Gospel Story Finder

I come from goodly parents and from faithful ancestors who responded to the light of Jesus Christ and His gospel, and it blessed their lives and the generations that have followed with spiritual resilience. My dad often talked about his father, Milo T Dyches, and shared how his faith in God was a light to him day and night. Grandpa was a forest ranger and often rode alone in the mountains, entrusting his life without question to God’s direction and care.
Late one fall, Grandpa was alone in the high mountains. Winter had already shown its face when he saddled one of his favorite horses, old Prince, and rode to a sawmill to scale and measure logs before they could be sawed into lumber.
At dusk, he finished his work and climbed back into the saddle. By then, the temperature had plummeted, and a fierce winter snowstorm was engulfing the mountain. With neither light nor path to guide him, he turned Prince in a direction he thought would lead them back to the ranger station.
After traveling miles in the dark, Prince slowed, then stopped. Grandpa repeatedly urged Prince forward, but the horse refused. With blinding snow swirling around them, Grandpa realized he needed God’s help. As he had done throughout his life, he humbly “ask[ed] in faith, nothing wavering.” A still, small voice answered, “Milo, give Prince his head.” Grandpa obeyed, and as he lightened his hold on the reins, Prince swung around and plodded off in a different direction. Hours later, Prince again halted and lowered his head. Through the driving snow, Grandpa saw that they had safely arrived at the gate of the ranger station.
With the morning sun, Grandpa retraced the faint tracks of Prince in the snow. He drew a deep breath when he found where he had given Prince his head: it was the very brink of a lofty mountain cliff, where a single step forward would have plunged both horse and rider to their deaths in the rugged rocks below.
Based on that experience and many others, Grandpa counseled, “The best and greatest partner you will ever have is your Father in Heaven.” When my dad would relate Grandpa’s story, I remember that he would quote from the scriptures:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

Which would you rather do: Spend a day cruising the San Francisco Bay on a ship, or clean up a house in your neighborhood so that needy families can use it? Seems like a no-brainer, right? A hot summer day calls for some rest and relaxation. Case closed.
Closed, that is, unless you’re a priest or a Laurel in the Manteca California Stake. They gave up a planned one-day cruise to join with the younger youth to paint and clean a house designated for families that are getting back on their feet financially.
Okay, okay. So they helped. But they probably didn’t have a very good time, right?
Wrong again. Outside, young people doing yard work trimmed bushes into smiley-face designs. Inside, they raced to see who could clean up the fastest. All of the youth made the projects into games and had a good feeling about what they were doing.
“I could really feel the Spirit there, and I knew I was doing the right thing,” says participant Cherie Farnes.
Apparently, town leaders agree. The activity was covered in a local newspaper article, and an editorial urged others to follow the lead of the youth, saying, “The project shows what can be accomplished by volunteers who are committed and organized.”

Brisbine Italian Chili
What do you do when there are chili beans and tomato sauce in the cupboard but no chili powder? The only spice in sight was Italian spice when Elder Ted Brisbine from Wenatchee, Washington, was making chili one night in Houlton, Maine. The answer was (you guessed it) Italian chili. He liked it so much that he made it that way from then on. People from New Mexico and Texas get upset when they hear this recipe, but don’t let that stop you from trying it.

Twins Vince and Wayne Watson of Anchorage, Alaska, saw the wheels of big government really roll on a recent visit to “Washington Workshops.” The brothers’ trip, sponsored by four area banks and the local Teamsters Union, gave them the opportunity to spend two weeks touring historic landmarks, sitting in on legislative sessions, and enjoying the spectacular beauty of the nation’s capital. While in Washington the two also visited the temple and did baptisms for the dead.
Vince and Wayne have long been interested in government and leadership. For four years they alternated as class president and vice president; this past year Vince served as senior class president and Wayne as student body head at Bartlett High School in Anchorage. Both attended the .American Legion Boy’s State, earned Duty to God Awards, hold the rank of Eagle, and have participated in Church and school dramas and musicals, including Saturday’s Warrior.
Vince and Wayne have also completed four years of seminary, which in Alaska means getting up at 4:30 A.M., while holding down 20-hour-a-week jobs.

When our children were little, they used to watch a children’s television channel that featured a program called What Do You See? The screen would zoom in very closely on something, and the children had to guess what it was as the image gradually widened. Once the entire object was visible, you could easily tell that it was a cat, a plant, a piece of fruit, and so on.
I remember that on one occasion they were watching that program and it showed something very close up that looked very ugly to them, even repulsive; but as the image widened, they realized that it was a very appetizing pizza. Then they said to me, “Daddy, buy us one just like that!” After they understood what it was, something that at first had looked unpleasant to them ended up being something very attractive.

A little while ago I met a guy I had seen around school. We talked and got to know each other, and even though I’m only 14, we were soon “going together,” as our school calls it. The reason I decided to go out with him was because a lot of my friends were going with someone and seemed to be having a lot of fun. Besides, he was a few days from turning 16, and he was LDS too. Soon after, I remembered a Q&A in the New Era (May 1996) about dating and pairing off before you’re 16. I tried to rationalize it, but I couldn’t and the thought persisted. The article helped me end the “relationship” the very next day.
Name WithheldSalt Lake City, Utah

While serving as president of the European area, Sister Wirthlin and I traveled throughout Finland, Sweden, Denmark, and Norway holding meetings and conferences with members and missionaries. As we neared the end of our travels, we arrived with President and Sister John Langeland in the small city of Alta, Norway. We were happy that we had made the extra effort to meet the members in such a remote place. But while chatting with the local Church leaders, we learned there was yet one more small branch even farther north in Hammerfest. Hammerfest is one of the world’s northernmost cities, making its tiny branch one of the most remote units of the Church.
To our surprise, we learned that several years earlier, Elder Howard W. Hunter had been the first General Authority to visit the Hammerfest Branch. The story of that visit says so much about the man whom the Lord would later choose as his prophet, seer, and revelator:
“Hammerfest is difficult to reach by normal transportation. It was originally planned that the visitors would fly … by seaplane. A change in the weather eliminated any possibility of using a plane, as is often the case. It was decided that they should travel by car from Alta, the closest city to Hammerfest with a commercial airport. Snow had started to cover the roads. Several times en route Elder Hunter and Pres. [Leo M.] Jacobsen had to push their car through the snow. When it seemed as if further progress was impossible, a truck towed the car over the summit to Hammerfest.
“They finally arrived at ten-thirty that night for a meeting that was to have started at seven o’clock, and found that most of the members had waited” (quoted in Eleanor Knowles, Howard W. Hunter, 1994, 175–76).
The members in Hammerfest, anxious to meet an Apostle and hear the voice of one called as a special witness, waited three and a half hours for Elder Hunter’s delayed arrival. Their faith, hope, and prayers were rewarded as he shared with them his powerful testimony of the Savior.

I wish I could say that I grew up loving the principle of modesty, but truthfully, I didn’t. Although my parents taught me that modesty was important, I thought the immodest outfits on the shows I watched were much cuter than anything modest.
I heard a lot of reasons for dressing modestly that did not make sense to me, from “Modest is hottest” to “It’s your responsibility to dress modestly to keep boys’ thoughts out of the gutter.” The immodest way I dressed got me the attention I wanted. I was unwilling to even consider the blessings of dressing modestly, and I felt a lot of anger when people encouraged me to.
One summer, I was going out with some friends. My mom saw the immodest outfit I was wearing and said, “Elizabeth, you are approaching adulthood. You really need to think about the kind of person you want to be, and with that comes the appearance you project.” When she said this, I was ready to fight.
“Mom, give me one good reason I should dress modestly. I’ve heard them all. And I’m still waiting to hear something that doesn’t involve boys and their thoughts. Give me something, anything, that makes sense.”
She looked out the window for a moment. After some time in silence, she looked up at me lovingly and quietly said, “Because it is a principle of obedience, and you love Heavenly Father.”
I was completely disarmed, unable to retort. Her words planted the seed I needed to begin to overcome this struggle.
I began to realize that modesty was not just about the way I dressed. Like the warnings in the scriptures against wearing costly apparel (see Alma 5:53; Mormon 8:36–39), my choice of clothing was just a symptom of being prideful in thought and behavior. And that pride was something I had held on to for so many years. I was unwilling to let go of what I wanted, which was really validation and attention, for what Heavenly Father wanted for me.
The For the Strength of Youth guide says, “Heavenly Father wants us to see each other for who we really are: not just physical bodies but His beloved children with a divine destiny” ([2022], 24). I began to see my body as sacred, something I needed to use to glorify God, not myself.
When I began to repent, Heavenly Father filled the parts of my heart that wanted attention with His love. This was so empowering and gave me so much hope that the desire for immodesty started to leave my soul.
The way I spoke started to change, my love for others grew, and my desire to serve increased. I didn’t just adopt the principle of obedience to God in my life; I began to love it. I could feel its protective power. This change helped me prepare to go to the temple and make beautiful, sacred covenants in His house.
I now love modesty because I love the principle of obedience, something I never thought would be the case. But Heavenly Father never gave up on me, and He will never give up on you in whatever you are struggling with, even if it is a long, bumpy journey.
For more on modesty, see For the Strength of Youth: A Guide for Making Choices (2022), 24, 25, 27.

Imagine that at 13 years old you move 6,700 miles (10,782 kilometers) across the world to a new home and a new family. You have to learn a new language and culture and eat unfamiliar foods. And you can’t physically see any of it.
You might be thinking, “How could anyone do something so hard?” Well, meet Conner—a cool, carefree, and cheerful teen from Wuhan, China.
Conner was raised in a foster home in China. When he was six years old, his foster family discovered that he had an incredible ear for music. And being blind didn’t stop him from pursuing his musical talent. He took piano lessons and began attending a special school for the blind.
But just a month before he turned 14, his foster father showed up at Conner’s school and pulled him out of class. “He said that I was going to be adopted and that I needed to go home right away,” Conner says. His friends, family, and teachers got together the next day and said their goodbyes as a new chapter began in Conner’s life.
Conner found himself half a world away in Herriman, Utah. His new family included Dad (Jeremy), Mom (Christianne), six new sisters, and three new brothers. And Conner wasn’t the only child from China—six of his new siblings had been adopted from there as well.
Christianne explains, “People say that our kids are so lucky to have a family, but Conner had to leave everything that was familiar to him—a foster family who loved him, food, culture, friends—to come to this family that he didn’t know. It was a huge change, and we feel very blessed to have Conner and all the kids in our home. They’re a gift.”

By the time I was 30 years old, my life was falling apart. I had a drinking problem and didn’t know what to do about it. One Monday morning the editor in chief at the publication where I worked as a journalist called me in. He was blunt. I had to quit drinking if I wanted to keep my job.
I went out that day in search of news stories with his warning on my mind. Suddenly, right in the middle of the street, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spoke to me. I had never heard of that church. I avoided a long conversation with them, but I did give them my business card.
Two days later I was at my mother’s house when she said, “Two young Americans are here to see you.” I replied, “I don’t have any American friends.” She said, “They say they’re missionaries.” I said, “Well, have them come in. I’ll talk with them.” To my surprise, they were the missionaries I had met on Monday. They found me through my business card.
Once we were sitting across from each other in the living room, I decided to listen to their message. One of them took out a pamphlet and said that it contained the testimony of Joseph Smith. He gave it to me and challenged me to read it. I had barely finished accepting his challenge when the other missionary took out a book with a blue cover. He asked me, “Would you read the first 150 pages of this book?” I accepted his challenge also. As they left the house they said, “We’ll be back on Friday to see if you’ve met your goals.” This is how I started to learn the gospel.
After I had received all of the discussions, there was another challenge. One of the missionaries said, “Brother Rosillo, you need to have your own testimony.” The other missionary added, “Ask God if Joseph Smith was a prophet and if the Book of Mormon is true. We promise you that the Lord will answer you. We’ll be back next week.”
The day before the missionaries were to come back, I decided to put the matter to the test. I went to get the Book of Mormon, which I had already finished reading. I went into the living room and knelt down. I was by myself, and everything was quiet. I began, “Father in Heaven, the missionaries have asked me to ask if Joseph Smith was a prophet and if the Book of Mormon is true. They feel I need to have a testimony to be baptized. Was Joseph Smith a prophet? Is the Book of Mormon true?”
I stopped speaking. Immediately I felt indescribable joy. I wanted the feeling to last forever. I had received my answer. When the missionaries arrived, I shared my experience.
On September 11, 1971, I was baptized in the Piura River. Since then nearly 34 years of living gospel principles—including the Word of Wisdom—have passed with many blessings. But I still remember those two missionaries who spoke to me in the street and brought me out of the darkness and into the light.

The next example. One of the joys of being a Bishop here at BYU-Hawaii, is the opportunity of getting to know students from all over the world and listen to their individual experiences. Because of this opportunity, I have come to appreciate each student's example and faithfulness in the gospel.

Brother Sung Hoon Lee from Seoul, South Korea, serves as the Elders Quorum President in the BYU-Hawaii 17th Ward. He is one of these students that I have grown to admire particularly because of his conversion to the gospel and example to the ward. One afternoon, Brother Lee was sitting on a bench reading when he noticed two missionaries walking in his direction. He continued to read to avoid any unwanted attention from these missionaries. As he read, several thoughts crossed his mind, "What are these strange and weird young men doing?" "Don't turn, don't turn, keep walking, keep walking." Needless to say, the missionaries did in fact approach Brother Lee and shortly thereafter, he was baptized at the age of 26. Although his parents never supported his decision to be baptized, a year and three months later, he decided to serve a full time mission for the church. At the age of 27 his parents had other things in mind for him, such as, finding a job and getting married. However, Brother Lee's desire to serve a mission led him to the Korea Pusan Mission. Throughout his mission Brother Lee's parents chose not to support him. In fact, he remembers calling his mother on Mother's Day and being told "no longer to call her mom." But, Brother Lee did not lose faith. While on his mission Brother Lee constantly sent missionaries to his parents' home and through his persistence, faith, and prayers, Brother Lee was given special permission to return home from his mission to baptize his father. Till today, his mother remains a non-member but is much more receptive to the church and its beliefs.

(President of the Church from 1918 to 1945)
President Heber J. Grant taught his family to look for ways to be unselfish during Christmas. One year President Grant’s children decided to donate money to help build the Salt Lake Temple instead of getting Christmas presents. Another year President Grant noticed that a woman he worked with was very poor. His family decided to take the money they would have spent on gifts for each other and give it to her instead. The woman was overjoyed on Christmas morning when President Grant handed her a turkey and a check to help pay for her house!

“My brother drove an ox team for a widow and her little girl. The little girl was very sweet and amiable, the mother rather peculiar. He said that she would ask more questions in a day than ten men could answer in a week. He was a born joker and could no more help joking than he could help breathing. He could never tell her anything so absurd or ridiculous but what she believed it. He got so tired of her questions, such as ‘Riley, I wonder how far we have traveled today?’ and ‘I wonder how far we will travel tomorrow?’ ‘I wonder if we will get to water?’ ‘I wonder if we will see any Indians?’ and ‘I wonder what they will do?’ ‘Will they be friendly or savage?’ Her wondering got so monotonous he could hardly stand it.
“At last he had his revenge when we came in sight of Chimney Rock. Anybody who has crossed the plains either by wagon or rail will remember seeing this—a land mark—it is very tall and shaped something like a smokestack and probably centuries old. At the rate we traveled it could be seen several days before we reached it. [When] she began her speculations about the rock, he told her in a most confidential way that as soon as we got to it, he was going to push it down, that he was sick and tired of hearing so much about Chimney Rock, that it had stood there long enough anyway. As soon as he got his hands on it, over it would go. Well, she begged and implored him to let it stand that other emigrants might see it who came after us, but he was obdurate. She then threatened him to tell Brigham, when she got to the Valley. That was always her last resort. Well, he kept her anxiety at fever heat for two days until we were within about a half mile of it. He then gave in to her pleadings and said he would let it stand. She was so delighted that she gave him an extra good dinner and supper that day.”

“A brown butterfly to land on my hand,” my three-year-old squeaks with excitement. His response is an innocent reply to my offhanded question, “What do you want for Christmas?”
I mutter a hesitant “We’ll see” before putting him to bed, relishing the rare moments I get to spend with him. I’ve been too out of sorts to be present most of the time.
The unceasing screams of his sister, suffering from colic, keep pulling me into the black hole of postpartum depression. I feel like a shattered piece of china held together with tape—sharp, broken, and barely hanging on. I don’t want my bitter feelings to spoil my son’s excitement for the season.
I feel the weight of his answer on my shoulders. A brown butterfly had landed on his hand while we were taking one of our daily walks in the cool air of early spring. He talked about it for weeks. It is still the highlight of his short life.
I want to make his wish come true and see in his face some of the joy I desperately want for myself. I go to sleep praying for peace and relief, feeling that this is going to be a harsh Christmas for us both.
The next morning, we awake to a beautiful day—perfect for our annual Christmas Eve hike. My son prepares with more gusto than usual, talking about when and how his butterfly will arrive.
“It’s a little too cold,” I say as I zip up his coat and pull a hat over his head. “Perhaps the butterflies will all be staying warm inside their homes.”
“Not my butterfly,” he laughs, undeterred.
I put my daughter in the baby carrier and say a silent prayer: “Please don’t let him be too disappointed.”
As we walk, my son looks back and forth among the trees, more eager with each step. The cold wind shakes the leaves. He spins as they fall to the forest floor, where he stomps on them with a big crunch of his boots. To him, the world is full of magic, just waiting for his wish to come true. But I don’t see any butterflies.
We near the end of the trail. As I start to call him home, I hear his joyful laughter. I turn to see him by a tree holding his finger out as a small brown butterfly dances around him. With the faintest touch, they meet, and he smiles. His eyes find mine, and I feel warmth spreading all over me, marveling at the little miracle I’ve just witnessed.
I clap my hands in celebration and praise. God was listening. The weight of my sadness eases, and the Sprit witnesses that He is aware of me. He had heard my pleading prayers for strength and relief during tiring nights and depressing days.
Even small things, like finding a butterfly on a December day, prove that Heavenly Father is watching over my family—reminding me that miracles still happen when we have the faith of a child.

We all knew President Spencer W. Kimball as a man of love. He thought of love as a way to overcome even unknown offenses. Such an incident occurred with one of his neighbors. This neighbor would go out and talk to President Kimball whenever he saw him in the yard, until one day the neighbor’s wife said, “You mustn’t do that. The only time President Kimball is alone is when he is in the yard, and then you go over and impose yourself upon him.” After that, the neighbor stayed in and just watched President Kimball through the window.

A few weeks passed before President Kimball rang the neighbor’s doorbell and handed him a casserole. “What’s this for?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t know,” replied President Kimball. “I’ve come to make amends for whatever I’ve done to offend you. You never come and talk to me anymore, so I decided I must have done something wrong.”

“Breakfast is ready,” Goolie informed her sister as she fastened her long skirt. “Cinnamon harvest begins this morning.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Sirimova said crossly as she fussed with her hair. “I wish I had found a job in Colombo so I would never have to harvest cinnamon again.”
A sadness filled Goolie. “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon) is enjoyed by people around the world!” she said feelingly.
“But the work is too hard,” Sirimova protested.
“Hard work has not hurt us,” Goolie argued. “I love living here.”
Sirimova scoffed. “When you are as old as I am, you will feel differently about living in an obscure village.”
The thought frightened Goolie. “I love our village,” she repeated quietly. Then she quickly finished her breakfast rice.
When there was no school, Goolie could spend the entire day harvesting cinnamon bark. She paused for a breath of fresh air on the veranda of their sturdy house Father had built. The magic of the morning sent happiness tingling through her. She loved the banyon, calamander, and satinwood trees growing among the palms surrounding their house. This morning the first rays of golden sunlight glimmered off shiny leaves everywhere.
How can Sirimova bear to leave such aparadise? Goolie wondered.
Goolie got her tools and hurried down the path to their cinnamon trees. She cut three-year-old shoots about the thickness of a walking stick. Folding her long skirt about her legs, she squatted beside the pile in the peeling area. With her gonakokatha (semicircular blade), she began scraping her first stick, savoring the cinnamony smell. Then she rubbed it up and down with her urachi (brass rod) to loosen the bark. With her talana kokatha (knife), she split the bark the length of the stick and peeled it.
“Perfect!” Goolie exclaimed, proud that she hadn’t forgotten her skills from last year’s harvest. With nimble fingers, she worked swiftly, telescoping the peels inside one another to form a quill. These would remain in the drying area four or five days. Then the quills would be tightened by rolling them on a board before further drying.
Sirimova finally arrived, frowning. The bark split as she attempted to peel her first shoot. “Nothing is going right this morning,” she complained.
“It is not the morning,” Goolie said. “It is you who does not feel happy. Grandfather says happiness is a state of mind.”
“You have been listening to Grandfather too much,” Sirimova accused. “Happiness is having things too.”
“We have all we need,” Goolie pointed out.
“I want more than necessities!” Sirimova declared. “Grandfather is old. He does not understand.”
“You must not speak of Grandfather that way,” Goolie warned. “He loves us. He is happy serving the people of our village, in sickness and in health. And everyone takes their problems to him because he is so wise.”
Sirimova shrugged. “Oh, I love Grandfather, but the world has changed since he was young. Now there are radios and motorcars and movies, and we cannot afford any of these.”
“Father has promised us a piece of fine jewelry when the cinnamon harvest is finished,” Goolie reminded her.
Sirimova tossed her head. “I want many pieces of fine jewelry!”
Goolie thought of Grandfather, her parents, and her young brothers and sister. Everyone was happy except Sirimova. How can I bring happiness to her? she puzzled.
That evening, Goolie went to see Grandfather.
“Your face, my child, mirrors that all is not well,” the old man perceived. “Is it of the heart or of the body?”
Goolie told him of Sirimova’s unhappiness. “It makes me very sad,” she said.
Grandfather took Goolie’s hand in his wrinkled, leathery ones. His eyes shone with wisdom gathered over many years. “Happiness cannot be bought with money. One can develop it only by giving of oneself.”
“But how can I help Sirimova understand, Grandfather?”
“We cannot choose happiness for another,” the old man counseled wisely. “We can only love another.”
Goolie thought long about this. Then she said, “Thank you, Grandfather.”
In spite of everyone loving Sirimova, her unhappiness increased as the cinnamon harvest progressed. Then in late July a letter came informing her of a job as a maid in a new hotel in Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka.
Mother smiled bravely through her tears as Sirimova danced into her arms. Goolie saw Father swallow hard. “This calls for a celebration,” he declared. “We shall go to the botique (gift shop) this very day for a piece of fine jewelry.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sirimova cried. “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Goolie escaped to the veranda. “This is the saddest day for me,” she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes. “Our family will never be complete again. Happiness is gone from my life.”
“Come, Goolie,” Father urged. “You have worked hard. You shall choose a piece of jewelry also.”
“The harvest is only half over,” Goolie protested. “I can wait.”
But Father insisted she go with them.
Goolie’s thoughts were sad as they walked to the botique.
After Sirimova had chosen a necklace, Goolie made her choice.
“You have chosen earrings that match my necklace!” Sirimova exclaimed. “I wish I …”
“Are they not a bit old for you, Goolie?” Father asked kindly.
“They are what I want,” Goolie insisted.
That night before going to sleep, Goolie looked at her earrings and whispered, “They are so beautiful.”
At dawn the next morning, Goolie gathered small pieces of dried cinnamon bark. She packaged her new earrings with some of the fragrant bark before time for her morning chores.
After breakfast, Father brought the bullock cart, and Sirimova put her things into it.
It was a tearful family good-bye. Before Sirimova climbed into the cart beside father, Goolie hugged her sister. “I shall miss you,” she said, trying hard to hold back the tears.
“I shall miss you, too, little sister,” Sirimova said.
Goolie pressed her gift into Sirimova’s hand.
“What is this?” Sirimova asked.
“It is my surprise for you,” Goolie replied. “Do not open it until you get to Colombo.”
“Thank you,” Sirimova said, giving her an extra hug.
“I love you,” Goolie called as the cart lumbered away. And strangely her heart seemed to overflow with happiness.
Have I proved Grandfather’s wisdom—that happiness is found in giving? she pondered.
Then almost as though she were answering her own question, Goolie smiled happily as she waved good-bye.

Sue washed the last pan and handed it to her sister Betty. “I wish we lived in town and had a dishwasher,” Sue grumbled.
“If we lived in town, we couldn’t go down to the pond and sail the new boats Daddy helped us make. Mother said we could go as soon as we finished the dishes.” Betty paused and then asked, “What about the monster?”
“The monster” was the girls’ name for the big cast-iron kettle with a lid that their mother called a Dutch oven. It was heavy and hard to handle, and usually something had been burned in it.
“It doesn’t look dirty,” Sue declared.
“I don’t remember anything being cooked in it,” Betty added.
“But if it’s clean, why isn’t it put away?” Sue asked.
“Maybe Mother plans to use it tonight.”
“If we don’t have to wash the monster, we can go to the pond right away. If Mother asks us about it, we can always say we thought it was clean.”
So it was decided. Sue drained out the dishwater, and Betty went to get their toy boats and to put their cat, Ladybug, outside. When Betty came back, she was surprised to see Sue filling the sink with water again. ”What are you doing?” she asked.
“I just don’t feel right about leaving the monster. I’m going to wash it.”
“I’ll help you,” said Betty. “I don’t feel right about it either.” She took the cover off the Dutch oven.
Both girls gave a surprised “Oh!” Inside the monster were oranges, sandwiches, cookies, and a note that read: “For my two good helpers. This is for a picnic at the pond. Have fun. Mother.”

My baseball team was playing a very important game. My team was behind by one run in the last inning. There were two outs, and the bases were loaded. I was waiting for my turn to bat. Unfortunately, the batter ahead of me struck out, and we lost the game. Many of the other players on my team got angry. Some even threw their gear in the dugout. I felt sorry for the player who struck out. I knew he must have felt terrible. I put my arm around his shoulder and said, “It’s OK. You did the best you could.” He felt much better, and so did I.

We often find it difficult to accept things that we cannot change. I know a man who does not believe in God. He continually stresses that he is only happy, at least as most people understand happiness, when he himself has control of every situation and has a firm grip on the reins of his life. Several years ago he had an accident. At that time, he almost despaired at the fact that others held the reins and had the power to decide what would happen to him. He kept asking himself the question, “How could I have had so little control over my life that such an accident could happen to me?” When he started to feel better, he attributed his recovery to himself alone, not to the doctors, and definitely not to the prayers of his faithful wife. He simply could not accept the reality of his accident.

After Kay and I were married, we graduated and went off to piolet training, then to Vietnam, then back home to Hill Air Force Base. We had a daughter and three sons, and then Kay couldn’t have any more children. Her patriarchal blessing had told her that she would have sons and daughters, and mine told me that I would have a large posterity that which would call my name blessed. We worried a little about not having another daughter, but the Lord knew what was in store for us. In 1970 I was called as a Bishop. I was a young man in my early 30s. It was an awesome responsibility. I had a clerk named Don who was an outdoors man. He loved to hunt and fish, and on his 40th birthday he invited me, his bishop, to go fishing with him. I did and I loved it. It was a wonderful day, but at the end of the day, while we were hiking out, Don had a heart attack. We got him to the hospital, but he passed away. I was the last one with him when he told me “Please take care of my wife and children.” He had a wonderful wife and four little girls. Three months later, his wife found out she had colon cancer. It was operable, and so our little ward decided we would have a fast before she went in the hospital for the operation.

It was fast day the Sunday before the Monday she was due to go into the hospital and I was awakened that morning at 5:00 a.m. by my wife crying silently into her pillow. As I put my arm around her, I could feel tears and moisture on her pillow and I knew it was serious. I asked what she was crying about and she said, “I’m worried about those little girls.” She had taught two of them in primary and knew how precious they were. Surely the Lord wouldn’t take the second parent as well. As I held her in my arms, I knew that she was communicating with me through the power of the Spirit, and I said, “Are you suggesting we raise those little girls if Diane doesn’t make it?” And she nodded, yes. We decided to fast and pray about it that day and we did, and that night after we broke our fast we knew what our obligation was.

Promoted by the Spirit, we went to her home. The home teachers had been there and given her a wonderful blessing, her brother was there from Bountiful, her sister from Salt Lake, and her mother (who was 85 years old) who lived in Kaysville was there and they had a wonderful evening. We only stayed a few moments, and as we went to leave, at the doorway, Kay said, “Diane, we know you are going to make it, but just in case, we want you to know we’ll be happy to raise your children if you’d like us to, just like our own.” She said, “Thank you. You’re wonderful friends, but I have a brother who lives in Bountiful, and a sister in Salt Lake, and my mother lives down town, and they’ve all asked for them.”

We went home, and I felt guilty because I felt like phew, we dodged that bullet. But my wife was very quiet and reserved and didn’t say much. We put our children in bed, and she went to bed and I went to the other room to study in my den (I had a check ride on the 727 the next morning and so I was practicing my emergency procedures) when at 11:00 p.m. the phone rang. It was Sister Diane on the other line, and she asked if Kay was still up. I said she was awake. She said, “Put her on the other phone and you stay on this one. I want you to hear what we say.” Then, for the next 35 or 40 minutes, I listened while these two good sisters (who were not particularly close friends) talked about how these girls should be raised if Diane didn’t make it. My wife had it all figured out. You know how women are. President Packer said the inspiration of a righteous woman is pure revelation. We had just built a brand-new home, her dream home. She insisted on seven bedrooms. We only had four children. We used one of the extra bedrooms as my den and the two in the basement we didn’t even finish, just roughed them in. She explained to Diane that we would put all the girls up stairs where we had two bathrooms, and a sink in one of the master bedrooms, and we would put the boys downstairs where we would finish off two bedrooms. We lived on the main floor where our bedroom was. They’d have the same teachers, the same school, the same ward, the same bus stop, the same home teachers. It seemed to be the right thing.

At the end of the discussion, Diane said, “Well, I only have one more question. Have you prayed about this?” We said we had fasted and prayed that day. She said, “So have I, and if it’s all right I’d like to come over tonight with my attorney to sign the papers.” So at 12 o’clock that night, her attorney (who later became my first counselor in the stake presidency) and she came over and on an old broken down typewriter on our kitchen table, he typed out her last will and testament. In it we were to receive the children should she die.

Well, she didn’t die. The operation was a success, and she lived five more years, wonderful years. The children raised to five years older. The oldest one was 17, the youngest about eight, when their mother came down with cancer again and died, and we inherited four little girls. What a great blessing they have been to our lives. Sons and daughters.