Gospel Story Finder

My great-great-grandmother Eliza Cusworth was born in England in 1824 and married Joseph Burton in 1846. They lived happily for a few years and had two children, Joseph and Martha. In 1849 two LDS missionaries came to the area, and both Eliza and Joseph listened to them, gained testimonies of the gospel, and were baptized. The counsel of the prophet at that time was for the Saints to migrate to Utah. Joseph and Eliza started saving so that they could make the journey.

Joseph was employed as a carrier delivering goods from the depot to various stores. While lifting at work he broke a blood vessel, which resulted in his death a short time later. His dying request to Eliza was for her to migrate to Utah so she could do their temple work and raise their children among the Saints in Zion. Eliza promised him she would do this.

Understandably, both Eliza’s and Joseph’s families discouraged her from making what they said was “a foolish journey.” Eliza’s mother said that if Eliza would stay with them, they would take care of her and her children, and she would want for nothing. Joseph’s family offered to give her any amount of money if she would stay in England. It was a difficult decision for Eliza. However, she had made a promise to her dying husband, and she knew the gospel was true, so she chose to go.

In the spring of 1856, at age 32, Eliza packed her trunks and embarked on the 6,000-mile journey with Joseph and Martha, her two children. They went by train to Liverpool, England, and boarded the shipHorizon on May 25, 1856. During the voyage Eliza suffered from severe seasickness. It got so bad that for about 10 days she was unable even to care for her children. The Horizon landed in Boston on June 30, 1856, and then Eliza and her children traveled by boat and train to Iowa City, Iowa, where the railway ended. She had planned to join a wagon train at Iowa City; however, upon arrival she discovered that they were too late—the last of the wagon trains had already gone. She had no choice but to wait for handcarts to be made. When the handcarts were ready, the travelers were told they would have to leave most of their belongings behind, as they could bring only necessities on the handcarts. Eliza’s trunks contained many of her valuable possessions—silverware, linen, bedsheets, and clothing. Most of it had to be left behind.

Eliza joined the Martin Handcart Company, which left Iowa City on July 30, 1856, for the 1,300-mile trek to Salt Lake City. She pulled the handcart, little seven-year-old Joseph walked and helped her pull the cart part of the time, and four-year-old Martha rode in the handcart. During the first part of the journey everyone got along quite well. At night many would gather around the campfires after supper and sing songs such as “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” However, travel was slower than expected because they had to stop frequently to repair the hurriedly made handcarts.

The days wore on, and the members of the company tried to encourage one another. Often the only fuel available was buffalo chips with which they made fires to do their cooking and dry their clothing. After a while their food began to run low. Sometimes the men were able to kill buffalo, but after the company’s store of salt gave out, the meat often made them sick. Toward the latter part of their journey, the food was almost gone, and rations were reduced to one-fourth pound of flour per person per day. The season was getting late and the nights were cold—their clothing was thin, and they had little bedding. In their weakened condition, many became discouraged and wondered if they would ever reach the Salt Lake Valley.

When the company reached Devil’s Gate, they ran out of food entirely. At some ranchers’ cabins they tried to buy food, but the ranchers could sell them only some pelts of deer and mountain sheep that were dry and old. After soaking them and scraping off the hair, they cooked them into a soup that was thickened with their last remaining flour. Eating this helped relieve their hunger for a time.

Eliza waded across the Sweetwater River three times in one evening. First, she took little Joseph across on her back. When she reached the other side, Joseph was so frightened that he wouldn’t stay by himself and tried to follow her back. Eliza had to tie him to a nearby tree while she went back to get Martha. Then she had to go back a third time to get her handcart. She spent part of the night in freezing weather drying her clothes over the fire.

An early winter storm struck as the group was plodding its way along the Sweetwater River about 50 miles north of what is now Rawlins, Wyoming. The company waded through an icy stream and sought shelter in a nearby cove. Using frying pans and tin plates, they cleared the snow away as best they could and pitched their tents beside a tiny spring. As the desperate Saints huddled together in the cove, everyone hoped and prayed that they could survive until help arrived.

Brigham Young heard that the handcart company was marooned in the snow and sent rescuers with teams and food to assist them. More than one-fourth of the 500 members of the Martin Handcart Company perished, and many more would have died had Brigham Young not sent the rescuers. Eliza and her two children suffered greatly, but somehow they made it, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on November 30, 1856.

When Eliza reached the Salt Lake Valley, she inquired about William Cusworth, a cousin who had gone to Utah earlier in the season in a wagon train and with whom she intended to make her home for a while. She learned that he had become discouraged and had taken his family back to Iowa. She and her children were taken to the home of Isaac Leney, where they received care for a few weeks. Little Joseph lost two of his toes because his feet had been frozen.

They eventually settled in Pleasant Grove, where Eliza met and married Nathan Staker, a widower with several children. Eliza and Nathan moved to Mount Pleasant, where they helped pioneer Sanpete County. In addition to Joseph and Martha, Eliza had four children with Nathan Staker: three daughters and one son. Eliza raised her children and was a faithful Latter-day Saint all of her life, dying at age 90.

By any objective standard it was foolish for her, a single mother with two young children, to attempt the 6,000-mile journey by boat, train, and handcart. Why did she do it? Because she wanted to keep a promise she had made to her husband. As I look back on her decision 153 years later, I believe she did the right thing. She was able to make it safely, have her and Joseph’s temple work done, and raise their children in Zion. Because she was true to the promises she made to her husband and to God, I and her other descendants have been blessed beyond measure. I am confident that she and her husband Joseph are now together. I bless her name and am proud to call her my great-great-grandmother. One day when I meet her, I will embrace her and thank her for having the courage and humility to keep a promise to her husband and to follow the counsel of a prophet.

Taking a break from the welding work he is doing, Byron Iquic raises his visor and wipes the sweat from his brow. President Iquic, president of the San Juan Branch, Guatemala City Florida Stake, is building a new home for his wife, Etelvina, and their four children.
He loves his family and wants the house to be comfortable, but he also wants it to be safe and strong. Locks, lights, and a sturdy roof and walls are just some of the features meant to protect his family from man and nature.
As he talks about protecting his precious family, he pauses. Because President Iquic is familiar with the legend of Mixco Viejo, he understands that regardless of how well the house keeps things out, the greatest dangers to his family could come from what the family lets in.
President and Sister Iquic are trying to preserve their family and fortify it against the world, also a difficult task but possible through family prayer (see D&C 10:5), family scripture study (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24), family home evening (see 2 Nephi 25:26), and teaching the importance of obedience (see D&C 88:34).
President and Sister Iquic are also teaching repentance because they understand that even after all they and their family do to protect themselves, there may be more doors than can be guarded. And in a moment of weakness caused by distraction, someone might fall.
In preparation for those moments, President and Sister Iquic recognize that they must teach their children not just faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement but also repentance (see D&C 68:25) so that when their children make mistakes, they will recognize the breach in the wall and know how to fix it.
“Temptation will always be there,” President Iquic says. “We must recognize our mistakes and repent quickly, or they will impede our progress and keep us from the protection of the Spirit.”
With daylight fading and the legend of Mixco Viejo in mind, President Iquic puts his tools away and calls his family together for evening prayer against the gathering darkness.

Peter Miller of Bozeman, Montana, was selected to receive an International Youth Year Award from the U.S. Secretary of Education. The awards focus attention on young Americans whose deeds and actions exemplify exceptional character and citizenship.
Peter was nominated and selected for his efforts in raising money for African famine victims by organizing a musical concert held in a Bozeman city park. The event featured 24 musical acts performed by students of Bozeman Senior High School.
Peter served as first assistant in his priests quorum.

My brother and I have always been best friends. One day when I was four and Ammon was three, we were at the playland of a restaurant close to our house. I skinned my knees pretty badly. They were still hurting a lot when our family came home, and I started to cry.
Ammon held my hand and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless Kyli that her knees won’t hurt. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” I stopped crying right away. Within an hour, my knees had scabbed over. By the next day, they were almost completely healed, and they never bothered me again.
Kylian and Ammon Saylor, ages 5 and 4Warsaw, Indiana

I grew up a member of the Church in Belize, but I wasn’t always a faithful follower of the Lord. My family was among the first members in Belize, but we had many trials. My father left us, leaving my mother jobless with three kids.
My mother’s faith in the Lord allowed us to overcome our trials. My mom worked hard to support us and to bring us to the Lord, but I had to gain a testimony for myself. For a time I chose wrong paths, mainly because of the company I spent my time with. They influenced me to draw away from—rather than near to—the Lord.
My turning point was when I started to spend most of my time with youth of the Church. I witnessed the marvelous spirit they had. It brought an unusual joy in my life. Seeing my friends going out to serve the Lord on their missions brought an even greater spirit.
Serving a mission was the last thing on my mind until I decided to turn to the Lord in prayer to find out if this was the way for me. As I prayed I felt the Holy Spirit’s power bursting in my heart. I have never before witnessed such marvelous power. It led me to know that a mission was right for me. I talked to my branch president, prepared spiritually and financially, and later served a full-time mission.

The Liahona Ward of Nuku’alofa, Tonga, held a highly successful youth conference. The group started in the evening with a Book of Mormon nonstop reading marathon which ended the next morning bright and early. After going home for a break and a chance to freshen up, they reassembled that afternoon for workshops. The girls attended a workshop to learn more about electrical things while the boys attended a workshop on baby care. It was a good thing the stuffed animals they practiced diapering couldn’t complain. They also had some experience with the native art of kato weaving and writing letters to ward missionaries. Then they were ready for mud volleyball. The leaders had plowed the courtyard and added 900 gallons (3,406 liters) of water.
Also included in the youth conference was a sunrise testimony meeting on the temple grounds, an evening talent show, and a dinner dance with parents serving.

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.”

My last year in high school was beginning, and I was full of anticipation. Everything seemed to be pointing to a great year ahead.
For the first time, I was really interested in my classes, and I was determined to get my best grades ever. I had also just been put in the position of president of my seminary class, and had received a calling as first assistant in the priests quorum. In addition, I was developing a new photography hobby. I was also fellowshipping a good friend from work. Even the weather seemed exciting and refreshing.
But perhaps the most important thing to happen at the beginning of that school year was a decision I made to read the scriptures for half an hour each day.
I chose to read the New Testament, and I immediately became attached to it. Every day after school I would put away my school books, sit down at my desk in my room, and pull out my scriptures. Reading about the life of Christ every day gave me a real spiritual boost. But after the first week of this, trouble hit.
I came home from school that afternoon, opened my Bible to Matthew, and started reading. But something was different. I wasn’t feeling inspired, and I wasn’t getting any insight. I was just skimming and couldn’t seem to get involved in the passage. I stopped reading and looked up from the pages of the book.
“Wait a minute,” I thought. “What am I doing wrong?” Suddenly, a small episode from the long day at school entered my mind. Some nonmember friends and I had been sitting around talking about whatever came to mind. Soon what was coming to mind were inappropriate stories and jokes. And I had been a part of it. I had laughed and even made some inappropriate comments of my own.
The life of Christ hadn’t affected my actions, not then. As I hung my head over my scriptures, I refocused my eyes on the page and saw these words, found in Matthew:
“But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
“For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.” (Matt. 12:36–37.)
Never before had I received revelation through the scriptures or felt so strongly the concern of Heavenly Father. I knew that the Spirit had directed me to these words at this time. The answer to my question, “What am I doing wrong?” was simple. I had been reading the scriptures, marking the scriptures, and even really enjoying the scriptures; but I had not been living the scriptures. In some degree I was a little like the hypocritical Pharisees whom the Savior so often rebuked. I turned from my Bible and offered a prayer of repentance.
Although my answer was not accompanied by a booming voice or violent earthquake, its power was great enough to make me reevaluate myself. As I continued studying that year, each time I came across some new point of Jesus’ life in my reading, I would check myself in the same area. While there were a few areas that I didn’t have any trouble with, many others required changes in my personality, attitudes, and actions. As I did this, I began to like myself more.
With these new standards came blessings. It was amazing how taking a half hour from each day seemed to lengthen it so much. Since I began reading the scriptures and trying to live by Christ’s example, I noticed how different areas of my life began to blossom.
I was able to accomplish many of the goals I had set for myself and, to my surprise, I even got my best grades ever!

I remember the story of one of our LDS chaplains, a man of great faith, devotion, and courage. For a year or more he had been in the central highlands of South Vietnam during the war there. …
He was not always a member of this Church. As a boy in the southern U.S. he grew up in a religious home where the Bible was read and where the family attended the little church of the community. He desired the gift of the Holy Ghost of which he had read in the scriptures but was told that it was not available. The desire never left him. He grew to manhood. He served in the U.S. Army. He searched but never found the thing he most wanted. Between military enlistments, he became a prison guard. While sitting in the gun tower of a California prison, he meditated on his own deficiencies and prayed to the Lord that he might receive the Holy Ghost and satisfy the hunger which he felt in his soul. That hunger had not been fully satisfied with sermons to which he had listened.
One day two young men knocked at his door. His wife invited them to return when her husband would be at home. These two young men taught that family by the Holy Spirit and they were baptized. I have heard this man testify to the effect that as he was taught by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was edified and rejoiced with those who taught him. Out of that marvelous beginning, with the gift of the Holy Ghost, came a shedding forth of light and truth that gave peace to the dying, comfort to the bereaved, blessings to the wounded, courage to the timid, and faith to those who had scoffed.1

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

Tessa sat on her bed and wiggled her tooth as hard as she could. It just wouldn’t come out! She pushed. She pulled. But the tooth was still there, and it hurt!
She slid onto the floor with a thump! She tried to think of what else she could do. In Primary she learned how you could ask Heavenly Father for help when you have a problem. Tessa got an idea. Maybe she could pray and ask Heavenly Father to help her tooth fall out!
She knelt by her bed and started to pray.
“Heavenly Father, I need help. My tooth hurts, and I want it to come out. I will wiggle it right after this prayer. I know that You can make it fall out.” She finished her prayer and began wiggling her tooth. Nothing happened. Her tooth stayed in.
OK, she thought. Maybe I just need to try something different.
She remembered that her friend Amy lost a tooth once by biting an apple.
Tessa went to the kitchen. She smelled the chocolate-chip cookies Mom was baking. She could hardly wait to try one. But first she reached for a bright green apple.
Tessa sat down at the table and said another prayer. This time she asked, “Heavenly Father, please make my tooth come out when I bite the apple.”
One bite later, the tooth still hadn’t budged! Tessa sighed and put the apple down. Didn’t Heavenly Father hear her prayer? Didn’t He want to help her?
Beep! The timer for the cookies went off. Mom opened the oven and checked the cookies.
“It looks like they need to stay in for a little longer,” Mom said.
“Why can’t we take them out now?” Tessa asked.
“We could,” Mom said, “but they wouldn’t be crispy the way you like them.”
Tessa thought for a moment. Maybe just like she needed to be patient for the cookies, she needed to be patient for her tooth to come out on its own!
She felt peaceful. She knew Heavenly Father loved her and had heard her prayer.
Tessa ran upstairs to her room and knelt down. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “thank you for hearing my prayers. I understand. Sometimes the answer is to wait.”

Fifteen seems to be a pivotal age in the lives of most youth—at least it was for me. There were many pressures and forces that seemed to be almost competing for my time and attention. Every 15-year-old wants to be with the “in” crowd. Recognition on campus, the spirit of daring, an air of non-conformity—all of these seem so attractive, so desirable, almost worth any cost. An approaching weekend offered two possibilities: The “in” crowd was planning to do something really big time but so close to the edge that the slightest whim or impulse could spell disaster. Joe, on the other hand, was trying to persuade me that nothing could be greater than a cruise to Catalina Island on the sailboat Endymion, the same craft that had recently won the annual Avalon Classic; and not only that, we would work as members of the crew while on board. My love for the sea was too much, and Joe really tipped the scales when he gave up one whole afternoon and evening to help convince me. The Lord must have worked through my friend Joe, because my “in group” friends made the newspaper that weekend. They did get too close to the edge.
The sea spray on my face as we headed for Catalina introduced me to sea-Scouting, which became my main interest for the following two years, and Scouting generally, which has been an important part of my life ever since. I really believe in being physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight. Thanks, Joe!

President Wilford Woodruff tells of an interesting incident that occurred in the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith:
“I will refer to a certain meeting I attended in the town of Kirtland in my early days. At that meeting some remarks were made that have been made here today, with regard to the living prophets and with regard to the written word of God. The same principle was presented, although not as extensively as it has been here, when a leading man in the Church got up and talked upon the subject, and said: ‘You have got the word of God before you here in the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants; you have the written word of God, and you who give revelations should give revelations according to those books, as what is written in those books is the word of God. We should confine ourselves to them.’
“When he concluded, Brother Joseph turned to Brother Brigham Young and said, ‘Brother Brigham I want you to go to the podium and tell us your views with regard to the living oracles and the written word of God.’ Brother Brigham took the stand, and he took the Bible, and laid it down; he took the Book of Mormon, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, and laid it down before him, and he said: ‘There is the written word of God to us, concerning the work of God from the beginning of the world, almost, to our day. And now,’ said he, ‘when compared with the living oracles those books are nothing to me; those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet or a man bearing the Holy Priesthood in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles than all the writing in the books.’ That was the course he pursued. When he was through, Brother Joseph said to the congregation; ‘Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.’” (Conference Report, October 1897, pp. 18–19.)

Victor was born three months premature. As a result, he has several disabilities and was unable to walk until he was seven years old.
I was born three months premature Doctors were saying that I probably could not do anything, but my mother was always trying to find different sources to help me. For years, I received different treatments, but I still couldn’t walk.
Finally, my mother found a treatment that could possibly help me start walking. She decided before doing that to ask the missionaries to give me a blessing. After I received the blessing, we went to the doctor. The treatment was just different physical exercises. Eventually, after doing those exercises, I started walking.

I used to look at the Old Testament in sort of the same way I looked at fairy tales—neat stories that didn’t really mean much to me. Separated by thousands of years of history, they seemed out of my grasp. However, my seminary teacher loved the Old Testament, and his enthusiasm and humble testimony began to instill in me a greater reverence for these scriptures.
One night as I was reading, I came across this scripture: “And the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend” (Ex. 33:11).
I read these words and thought little of it. The Lord spoke to Moses. Of course he did. It was only natural that the Lord would appear personally to one of the greatest prophets that ever lived.
Then I prayed, and I started to think about that scripture. I knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t appear to me that night, but maybe I should try to speak to him “as a man speaketh to his friend.” It was then that I felt his love envelop me. As I prayed, I restated what I had read in the scriptures.
“Moses spoke to thee face to face, just like a friend.” I stopped. I said it again and then again. Then it hit me. The realization was so profound, yet so simple. Moses saw God face to face. Suddenly, the days of the Old Testament weren’t so distant, and I realized that Moses was a mortal, just like me. The scriptures came to life in my mind; I simply knew that Moses had actually lived and breathed, that he, too, had experienced challenges and struggled with lack of confidence. Yet he talked to the Messiah, the Jehovah of Israel, his Lord and Redeemer, my Lord and Redeemer, in the same manner that I spoke to my own earthly father.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed again, “I want this more than anything else. I want to return to thee!” I closed my prayer and crawled into bed, feeling His love more tangibly than I ever had before in my life.

“Do we have time before dinner for our walk?” said Mr. Knight (names have been changed) from his wheelchair.
“Of course,” I responded, “I always have time for a walk.”
As I rolled my 90-year-old friend through the front door of the nursing home and across the street, we talked about skiing, slopes, and snowdrifts. Mr. Knight had been on ski patrol until an accident forced him to retire at age 86.
On our walks, I’d pour out my senior-year problems, and Mr. Knight would tell me stories several decades old, giving me courage to face the mountains of life that he had already conquered.
“So,” Mr. Knight asked, “did you have a date last night?”
“Yep,” I responded, dreamily thinking of the good-looking guy I had gone out with.
“Well, how did it go?”
“Great! He is so cool! I can’t believe he actually wants to date me!” I said, bubbling over with excitement. Brock was the star of the high school swim team. He was every girl’s dream boy. He wasn’t an active member of the Church and not exactly a good guy either, but he was incredibly good looking, and I was flattered he had asked me out. I thought as long as I didn’t do the bad things he was doing, I could still go out with him and have fun. Brock’s good looks hid many of his flaws.
I kept hanging out with him even though my parents weren’t crazy about the idea. I rationalized to them that his habits didn’t have any effect on me. Not surprisingly, they didn’t agree. When I told Brock this, he promised me he had quit drinking and smoking. But after a while, I could tell he was lying.
My parents taught me I should only date guys worthy to go on missions—guys who could one day take me to the temple. Brock was definitely not that type. Still, I had a hard time separating the excitement from the impending trouble.
As the weeks went by and I kept going out with Brock, I started lying to my parents about where I was going. And even though I wasn’t the one drinking or smoking, I knew I had crossed into a danger zone.
After going out with Brock one night, I sneaked into my house and headed to the bathroom to wash off my makeup. As I looked in the mirror I met a scrutinizing eye.
“Well, here you are,” scolded my reflection. “I see you finally made it home tonight.”
“Of course I made it home,” I countered.
“Surprising, though,” the girl in the mirror continued, “don’t you think? Brock was so drunk. It’s amazing he didn’t crash.”
I pictured myself mangled and bleeding in a coffin of twisted metal. The image seemed almost real, and I didn’t want to think about it.
I lashed back at the image in the mirror: “Quit overreacting! You’re starting to sound like my mother!” I slammed my fist against the light switch, and brushed my teeth and washed off my mascara in the dark.
After yet another week of sneaking around, fighting what I knew I should do, it was time to see Mr. Knight again. I tried to act natural, but Mr. Knight knew I was in trouble.
“You’re in a mess because you’re breaking the rules,” he said.
“What rules?” I asked, innocently raising my eyebrows.
“Your rules and God’s rules. When people go against the laws they know, they are sinning.”
If I had heard this from anyone else, I would have felt as if they had called me a sinner. Yet I knew Mr. Knight loved me and cared about my happiness, so I listened to what he had to say.
“You know that lying to your parents, even stretching the truth a little, is wrong. You know that lying to yourself is wrong. You know that dating someone who drags you down is wrong. You can’t expect to stand barefoot in the snow and not get cold.”
“Mr. Knight, I’ve lied so many times though. I don’t know how to start telling the truth. If I tell my parents the truth now, they’ll ground me until I graduate.”
I was afraid of facing the truth. I thought if I told the truth, I’d spend my senior year dateless and friendless.
“Mr. Knight, I’m not sure I can fix this mess.”
“Trust me, you can. Remember, you don’t have to do this all by yourself. You need the help of the Lord and His Atonement.”
“Hey, this isn’t a big enough problem that I need to repent. I don’t need the Atonement. Remember, I’m not the one smoking and drinking.”
“I know, but you still have things you need to change. Repentance means changing, and it’s possible because of Christ’s Atonement. You need to repent because you’ve broken God’s rules.”
I stopped pushing the wheelchair, realizing for the first time that I had offended God and not just myself. Now, instead of fearing my own face in the mirror, I was afraid of facing the Lord. I knew He was aware of everything I had done. I wanted to bury myself under a mountain.
Mr. Knight gave me instructions on how to get back to where I needed to be. I told my parents the truth about going out with Brock behind their backs. I knelt and told the Lord the truth. Still, a confession wasn’t enough. I changed my behavior. I quit dating Brock and only dated guys who lived Church standards. Lots of kids at school teased me, telling me I was stuck up, but I knew that what I was doing was right. Most importantly, faith and hope returned to my life, replacing the guilt and despair I had felt.
My fear of being friendless and dateless never happened. By being true to myself, I found friends who were true to me. Mr. Knight helped me see the need for the Atonement in my life so I could change and look at myself in the mirror. When I look to Christ and then look at myself, I am able to recognize in my reflection something of divinity and what He expects me to become.

David was born to Clara and Hector Haight on 2 September 1906 in Oakley, Idaho. As a child, David learned to play the violin and performed at school and family concerts. He played football. He enjoyed Scouting, and he was the first boy in his county to receive the First Class rank. One day, David heard that his town would be hosting a best-kept lawn competition. The award was a new Scout uniform, which David wanted very badly. He mowed, raked, and weeded his family’s lawn every day. When the judges saw all of his hard work, he won the uniform! Even when sad things happened to David—like when his father died when he was only nine years old—he tried hard to be happy and successful.

Brothers and sisters, I believe in angels. On a day at BYU-Idaho when I was worried and feeling discouraged, Kathy Webb, my wonderful executive assistant, told me that Elder Richard G. Scott was on the phone. He was the chair of the Executive Committee of the Board of Education and I had gotten to know him well.
I picked up the phone and Elder Scott said, “Kim, I am calling to tell you I love you and that you are doing a great job. Goodbye.” Click! That was it. But as soon as he hung up, I heard in my mind the words of a familiar hymn:
“Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed, / For I am thy God and will still give thee aid. / I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand … / Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.” [26]
I knew that was the Lord’s message for me. That day, Elder Scott was the angel the Lord sent to deliver it.

A woman I know was struggling with anger toward someone who had hurt her and her family. Though she told her children not to become embittered and resentful, she fought those feelings herself. After weeks of entreating her Father in Heaven, she finally felt a change. She related: “One day, in the midst of my nearly constant prayers, the healing came. I felt a physical sensation spread through my body. After, I felt a sense of security and peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, my family and I would be all right. The anger left me and so did my desire for retaliation.”

The living water is the gospel of Jesus Christ; its communicator is the Holy Ghost. My friend knew what was right. She had said the appropriate words to her family. But only when she humbled herself enough to drink of the water—to feel the Holy Spirit—could she begin to heal.

When we arrived to California, my mom was a single mother who worked hard to support me. Though my aunt and uncle helped, I was often left alone. My father had been arrested by the Vietnamese communist after the war and was in prison when my mother and I escaped. They were later divorced. I was raised with my 3 cousins (2 older and 1 younger) who all came over with me from Vietnam to the United States. Here is a picture of the 4 of us.
Can you guess which one I am? I know. It’s hard. You know what they say? All Asians look the same yeah!
We spent all day in the streets hanging out and trying to fit in. It was very different from our home country and often times we got into trouble: the cultures in our neighborhood didn’t always mix together well and often times got into fights. In the 1980s and 1990s, my neighborhood of Long Beach and Santa Ana and its surrounding areas were well known for gangs and violence.
A recent PBS special called “Freedom Writers: Stories from the Heart” which was later made into a movie depicts the serious problems of gang warfare among the Southeast Asian, Mexican, and African-American gangs of the Long Beach, California area. I was raised in that setting, and although I was never officially “jumped in” or initiated as a gang member, almost all my friends and 2 out of the 3 cousins were affiliated with gangs.
But because of these influences, in time, I started to get into serious trouble and was sent to several reform schools. One of the reform schools took me all the way from California to Utah. Over a period of 2 years, I was finally released from all the reform schools (mostly because my mom’s insurance no longer covered it). I felt that people had given up on me.
I roamed around for a while and finally ended up back in Utah because of the connections I had made there. Over a period of time, I ended up living a life headed for ABSOLUTE disaster. I found myself waking up one morning in a VW bus in a junkyard. Poor decision after decision brought me to the point of being homeless and living a life I was not proud of.
One very cold night, I found myself kneeling in prayer for the very first time in my life and asking if somebody could help me. This was my first-ever uttered prayer. There came into my mind the thought to go see my former therapist, Chris Wallace. His advice was simple: “Go get a job.” So I did.
Earlier another person had come into my life: Nancy Gibson. Nancy had been my recreational therapist at a reform school in California before I met Chris. I was shocked because at our first meeting when she opened your mouth, she spoke Cantonese! (the Chinese dialect I grew up speaking)
I then learned that she had served a mission in Hong Kong! Now I didn’t know much about missions or God or religion back then. I had not been raised in a religious setting. But Nancy’s kindness had a big impact on me.
It turns out that Nancy had relocated to Utah from California for work and when she found out I was in Utah, she brought me a blanket and took me to get some Chinese food one night when I was living in that abandoned bus. In fact, she was the one who, after hearing how tough things were going for me, told me to pray to God and ask for help. Without her suggestion, I would have probably never called for help on that cold, lonely night. But she did teach me to pray and I did call out to God. And I did have that thought come into my mind to go see Chris. And I did go and get a job.
Now it wasn’t a great job and things didn’t get better right away. I was still living on the streets, but I would go to see Chris Wallace and sometimes got to spend time in the Wallace home. A few months later Chris and Debbie called my mom. They explained to her that they had felt prompted to take me into their home to live with them and their 6 small children, one boy and 5 girls. Here is a picture of the Wallace family at that time.
In thinking back to that time, I am amazed that this family with a boy who was 9 and 5 young girls ranging from 8 years to 6 months old would take me into their own home. What a risk they were taking! But that is what they did. And I am eternally grateful. This was the first time I ever experienced such a close and loving family.
I remember coming home tired and hungry and Debbie making grilled-cheese sandwiches for me (I don’t know why the grilled-cheese sandwiches stood out to me but somehow those just tasted so good!).
I saw a family that sat down for family dinner regularly. Around the table, the parents and children talked so naturally and seemed so close. I saw Chris and Debbie both helping their children with their nightly homework assignments. I saw the parents working out the everyday problems of family life with their children. I was completely blown away.
Because I had been out of school for a while, they helped me get back into school. I still remember Chris taking me to see the principal of the local high school and he said that I had to take a half credit of English and a half credit of Math from a night school in order to get back into regular school. So, Debbie would take me to the night school and I earned my way back to taking classes again.