestyle and my state of mind during the pandemic. I then realized how the hands of the Lord had blessed me. When thinking back I was able to pick up on the many skills that I had gained and the amount of time I had been able to spend with my family. There were simply too many small miracles to count. I had been able to afford my basic needs. I took my budget before COVID-19 and readjusted it. With more time on my hands, I was drawn to my passion of working the land. I planted a vegetable garden, the kids and I learned how to mow the lawn and to trim trees—the list is endless. Today our vegetable garden feeds us most of our greens, such as spinach, lettuce and rocket. We find meaningful time to play and work as a family. We enjoy to going on short night walks in our neighbourhood.
As I reflect upon my experiences in the past nine months—despite not having the things that I dreamed of—I have been generally content. I see more good around me than bad. I have gained a deeper understanding of trusting in the Lord’s timing. He knows what is best and has better plans for me and for my family. As I count my blessings, I have come to realise that the Lord is in control of many aspects of my life. He knows me individually and I matter to Him. He cares for our righteous desires. He wants us to trust Him and to be happy. I have come to know that with all my heart.

One bright, warm Saturday morning, gangs of teenagers invaded the little town of Guadalupe, Arizona. They were all dressed alike. They were spraying paint, breaking up concrete, hanging out at the park, and having a loud, noisy time.
Of course, they were also laying sod, repairing mailboxes, cleaning up empty lots, building handicapped ramps, landscaping homes, restoring the median in the middle of the main road, interviewing residents for town and family histories, furnishing some temporary homes, and, in general, doing good wherever they went.
Persuading more than a thousand teens to donate their muscles and their time on a Saturday was due to the efforts of the East Valley Youth Service Committee, an organization combining youth in Gilbert, Arizona, from St. Anne’s Catholic Church with the youth from five Gilbert LDS stakes.
The whole idea of interfaith service projects got started when Father Doug Lorig of St. Anne’s Catholic Church wrote a letter to Salt Lake City asking how the youth in Gilbert of both the Catholic and LDS faiths could become united. The answer came through President John Lewis of the Gilbert Arizona Stake. The youth could become united as they served together.
But where? Who needed lots and lots and lots of helping hands?
The town of Guadalupe was the answer.
Guadalupe is the name of a major road that runs through the towns of Tempe and Gilbert, Arizona. Everyone knows Guadalupe Road. It’s a major thoroughfare lined with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, churches, and neighborhoods. But most teens didn’t know what is at the end of Guadalupe Road, right where the street ends. At that spot, just a little over a mile square, is the tiny town of Guadalupe.
Several members of the East Valley Youth Service Committee were assigned to do some calling. Their quest, to find some places that needed service. One young woman contacted Mary E. Hoy, the assistant town manager of Guadalupe. “She called and said, ‘We’d like to do a project in your town. What would you like us to do?’” said Mary. “I had a couple of pages of things that needed to be done because we have so much need here.”
To Mary’s great surprise, instead of picking one or two items off her list, the report came back that the committee had anticipated being able to do almost everything on her list. “The town has been very excited,” reports Mary. “They love the idea of these teens coming to help.” With nearly 1,500 teens and their adult leaders attending, the town’s population doubled for that one day.
Mary’s list included turning a flood retention basin into a park, painting a mural on a noise wall, replacing or repairing all mailboxes, building ramps for houses of handicapped residents, hauling rubbish from the lots of elderly residents, painting homes and repairing roofs, interviewing families for the town’s historical record, beautifying the town’s center street median, and collecting furniture for and landscaping around emergency housing.
The first meeting was at a public auditorium, when the whole idea of working together in service, in addition to gathering support and donations from the community, was presented to anyone interested. Chad Heywood, 16, of the Freestone Park Ward in the Gilbert stake, said, “I’ve had a lot of kids come up to me and ask how they can get involved in it. It’s a fun thing to do now.”
Jennifer Barger, the adult volunteer supervisor from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, said, “I think the more they got involved, the more eager they were to participate. It’s a growing thing, with each other and with the town. It’s been quite a neat experience.”
As the planning for the project progressed, the teens involved started to discover a change in their attitudes. Aubree Wright, 17, of the Gilbert Ninth Ward, Gilbert Val Vista Stake, said, “The first couple of meetings, I was not feeling like I wanted to go. The more I went, it just became such a neat thing. I was looking forward to it. I’ve seen it in other kids too. You can tell that it’s starting to touch them.”
You might not think that getting together on one Saturday and hauling sod or painting a house would do all that much for world peace. But each action, each person doing one good thing, can begin to change the world. Standing shoulder to shoulder with shovels and rakes in hand with God’s children of other beliefs and cultures can make a difference. Melissa Geiger, 19, of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, was asked to be a youth representative on the planning committee. She said, “It sounds like an enormous task, making peace in the world. We can start small and meet on a common ground of service. That was our basis.”

This letter is in response to Brother Robert Marcum’s article “Preparation for Power” in the May 1983 New Era. I feel sure the article was about my baby girl, as Brother Marcum was the one who joined with Brother Wayne Rickey to administer to her when she had been run over at the age of eight months, and all but the baby’s gender was correct—except that when I gathered my baby up I don’t remember yelling anything.
I feel that Brother Marcum would like to know just how much of a miracle he, Brother Rickey, and my husband participated in that day almost 15 years ago. The accident happened late on a Thursday afternoon, and when we reached the hospital with Bethany, her doctor tried to get one of Salt Lake’s leading thoracic surgeons as a consultant because he saw that her chest or lungs had been damaged, but the surgeon could not seem to be reached. As the doctor turned to get another number, the desired surgeon walked in the hospital door to visit a relative!
Upon examining our daughter, he felt there was a small rupture of her diaphragm, which was being partially plugged by her liver, so he postponed the necessary surgery to allow her lungs to heal a bit from any bruising they may have received.
On Saturday morning we received an emergency call from the hospital informing us that Bethany had worsened and that immediate surgery was necessary. When the surgeon finally entered our daughter’s chest, he was surprised to discover that her diaphragm was almost completely torn loose around the circumference and had a large tear from front to back. Essentially, she had been breathing with almost no diaphragm for 36 hours, buying a bit of time to allow the surgeons to do their work well.
She made a full recovery, and is now a lovely 14-year-old young lady with only a scar to remind us of the power of the priesthood in the hands of prepared men. Every day of my life I thank my Heavenly Father for the life of my daughter and for men nearby who were actively ready to use their priesthood.
Thank you, Brother Rickey and Brother Marcum, and thank you, New Era, for printing the story.
Helen ArringtonTwin Falls, Idaho

Leroy Alip listened intently as he was set apart to serve on a stake high council on the Big Island of Hawaii. In the blessing Brother Alip was told he would be on the island when a temple was built there and that he would serve in that temple. This was in 1984, and the only temple in Hawaii was on the island of Oahu, many miles away by boat or plane.
The priesthood blessing energized Brother Alip. “I believe that when you are given a blessing, you have a responsibility to do whatever you can to bring that blessing to you,” he says. So he and his wife, Rose, decided to attend the temple on Oahu once a month.
Doing so was not easy. Traveling there cost U.S. $300, a lot of money for a couple barely getting by on Brother Alip’s paycheck from the government office where he worked. The only way they could make the trip was to dip into their savings. They did so gladly.
Within a year, however, they were out of money. “But our hearts were in the temple,” Brother Alip says. “We wanted to continue attending. So we prayed for help.”
Not long afterwards, Brother Alip unexpectedly received an offer to supplement his income by delivering papers for a local business. For these early morning deliveries, he was paid nearly $700 per month. With more than enough money to continue going to the temple, Brother and Sister Alip were prompted to put the surplus in their own special temple fund.
By June 1986 the reason for that prompting became clear: now living in the Kona Hawaii Stake, they could take to the temple a number of women from the stake who were worthy but had not been able to receive their endowments. So each month, the Alips took one sister with them to Oahu. Each time, the sister returned to bear testimony of the spiritual power and joy she felt in doing her own and others’ temple work. Soon, the spirit of temple work spread throughout the stake, and more members began looking for ways to attend the temple.
Through contacts Brother Alip had in the travel industry, he was able to arrange for discounted airfare, ground transportation, and lodging for all in the stake who wanted to go. By 1994 more than 100 members of the Kona stake were making the monthly trip to the Laie Hawaii Temple. Brother Alip laughs. He recalls, “The temple president joked that the Saints from Kona were wearing out the carpets because so many of them were in the temple.”
In 1997 President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) announced a new direction for temple construction. Building smaller temples would enable more temples to be built. The faithfulness of the Saints on the Big Island was rewarded six months later when President Hinckley announced a temple for Kona. After the temple was dedicated in 2000, Brother Alip was called as second counselor in the temple presidency. Today, fully retired from his career but fully engaged in the work of the Lord, he supervises the workers who keep the grounds of the Kona Hawaii Temple beautiful.
Brother and Sister Alip are grateful for the ways Heavenly Father has blessed them to have what they need to continue serving others. When they first came to Kona, Brother Alip says, “We had no place to stay except for a small shack in the hills built for a worker in the coffee fields.” They lived there for months until they were able to rent a small cottage.
A number of years later, they had enough savings and income to consider a nicer home, but nothing they looked at felt right to them. One day while Brother Alip was working on the Kona temple grounds, an elderly sister came by. She was crying. Brother Alip shakes his head. “She was being evicted from her home and had no place to go. For some reason, I told her to go visit her grandchildren, and when she returned, she could move in with us.” The problem was, the Alips’ home was big enough for only Brother and Sister Alip. So they started praying—and looking earnestly for ways to obtain the blessing they sought.
Shortly, a real-estate agent invited them to consider a two-story home with six bedrooms. They loved it, but they assumed the house would cost more than they could afford. Reluctantly, they turned the offer down.
But a way opened up. Within a few weeks, the price of the home dropped, and the Alips learned they had sufficient credit to buy the house. As a result, the sister in need had a place with Brother and Sister Alip when she returned to Kona, and three of the Alips’ children, in need themselves, found a home for their families at the house.
“The Lord has taken good care of us,” Brother Alip says. “When we show that we are willing to sacrifice our time, talents, and means for Him, He showers us with His tender mercies.”

Some time later, in a small schoolhouse, 26-year-old Wilford Woodruff stood to speak in another meeting. This time he spoke in response to the testimonies of Elders Zera Pulsipher and Elijah Cheney, missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He later recounted: “[Elder Pulsipher] opened the door for any remarks to be made. The house was crowded. The first thing I knew I stood on top of a bench before the people, not knowing what I got up for. But I said to my neighbors and friends, ‘I want you to be careful what you say as touching these men … and their testimony, for they are servants of God, and they have testified unto us the truth—principles that I have been looking for from my childhood.’”4 Wilford Woodruff was baptized and confirmed two days later, on December 31, 1833.

We had the blessing of having children. A daughter, the first child, continues to be an enormous blessing in our lives. A couple of years later a son we named Richard was born. A few years later a daughter was born. She died after living only a few minutes.
Our son, Richard, was born with a heart defect. We were told that unless that could be cured, there was little probability that he would live more than two or three years. This was so long ago that techniques now used to repair such defects were unknown. We had the blessing of having a place where doctors agreed to attempt to perform the needed surgery. The surgery had to be done while his little heart was beating.
The surgery was performed just six weeks after the birth and death of our baby daughter. When the operation finished, the principal surgeon came in and said it was a success. And we thought, “How wonderful! Our son will have a strong body, be able to run and walk and grow!” We expressed deep gratitude to the Lord. Then about 10 minutes later, the same doctor came in with an ashen face and told us, “Your son has died.” Apparently the shock of the operation was more than his little body could endure.
Later, during the night, I embraced my wife and said to her, “We do not need to worry, because our children were born in the covenant. We have the assurance that we will have them with us in the future. Now we have a reason to live extremely well. We have a son and a daughter who have qualified to go to the celestial kingdom because they died before the age of eight.” That knowledge has given us great comfort. We rejoice in the knowledge that all seven of our children are sealed to us for time and all eternity.

It was the year 1975, and I was serving in the Uruguay-Paraguay Mission as a young missionary. During my first month in the mission, the zone leaders held an activity to demonstrate a gospel principle. Each missionary in the zone was blindfolded, and we were told that we were to follow a path leading to the cultural hall. We were to follow the voice of one particular leader, a voice we heard before starting to walk. However, we were warned that during the journey, we would hear several voices that would try to confuse us and get us to stray from the path.
After some minutes of hearing noises, talking, and—in the midst of it all—a voice that said, “Follow me,” I felt confident I was following the right voice. When we arrived at the cultural hall of the chapel, we were asked to take off our blindfolds. When I did so, I realized that there were two groups and that I was in the group that had followed the wrong voice. “It sounded so much like the right one,” I said to myself.
That experience of 39 years ago had a lasting effect on me. I told myself, “Never, ever again follow the wrong voice.” Then I told myself, “Yes, Lord, I will follow Thee.”

Several months ago, I reconnected with a classmate from business school. It had been nearly forty years since we had spoken. My friend had gone on to extraordinary success in the world of finance. After we had briefly caught up on our personal lives, he then stunned me with this comment:

Kevin, I am envious of your life. I have never really understood the whole religion thing that drives you and why you left your career to serve in the Mormon Church. But I wish I had what you have. I managed to marry the only Jewish woman in the world who did not want children. Our marriage eventually ended. I remarried and have two lovely daughters, but I am not sure whether I will ever have grandchildren. I am envious of the family you have.

My friend had clearly “crushed it” when it comes to affluence and influence, but he lacked what he now desired most. You and I have been taught principles of an abundant life; my friend had not. “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Cara put down her pencil and stared at the piece of paper on her desk. It was blank except for her name and a big eraser smudge. “What should I write?” she thought.
Across the aisle, her friend Lily was writing busily. Cara put her head down and rested it on her arm.
Now in today’s lesson, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all one person. Cara thought about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. She knew that They were two separate people and that each had a body. She was glad she knew that for sure, even before talking to Mom or Dad about it.
But then Mrs. Schmidt had said, “Class, please take out a piece of paper and write about what we have been talking about.”
That’s when Cara got a worried feeling in her stomach. She wanted to do the assignment the way her teacher wanted her to. Could she be brave enough to write what she knew was true?
With her head down on her desk, Cara began to say a silent prayer. “Please, dear Heavenly Father, what should I do?”
Almost at once, Cara began to feel calm and peaceful inside. The Holy Ghost whispered that if she wrote what was in her heart, everything would be OK.
Cara lifted her head, picked up her pencil, and began to write.
Heavenly Father and Jesus are two separate people. They have bodies of flesh and bone like we do. The Holy Ghost is a Spirit who can speak to us in our hearts.
After writing a few more sentences, Cara put her pencil down. She didn’t know what Mrs. Schmidt would think of what she had written, but she felt happy that she had been able to tell her teacher something important and true.

I grew up in a dry country. It seemed to me that hardly ever was there enough rain to spread over the crop-growing period to carry us through the season—not enough water to distribute between the many hungry canals and the tens of thousands of thirsty acres, not enough to irrigate all the crops.

We learned to pray for rain—we always prayed for rain.

When I was still very small, I knew that plants could not survive in dry country more than about two or three weeks without water. I knew how to harness up the old mare to a lizard (a forked log on which a barrel was placed) and I drove the animal to the “big ditch,” the Union Canal, which was a block below our home. With a bucket I scooped up water from the small stream or the puddles and filled the barrel, and the horse dragged it back so I could pour bucketsful of precious liquid on the roses, the violets, and other flowers, and the small shrubs and hedges and new trees. Water was like liquid gold, so reservoirs became the warp and woof of the fabric of my life.

Having determined to become a bookkeeper, I immediately began to work to reach this goal. I well remember the amusement I furnished my fellow students. One remarked when looking at my books, “What is it; hen tracks?” Another said, “Has lightning struck an ink bottle?”

These remarks and others, while not made to hurt my feelings but in good-natured fun, nevertheless affected me deeply and aroused within me a spirit of determination. I resolved to live to provide an example for penmanship for all who attended the university, and to be the teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping in that institution. Having a purpose and also “the will to labor,” and agreeing with Lord Lytton that, “In the bright lexicon of youth there’s no such word as fail,” I commenced to use my spare time to practice penmanship, continuing year after year until I was referred to as “the greatest scribbler on earth.”

The result was that some years later, I got a job as bookkeeper and policy clerk in an insurance office. Although at fifteen, I wrote very well and it was all that was needed to satisfactorily fill the position which I then held, yet I was not fully satisfied but continued to dream and “scribble,” when not other wise occupied. I worked in the front of A. W. White and Company’s bank, and, when not busy, volunteered to assist with the bank work, and to do anything and everything I could to employ my time, never thinking whether I was to be paid for it or not, but having only a desire to work and learn.

Mr. Morf, the bookkeeper in the bank, wrote well, and took time and effort to assist me in my efforts to become proficient as a penman. I learned to write so well that I often earned more before and after office hours by writing cards, invitations, etc., and making maps, than the amount of my regular salary. Some years later, a diploma at the Territorial Fair was awarded me for the finest penmanship in Utah.

When I engaged in business for myself, there was a vacancy at the university in the position of teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping, and to fulfill the promise to myself, made when a youth of twelve or thirteen, that I would some day teach these subjects I applied for the position. My application was accepted, and my obligation to myself was thus fulfilled.

Eliza R. Snow, who had heard of the Prophet and some very ugly things in that ­connection, happened to be at home one day when the Prophet called and visited with her family. “In the winter of 1830 and ’31, Joseph Smith called at my father’s,” she wrote of this visit, “and as he sat warming himself, I scrutinized his face as closely as I could without attracting his attention, and decided that his was an honest face.”43 Later, after joining the Church, she was often in his home as a kind of babysitter and help for a time in Kirtland. She first admired him in his public ministry, saw him as a prophet, but not until she saw him in his own home, on his knees in prayer, and in his relationship with his children did her whole heart go out to him in admiration.44 He was, she said, as humble as a little child.45

At Scout camp, my troop and I had a “spiritual moment” every night before we went to bed. During that time, we’d read a story from the New Era. Afterward, we’d have a discussion about the story and a closing prayer.
Two boys who were not members of the Church were with our troop, and after the first couple of nights they started participating in the discussions and prayers. During the week we taught them about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I’m glad we have so many tools for sharing the gospel.

At an earlier time and in a different conflict—namely the American Civil War—a historically documented account illustrates courage, coupled with mercy.

From December 11 to 13, 1862, the Union forces attacked Marye’s Heights, a large hill overlooking the town of Fredericksburg, Virginia, where six thousand Rebels awaited them. The Southern troops were in secure defensive positions behind a stone wall which meandered along the foot of the hill. In addition, they stood four deep on a sunken road behind the wall, out of sight of Union forces.

The Union troops—over forty thousand strong—launched a series of suicidal attacks across open ground. They were mowed down by a scythe of shot; none got closer than forty yards from the stone wall.

Soon the ground in front of the Confederate positions was littered with hundreds, then thousands, of fallen Union soldiers in their blue uniforms—over twelve thousand before sunset. Crying for help, the wounded lay in the bitter cold throughout that terrible night.

The next day, a Sunday, dawned cold and foggy. As the morning fog lifted, the agonized cries of the wounded could still be heard. Finally, a young Confederate soldier, a nineteen-year-old sergeant, had had all he could take. The young man’s name was Richard Rowland Kirkland. To his commanding officer, Kirkland exclaimed, “All night and all day I have heard those poor people crying for water, and I can stand it no longer. I … ask permission to go and give them water.” His request was initially denied on the grounds that it was too dangerous. Finally, however, permission was granted, and soon thousands of amazed men on both sides saw the young soldier, with several canteens draped around his neck, climb over the wall and walk to the nearest wounded Union soldier. He raised the stricken man’s head, gently gave him a drink, and covered him with his own overcoat. Then he moved to the next of the wounded—and the next and the next. As Kirkland’s purpose became clear, fresh cries of “Water, water, for God’s sake, water!” arose all over the field.

The Union soldiers were at first too surprised to shoot. Soon they began to cheer the young Southerner as they saw what he was doing. For more than an hour and a half, Sergeant Kirkland continued his work of mercy.

Tragically, Richard Kirkland was himself killed a few months later at the battle of Chicamauga. His last words to his companions were, “Save yourselves, and tell my pa I died right.”

Kirkland’s Christlike compassion made his name synonymous with mercy for a post–Civil War generation, both North and South. He became known by soldiers on both sides of the conflict as “the angel of Marye’s Heights.” His loving errand of mercy is commemorated by a bronze monument which stands today in front of the stone wall at Fredericksburg. It depicts Sergeant Kirkland lifting the head of a wounded Union soldier to give him a drink of refreshing water. A tablet to Kirkland’s honor hangs in the Episcopal church in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. With simple eloquence, it captures the essence of the young soldier’s mission of mercy. It reads: “A hero of benevolence, at the risk of his own life, he gave his enemy drink at Fredericksburg.”

The words of William Shakespeare describe Kirkland’s deed:
The quality of mercy is not strain’d;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: …
It is an attribute to God himself.