Gospel Story Finder

My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.

When I was called to serve as a counselor in my ward’s Young Women organization, I accepted the call, but I was concerned about how to do it. I felt unprepared, and I was struggling with a trial.
Three months before receiving this calling, following a high-risk pregnancy, my baby boy, Nicolas, had been born. He needed constant medical care. A few weeks after his birth, a small red spot appeared on his eyelid and began to grow gradually. Our pediatrician explained that it was a benign tumor and would disappear after Nicolas was a year old. But the tumor developed rapidly. It occupied his ocular cavity and would eventually cause permanent damage to his vision if not treated.
We made the difficult decision to start chemotherapy. Nicolas’s fragile body reacted negatively to the treatment. He had daily fevers, constant infections, and low weight. The process made him cry a lot. My calling became harder and harder to fulfill under these conditions. I didn’t know how I could do it.
Thankfully, my husband supported me. Together, we felt I should continue. The Young Women president also supported me. She was a faithful and patient sister. She helped me see qualities I did not know I had and helped me find ways I could serve that I hadn’t thought of.
Being with the young women each week helped me not fixate on the routine of injections, examinations, and doctors. It kept me from wasting time feeling sorry for myself or questioning why this was happening to my small angel. My calling was a blessing, and before I realized it, Nicolas was growing and the treatment had concluded. Nicolas became a happy and healthy boy who was full of energy.
Serving those valiant daughters of our Heavenly Father has helped me overcome feelings of inadequacy, develop eternal bonds of friendship, discover my talents, and improve in my responsibilities as a mother and wife.
The Lord does not always take trials from us, but I know with all my heart that He is always willing to help us have the strength to confront them.

I ran the Wasatch Back Ragnar in 2012. A Ragnar race is a relay that covers about 200 miles or so. Teams of 12 runners are assigned segments of the course and hand off the baton to the next runner. It’s basically two days of driving through some beautiful country, hopping out of the van to run like mad, then doing it again and again while you try to occasionally eat and sleep.

My second leg was an 8-mile uphill jaunt up to East Canyon reservoir. [45] I started a bit hesitant because I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I hadn’t had time to adjust to the altitude. Then, a thought came to my mind: “Kevin, you live the Word of Wisdom. You’re promised that you can run and not be weary, and walk and not faint.” That thought filled my body with energy and determination, and I flew up that mountain! I felt such joy and happiness that I couldn’t help offering encouragement to all the runners I passed (much to their chagrin) and reveling in the beauty of the world around me and the miracle that our bodies are.

When we have confidence that we’re doing what is right, our Heavenly Father will help us in our races. He won’t take the mountains away, but he will help us get up them. He’s promised us that when we do His will and follow His coaching, we’ll be strong. With each covenant we make with God, He promises us so many wonderful blessings, and we should be confident in our abilities to live up to our eternal potential.

When I was 20, I went into the army. In basic training, I was exposed to many things I had been warned against. I was very grateful for the teachings I had received at home and in Primary. They were a lifesaver for me. I saw some young men who changed their way of life in the army and who chose not to follow God’s teachings. After basic training, one of these young men talked to me privately. He was sobbing because he had picked up a lot of bad habits, and now he had to go home and he didn’t want to face his parents. I was grateful I had been prepared to face those challenges and had remained faithful to the truths I had been taught.

Having heard the voice of the Shepherd, they fully committed their lives to living the gospel and following the direction of the Lord’s prophet. Responding to the call to gather to Zion, they left behind their home in England, crossed the Atlantic, and gathered with the Saints in Nauvoo, Illinois.

They embraced the gospel with all their hearts. While trying to get established in their new land, they assisted in the building of the Nauvoo Temple by tithing their labor—spending every 10th day working on the construction of the temple.

They were brokenhearted at the news of the death of their beloved prophet, Joseph Smith, and his brother Hyrum. But they carried on! They stayed true to the faith.

When the Saints were persecuted and driven from Nauvoo, Robert and Maria felt greatly blessed to receive their endowments in the temple shortly before they crossed the Mississippi River and headed west. Although they were uncertain of what their future held, they were certain of their faith and their testimonies.

With six children, they slogged through mud as they crossed Iowa on their way west. They built for themselves a lean-to on the side of the Missouri River at what came to be known as Winter Quarters.

These intrepid pioneers were waiting for apostolic direction on how and when they would be heading further west. Everyone’s plans were altered when Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve, issued a call for men to volunteer to serve in the United States Army in what came to be known as the Mormon Battalion.

Robert Harris Jr. was one of over 500 Mormon pioneer men who responded to that call from Brigham Young. He enlisted, even though it meant he would leave behind his pregnant wife and six little children.

Why would he and the other men do such a thing?

The answer can be given in my great-great-grandfather’s own words. In a letter that he wrote to his wife when the battalion was on its way to Santa Fe, he wrote, “My faith is so strong as ever [and when I think of the things that Brigham Young told us], I believe it about the same as if the Great God had told me.”

In short, he knew he was listening to a prophet of God, as did the other men. That is why they did it! They knew they were led by a prophet of God.

In that same letter, he expressed his tender feelings for his wife and children and told of his constant prayers that she and the children would be blessed.

Later in the letter, he made this powerful statement: “We must not forget the things which you and I heard and [experienced] in the Temple of the Lord.”

Combined with his earlier testimony that “we are led by a Prophet of God,” these two sacred admonitions have become like scripture to me.

Eighteen months after departing with the battalion, Robert Harris was safely reunited with his beloved Maria. They stayed true and faithful to the restored gospel throughout their lives. They had 15 children, 13 of whom lived to maturity. My grandmother Fannye Walker, of Raymond, Alberta, Canada, was one of their 136 grandchildren.

Grandma Walker was proud of the fact that her grandfather had served in the Mormon Battalion, and she wanted all of her grandchildren to know it. Now that I am a grandfather, I understand why it was so important to her. She wanted to turn the hearts of the children to the fathers. She wanted her grandchildren to know of their righteous heritage—because she knew it would bless their lives.

The more connected we feel to our righteous forefathers, the more likely we are to make wise and righteous choices.

And so it is. Each of us will be greatly blessed if we know the stories of faith and sacrifice that led our forefathers to join the Lord’s Church.

From the first time Robert and Maria heard Wilford Woodruff teach and testify of the Restoration of the gospel, they knew the gospel was true.

They also knew that no matter what trials or hardships would come to them, they would be blessed for staying true to the faith. It almost seems that they had heard the words of our prophet today, who said, “No sacrifice is too great … in order to receive [the] blessings [of the temple]” (Thomas S. Monson, “The Holy Temple—a Beacon to the World,” Ensign or Liahona, May 2011, 92).

The two-pound coin of the United Kingdom has inscribed on its side “Standing on the Shoulders of Giants.” When I think of our great pioneer forefathers, I feel that we are all standing on the shoulders of giants.

Although the admonition came from a letter from Robert Harris, I believe that countless forefathers would send the same message to their children and grandchildren: First, we must not forget the experiences we have had in the temple, and we must not forget the promises and the blessings that come to each of us because of the temple. Secondly, we must not forget that we are led by a prophet of God.

I testify that we are led by a prophet of God. The Lord restored His Church in the latter days through the Prophet Joseph Smith, and we must not forget that we have been led by an unbroken chain of prophets of God, from Joseph to Brigham and through each succeeding President of the Church to our prophet today—Thomas S. Monson. I know him, I honor him, and I love him. I testify that he is the Lord’s prophet on the earth today.

It is the desire of my heart that, along with my children and grandchildren, we will honor the legacy of our righteous forefathers—those faithful Mormon pioneers who were willing to put everything on the altar to sacrifice for and defend their God and their faith. I pray that each of us will live true to the faith that our parents have cherished. In the holy and sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.” That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

I used to have nightmares every night after hearing a scary story at Scout camp. I was very scared—it was hard to go to sleep. I prayed every night for Heavenly Father to help me, but I still had nightmares. Then one night I told my dad. I was shaking a little when I told him because it scared me to talk about it. We said a prayer together. Dad suggested I sing a Church hymn to myself, because I share a room with my brother. My favorite hymn is “There Is a Green Hill Far Away” (Hymns, no. 194). Every night after that I wasn’t scared, and I stopped having nightmares. In my personal prayers every night I ask Heavenly Father to continue helping me with my fears, and I still sing my favorite hymn to myself every night.

We all need to know what it means to be honest. Honesty is more than not lying. It is truth telling, truth speaking, truth living, and truth loving. John, a nine-year-old Swiss pioneer child who was in one of the handcart companies, is an example of honesty. His father put a chunk of buffalo meat in the handcart and said it was to be saved for Sunday dinner. John said, “I was so very hungry and the meat smelled so good to me while pushing at the handcart that I could not resist. I had a little pocket knife. … Although I expected a severe whipping when father found it out, I cut off little pieces each day. I would chew them so long that they got white and perfectly tasteless. When father came to get the meat he asked me if I had been cutting off some of it. I said ‘Yes. I was so hungry I could not let it alone.’ Instead of giving me a scolding or whipping, father turned away and wiped tears from his eyes.”

One of the sweetest experiences I had in the temple was working with children who were being sealed to their parents. I once asked a little boy, “What are you doing here in the temple?”
He said, “I came with my parents to be sealed.”
I asked, “What does that mean?”
He said, “We will be a family forever.”
I said, “That’s a wonderful answer. You must have a good family if you want to be with them forever.”
His eyes lit up, and he said, “Yes, I do.” Children can feel the sacredness and seriousness of the temple.

One of the most vital qualities of the principle of repentance is forgiveness. Unless each of us can learn to forgive others for real or imagined trespasses against us, we cannot properly repent. Lillian Watson has recorded an interesting episode from the ministry of Phillips Brooks, a great American clergyman, as he addressed his affluent, well-dressed congregation on a Sunday morning in Boston over 100 years ago:
"He looked into the faces of men and women he long had known, men and women who had come to him with their problems, who had asked for his help and guidance. How well he knew what seethed behind the pleasant, smiling mask of their Sunday-best respectability! How well he knew the petty spites that embittered their hearts, the animosities that set neighbor against neighbor, the silly quarrels that were kept alive, the jealousies and misunderstandings, the stubborn pride!
"Today his message was for those bitter, unbending ones who refused to forgive and forget. He must make them realize that life is too short to nurse grievances, to harbor grudges and resentments. He would plead for tolerance and understanding, for sympathy and kindness. He would plead for brotherly love.
"'Oh, my dear friends!' he said . . . and it was as though he spoke to each separately and alone: 'You who are letting miserable misunderstandings run on from year to year, meaning to clear them up some day; You who are keeping wretched quarrels alive because you cannot quite make up your mind that now is the day to sacrifice your pride; You who are passing men sullenly upon the street, not speaking to them out of some silly spite, and yet knowing that it would fill you with shame and remorse if you heard that one of those men were dead tomorrow morning;
"'You who are letting your friends heart ache for a word of appreciation or sympathy, which you mean to give him someday;
"'If you only could know and see and feel, all of a sudden, that the time is short, how it would break the spell! How you would go instantly and do the thing which you might never have another chance to do.'
"As the congregation poured out of church that Sunday morning, people who hadn't spoken in years suddenly smiled and greeted each other . . . and discovered it was what they had been wanting to do all along. Neighbors who had disliked and avoided each other walked home together . . . and were astonished to find how very much they enjoyed doing it. Many who had been grudging and unkind firmly resolved to be more generous in the future, more considerate of others . . . and all at once felt happier and more content, felt at peace with themselves and the world.
"'Forgive,' Phillips Brooks urged his congregation. 'Forget. Bear with the faults of others as you would have them bear with yours. Be patient and understanding. Life is too short to be vengeful or malicious. Life is too short to be petty or unkind.'"

Kind words not only lift our spirits in the moment they are given, but they can linger with us over the years. One day, when I was in college, a man seven years my senior congratulated me on my performance in a football game. He not only praised how well I had done in the game, but he had noticed that I had showed good sportsmanship. Even though this conversation happened more than 60 years ago, and even though it’s highly unlikely the person who complimented me has any recollection of this conversation, I still remember the kind words spoken to me that day by Gordon B. Hinckley, who would later become President of the Church.

It all started in 1988 when three young women from the Jacana Ward in Sao Paulo, Brazil, felt a strong desire to visit the elderly ladies who live in a nursing home near the chapel.
The initial idea turned into a continuous service project called “Adopt a Grandma” and other young women from the ward soon began to participate. Later on, more young people from two other wards were also involved. Now, there are nonmembers who help with the project.

I would also like to share my own experience with this principle and hope that my experience may relate to some of you and give you some insight as well. You will notice a theme from me as my next example is also about baseball. When I was younger, there were a few instances that I remember where I had a goal, a vision, if you will, of what I wanted to accomplish. This goal or vision served as a guide for me to keep me focused on the path that would lead me to my end goal. That goal was to become a college and professional baseball player. This “end in mind” was the motivation I utilized to guide my daily decisions and commitment to becoming a skilled and higher-level baseball player. I knew that each day I needed to train, get reps, work with coaches, and maintain my physical condition in order to reach the end I had in mind.

Knowing what I wanted to accomplish made it easier for me to take the necessary steps and do the necessary work to achieve my end goals in baseball. Through daily routines focused on my growth as a baseball player, I was able to have a successful high school baseball career, which led me to play baseball at BYU in Provo, and eventually play in the Colorado Rockies Farm system. Now this is where things get choppy. Although I played in the minor leagues, I never made it to the major leagues, but I was still able to achieve the end in mind. You might be asking yourself, ‘How is that?’ when I didn’t get to the Big Leagues. Let me explain. When we begin with the end in mind, we have a vision, and we set goals, and we work toward that vision. What happens in between is where the real growth and progression happens. Our paths may not be perfect or straight, and we will need to pivot or adapt. After four years of professional baseball, I felt I was needed for something bigger, my eternal family. So, I decided to hang it up and focus on my eternal end in mind—my eternal family. Ending my baseball career was my choice, and quitting baseball did not ultimately change the end I had in mind, in fact it fostered it. Although my worldly end in mind was to make it to the Big Leagues my eternal end in mind has always been the eternities with my family. And for me, I needed to prioritize that. This shift in career paths was a natural one, and one that my years of baseball prepared me for. Years of hard work and commitment to my baseball career gave me the soft skills I needed to complete college and change my career path.

During my athletic journey, I developed skills including hard work, mental toughness, determination, grit, teamwork, leadership, communication, and patience. Through baseball, I learned to do hard things and to face challenges with determination. These skills are crucial for success on the field and translated well to various professional environments. For me, they translated into an ability to complete college and to earn a bachelor’s and master’s degree in accounting. It also translated into doing hard things along my career path, like taking on challenges completely beyond my comfort zone and learning new skills I had little previous experience in doing. My ‘plan A’ pivoted to ‘plan B’ and eventually led to ‘plan C’. All of which promoted and supported my ultimate end in mind—my eternal family. To begin with the end in mind will most always involve some type of pivoting and adapting along the way. I truly believe that if we are prayerful and earnest in our efforts, these pivots will work toward our ultimate end in mind.

On trips to see my grandkids, my laptop and I traveled with a desire to fulfill a bucket-list dream. I graduated in July 2022 from Brigham Young University–Idaho with a bachelor of science degree in interdisciplinary studies, a minor in English, and a certificate in TESOL (teaching English as a second language).
My journey began in 2015 when I attended an informational meeting at our stake center. I learned about BYU–Pathway Worldwide, which makes it possible to get a low-cost degree online, and I left with a grin from ear to ear and a dream taking shape. This was something I could do. Even though I had little knowledge of the computer and what online school actually entailed, I was determined to try.
My husband and I have five children, and all of them had graduated from college. Now it was my turn.
I managed a small hair salon in Ashland, Oregon, for 40 years and was taking care of my elderly mother with dementia. BYU–Pathway Worldwide was my answer for an affordable college degree and the beginnings of my next step into the future of work and volunteer service.
I started this treacherous but triumphant time with three terms of online classes, including weekly gatherings in person at the Church meetinghouse. There I learned the basics of college classes—English, math, and study skills—to prepare me for my online degree program from BYU–Idaho.
Weekly and sometimes daily, there were tears of frustration at the computer skills I needed but hadn’t yet acquired. Friends and family came to my aid and spent hours trying to help me be successful each semester. Many times during my studies, I wanted to quit. But Heavenly Father, friends, family, my teachers, and my own perseverance pushed me along. Each year of courses passed by as I pushed ahead, all the while traveling to see our grandchildren. The internet was slow on some of those trips, but I completed the courses each semester.
Six years after I started the program, I attended BYU–Idaho’s commencement ceremony, where I received my hard-earned diploma in person so that my siblings, children, and grandchildren could be there. I felt immense gratitude and happiness as I saw them all there. I could not have completed the program without their support. Proudly I walked across the stage knowing that I accomplished a dream and gained a new set of skills for whatever came next in my life.

In my office I have a little plaque that reads, “Above all else, brethren, let us think straight.” These were the last words in mortality spoken by my grandfather Melvin J. Ballard. As I understand the circumstance, Grandfather, after the very grueling experience of preaching the gospel all through the eastern part of the United States, drove his car from New York to Salt Lake City. When he came into the driveway of his home at 80 North Wolcott Avenue in Salt Lake City, he collapsed. He was rushed to the LDS hospital, where he was found to have acute leukemia. He never came out of the hospital. He went in and out of a coma. As I have had it told to me by my father, who was there, Grandfather pushed himself up in bed, looked into his hospital room as though he were addressing a congregation or a group, and said clearly, “And above all else, brethren, let us think straight.” Then he died. I don’t go into my office any day of the week that I don’t see those words, and I find that they help me a great deal.

It took nearly a year for Helio da Rocha Camargo, a former minister in another church, to decide to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A short while later, his wife, Nair Belmira da Rocha Camargo, decided to follow her husband’s example and be baptized as well.
At that time, Nair was pregnant with the couple’s son, whom they would name Milton. The Camargos’ unified decision to join the Church would forever bless future generations of their family.

Britta Rasmussen, baptized with her husband in 1975, says she gained her testimony of the gospel by living it. When she first began attending Relief Society, she thought, “These ladies are doing what they believe.” She has always tried to follow that example.
For 45 years, she has been socializing with a group of friends she first met as a schoolgirl. She invited them to attend the open house at the temple while she and her husband were serving as guides, and she had the opportunity to bear her testimony to them. “All those people felt something,” Sister Rasmussen recalls, expressing the hope that what she said may someday touch their lives.

When the fighting reached Bo, Mohamed was targeted as a religious leader in the community. He was forced to separate from his family and to hide from the rebels until it was possible to get back to them. Once the family was reunited, they knew they had to leave. But where? How? As they were formulating their plan, a young man approached the family and asked where they were going. “We want to escape from here,” Mohamed said. “Follow me,” the young man answered. After following the young man through the bush for some time, he suddenly disappeared. “By the time we could wink our eyes, we couldn’t see him,” said Mohamed. “That was the greatest miracle, which we will never forget.”
They continued on their journey but they knew their safety depended on being able to travel through the dangerous territory without a sound. They worried that their baby’s crying would put them at risk, but, as Mohamed later recalled, “the angels sealed his mouth; he never cried.” They continued travelling through three more villages—an arduous trek through dangerous terrain—until they arrived at safety.

Silver Rain paddled her birchbark canoe with swift, sure strokes, dipping the spoon-shaped wooden oar first on one side of the frail shell and then the other. The bow was headed toward a distant point of land.
Her grandmother, Mourning Dove, seated in the front of the canoe facing her, watched with approval. There were no noisy splashes or roiling of the water. The oar blade was inserted cleanly and lifted the same way at the end of each stroke. Bronzed muscles rippled in the arms of the slightly built girl as the boat glided silently across the deep blue water.
Mourning Dove sighed. Where have the years gone? she wondered. It seemed only yesterday that she had been as young and strong as Silver Rain. Now, in the twilight of her life, the older woman would sit by the cooking fire grinding meal or she would tend her numerous small grandchildren while her sons’ wives did all the more strenuous chores. She had begun to eat a little less food each day, feeling that she was no longer useful to the tribe.
“Where now, Grandmother?” Silver Rain asked quietly, letting the canoe drift. They had rounded the long finger of land, but how could this be the secret place of stunning beauty Mourning Dove had yearned to visit once more? They had reached a dead end. This was only a shallow neck in the huge blue lake where dense forest and tangled vines grew to the edge of the water. The girl was deeply disappointed. There was no hidden valley with a lacy waterfall, giant ferns, riotously blooming flowers, or moss-covered boulders here. The tribe had camped at many sites since then. Perhaps the years she carried had robbed Mourning Dove’s memory.
“There! We go through the trees there,” Mourning Dove cried, pointing at what seemed to be a solid wall of trees. Her eyes glowed with anticipation and she turned to face forward.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Silver Rain murmured gently. She paddled slowly, dreading the old one’s humiliation when she realized that her fading memory had tricked her.
Suddenly the girl smiled with relief and quickened her strokes. There was a narrow path of water between the trees! It was like a silver thread. They were soon swallowed up by a cool green tunnel. The canoe raced over still, crystal clear water with little effort.
Silver Rain, awed by the eerie lush beauty of the tunnel of overhanging trees, was not prepared for their abrupt emergence into the hidden valley nor for the cry of pain from Mourning Dove when she saw only a blackened, burned-over valley.
Silver Rain had been named for the lacy waterfall that bounced down the cliff like a silver veil. And only that remained unchanged. The once-beautiful secret place was an ugly desolation. Months ago a forest fire, probably kindled by a lightning strike, had raged through these wooded hills. Black ashes and charred tree stumps littered the area. Not a single green leaf or blade of grass was left. It was a place of death except for a silvery speckled trout that leaped in a pool near the boulders beneath the waterfall.
After her first agonized cry, Mourning Dove sat motionless. She did not speak again on their return to the camp. Then she entered her tepee and turned her face to the wall. She lay unmoving, refusing to even look upon the food and water Silver Rain carried to her.
Silver Rain fled to the forest in misery. How could she rekindle her grandmother’s spirit? She sat quietly, watching a gray squirrel scurrying over a deep carpet of pine needles and cones. Is he hungry and searching for an acorn he buried last autumn? If he fails to remember the spot, a giant oak will stand here someday, she mused.
The thought electrified Silver Rain. Racing to the village, she gathered the older children and whispered instructions. They snatched up baskets and scattered throughout the forest. The children worked together until dark, returning many times with their baskets filled with small trees, shrubs, ferns, and wild flowers. The women joined their efforts, carefully placing wet balls of mud and moss around fragile roots before repacking them in large storage baskets.
Mourning Dove finally appeared at the door of her tepee and grasped Silver Rain’s wrist as the girl rushed by with a load of greenery. “Is something wrong? Why is there so much commotion? Have the men returned from their hunt?” she asked weakly.
“No, the braves have not yet returned, Grandmother, and there is no trouble,” Silver Rain said, smiling. “We are noisy and busy because tomorrow at dawn we will start to restore your lovely green valley! Many baskets of seeds and small saplings have been gathered. We shall spread out over the hills and plant them. In a few years a new forest will rise from the ashes of the one you remember—but only if I can find your secret entrance alone,” she said slyly, watching her grandmother’s startled face.
The girl’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief as she started on and then turned back. “It’s too bad you have no appetite, Grandmother,” she sighed. “Without food you will be too weak to ride in my canoe and guide me.”
Mourning Dove bristled. “Your tricks do not fool me, Silver Rain. However, I do feel a bit hungry now, I think. Fetch my supper and I will eat. Tomorrow I shall lead you back swiftly. Your fumbling search for the secret water path might cause the plants to wilt. And I shall plant seedlings along the banks of the pools and the lower slopes while you young ones cover the high ground.”
At dawn fifteen canoes left the campsite. Each looked like a tiny, green, floating island as they fell in line. Mourning Dove sat proudly in the bow of Silver Rain’s leading craft that was almost hidden by greenery. Her lap was filled with watercress, water hyacinths, and cattail reeds to restock the deep pool at the base of the waterfall where the speckled trout splashed.
The emptied canoes rode high in the water as they glided back in the light of a full moon. The braves had returned from a successful hunt and a feast had been prepared. The chief announced that tomorrow the tribe would leave this site and continue its trek to northern hunting grounds. Silver Rain felt a pang as she thought that it might be a year or more before they camped here again, a year before she could see how the green growth was spreading over the blackened land.
Mourning Dove stood at the water’s edge and gazed off toward her hidden valley. It was not likely that she would ever see it again, but it did not matter. The beauty would return slowly, perhaps in time for Silver Rain’s grandchildren to enjoy it. Nature would have mended the ravaged valley with the help of birds, squirrels and other small creatures, and with seeds wafted on the wind. But she and the children had sped up the process by many years. The thrill of such an accomplishment made her weariness fade away. To think that together they had restored a forest today!

Let me tell you of a young man who really understood these scriptures. He lives in Seoul, Korea. One day, when this young man was 15, his father received a call from a close friend who asked him if he were having financial difficulty. Being in affluent circumstances, he indicated “No, everything is fine.” He then wanted to know why his friend would ask such a question.
The man replied that he had seen his son selling newspapers on a street corner in Seoul.
The father couldn’t believe it because his son received quite a liberal allowance and would have no need to work for additional money. When asked if there couldn’t have been a mistake, the friend said, “No, I stopped and talked with him on the corner.”
When the son returned from school that evening his father asked him about the incident. The son said, “Yes, I was selling newspapers.”
“Isn’t your allowance sufficient to take care of your needs?” the father wanted to know.
“Yes,” he said, “but we had a lesson in seminary on the Good Samaritan, and I wanted to experience what it meant to be a Good Samaritan, not just learn about it. So I have taken my allowance and bought newspapers and asked some of my friends to join with me in selling them. We want to raise enough money to help one of our classmates, who is very poor, remain in school. Without the help, he would have to drop out.”
In addition to this, sometime earlier, this young man had asked his mother to double his lunch. She had done so without questioning him, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He told his father that this other student would have to go hungry each day if he did not share half of his lunch with him.
This is what the Lord means when he encourages us to be doers of the word and to show our faith by our works. There are many experiences that would take on greater meaning if we made these scriptures a part of our lives.