Gospel Story Finder

That is how a legacy of testimony is created, preserved, and transmitted in a family. It isn’t easy, but ordinary people have done it. Like many of you, I had such ancestors. One was my great-grandfather John Bennion. We cannot duplicate what he did because the world has changed, but we can learn from it.

He was a convert to the Church from Wales. He, his wife, and his children came into the Salt Lake Valley in one of the early companies of pioneers. We know something of his life because after that time he kept a journal, making a short entry nearly every day. We have the journals from 1855 to 1877. They were published in one bound volume because his descendants hoped to transmit that legacy of testimony. My mother was one of them. Her last labor before she died was to transform the daybooks in which he’d written into a manuscript for publication.

His short entries don’t have much preaching in them. He doesn’t testify that he knew Brigham Young was a prophet. He just records having answered “yes” every time the prophet called him on a mission from “over Jordan” to the Muddy mission, then on to a mission back to Wales. He also answered “yes” to the call to ride into the canyons to track Johnston’s army and the call to take his family south when the army invaded the valley. There is even a family legend that the reason he died so close to the day when Brigham Young was buried was to follow the prophet one more time.

The fact that he wrote every day makes clear to me that he knew his ordinary life was historic because it was part of the building of Zion in the latter days. The few entries which record his testimony seem to appear when death took a child. His testimony is to me more powerful because he offered it when his soul was tried.

Here is his record of one of those times. His daughter Elizabeth died in his arms. He reported her burial and the location of her grave in a few lines. But then the next day, November 4, 1863, this is the entire entry:

“Wednesday. Repairing up the stable my little children pratling around me but I miss my dear Lizzy. I pray the Lord to help me to indure faithfull to his cause to the end of my days, that I may be worthy to receive my children back into the family circle, who have fallen asleep in Christ in the days of their innocence Ann, Moroni, Esther Ellen & Elizabeth, blessed & happy are they because of the atonement of Jesus Christ.”

All the elements are there. He taught the truth. He testified that it was true. He lived consistent with his testimony and prayed that he might endure faithful until he could be united with his dear family. I feel his love and a desire to be included in that circle.

I took a poetry class where a poem was due every Friday. Several times I was so busy, or I procrastinated, and I didn’t even think about the poem all week. So come Thursday night I sat down at my desk and waited—nothing came. There was no burst of inspiration, no sudden enlightenment, and the poem had to be written! The ideas couldn’t mull around in my head for days. In frantic desperation I got out the dictionary and began to work. I scribbled, crossed out, scribbled some more, and searched the dictionary and thesaurus for the exact word. The lines didn’t come easily; every word came from tediously toiling and sweating and worrying. My pencil was half-chewed and rejects lay scattered over the floor a foot high. Yet, those poems were some of the best poems I’ve ever written. If you don’t feel inspired—write anyway.

On January 19, 1841, in a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith at Nauvoo, Illinois, the Lord said, “Come ye, with all your gold, and your silver, … with all the precious trees of the earth … and build a house to my name, for the Most High to dwell therein” (D&C 124:26–27).
The Saints obeyed and built the Nauvoo Temple at great sacrifice before they were driven out of their beautiful city and they moved to the Salt Lake Valley. After they left, the temple was destroyed by others and lay in ruins for more than 150 years. Then, at the end of the April 1999 general conference, President Gordon B. Hinckley announced that the Nauvoo Temple would be rebuilt. And in October 1999, the work of rebuilding the temple began.
The Primary children of the Nauvoo First Ward eagerly watched as the temple rose from a large hole in the ground. They wanted to help in building this house of the Lord, but they couldn’t do any actual physical work, such as cutting the stones or carpentry or electrical work. They decided to answer President Hinckley’s call for Church members to make donations for this special temple. But how? Their Primary leaders found the answer in a story* about the original temple there:
“In 1844, the Saints in Nauvoo were building the temple, as the Lord had commanded. All of them were contributing as much as they could in tithes and offerings. The men were putting in long hours at the temple site, and Mary Fielding Smith and her sister Mercy Thompson were trying to think of a special way in which the women could contribute to the temple. They couldn’t work at the stone quarry or build windows with the carpenters, but they did come up with a wonderful plan: They started collecting a penny each week from the sisters who could help. That might not seem like much today, but it was a lot of money then. Penny by penny, the sisters’ sacrifice paid for the glass and nails needed for the temple.”
A penny fund would be the perfect way for the Primary children of the Nauvoo First Ward to help! Every child could find a way to contribute pennies, and the money would be used to buy a tree to plant on the temple grounds. That way, each time the children went there, they would see a reminder of their sacrifices and contributions. And as the tree was growing, they would also be growing and preparing to enter the temple and make sacred covenants there.
To start the project, the Primary leaders created a special tree on which each class placed a colorful leaf on Sundays when they put their pennies in the Penny by Penny jar. Children brought pennies they earned by doing things like extra chores and recycling cans. Soon the pennies were pouring in, and the special tree branches were filled with colorful leaves. Even children who visited Nauvoo during the busy tourist season put pennies into the jar.
In November 2001, the temple was almost finished, and it was time to prepare the grounds so that they would be beautiful for the open house in the spring. On a cold Saturday morning, the Primary children and their parents gathered in front of the temple to plant their Penny by Penny tree.
First, they sang “I Love to See the Temple.”† The bishop gave a talk, then the children gave their pennies to Brother Ron Prince, the temple project administrator. The tree was placed in the hole prepared for it, a canister containing the written and drawn testimonies of the children was placed among the tree’s roots, then the children took turns shoveling dirt to fill in around the tree. They were very happy to have helped make the Savior’s house in Nauvoo more beautiful, and they look forward to the day when each of them may enter it.

One day a few years ago when my wife and I were riding a train in Holland, a lovely lady some 85 years young shared our six-seat compartment. I greeted her in Dutch, and we spoke for a few minutes when she said, “You’re an American. I can tell from your accent, but where did you learn to speak Dutch?” I told her that I had been a Mormon missionary to Holland some 25 years earlier. Then I asked the golden question, whether she knew anything about the Mormon church.
She had been a missionary with her husband for the Dutch Reformed Church in Indonesia for 25 years, and she said yes, she had heard of the Church. But then she said, “The Mormons are foolish people.” To my question of why she thought we were a foolish people, she said, “They don’t believe in Christ.” I was stunned for a minute. I wondered how someone who knew enough to be a missionary for another church would think Mormons do not believe in Jesus Christ. When I overcame my shock, I asked her if she had read the Book of Mormon. She said she had seen it and read in it a little, but she thought that it was just further evidence that we believed in Lehi and Nephi, and Mormon and Moroni, but not in Jesus Christ.
I asked her if she believed in Abraham and Moses, in Enoch and Isaiah, and Jeremiah and Ezekiel; and she said she certainly did. I wondered how she could believe in those men and still believe in Christ. She answered immediately that those men were Old Testament prophets, and some of them had prophesied that the Messiah would come. I then told her that Lehi and Nephi, and Mormon and Moroni, and even Joseph Smith were also prophets of the Lord Jesus Christ, that they were called to teach other of the Lord’s children than the Jews. And had she read more carefully in the Book of Mormon, she would have seen that its prophets taught of Jesus Christ.
Just as I was warming up to my discussion of how the Book of Mormon teaches of Christ, the train pulled into her stop, and she had to leave. But I sat musing in my mind how someone could even look at the Book of Mormon and not see it is a Christian book. Doesn’t the title page declare that “Jesus is the Christ, the ETERNAL GOD”? But then, that statement appears almost at the end of the second paragraph, and maybe she didn’t read that far.

I was baptized when I turned eight years old, though it wasn’t until the summer after my junior year of high school that I found out what it meant for me to have a testimony of the Church and gospel.
We had a combined stake youth conference that year, and it was held in a beautiful valley. For two days we were given tasks to perform, helped around campsites, and played lots of games.
On the third day, we were given a packet and told not to open it until instructed. After a prayer, we each found a quiet spot not too far away where we would be alone. Once settled, we could open the large manila envelope.
There was a spot, serene and shaded, with a gorgeous view and a log to sit on. I perched on the log feeling like there was no one else around me. I opened the packet and pulled out all the papers inside.
The top sheet told me this was my very own opportunity to talk with my Heavenly Father. Then there was a white envelope, which held a letter from each of my parents. Tears sprung to my eyes as I read the loving words my parents wrote me.
Next, I looked at my goal sheet. It listed a few suggestions for me to tell and ask my Heavenly Father in prayer. There was also space for me to write my own ideas.
There I knelt, eyes closed and hands clasped, and had a good talk with my Father in Heaven. I can’t remember everything that I said or felt. One thing stands out clearly, though. A wonderful truth slipped into my mind.
“Heavenly Father,” I said, “I know—I KNOW the Church is true. It just is.”
At that moment, something warm crept over, around, and through me. I felt so light I could have been floating. Everything seemed bright, peaceful, and perfect. A feeling of love enveloped me so fully I almost couldn’t breathe.
I remained on my knees, soaking in the Spirit for several minutes. When my eyes opened, the world around me didn’t seem real. It was quite a shock to come back to dirt, bugs, and heat. I was happy, though. I gathered my pages and headed back to my group.
Yes, I was baptized when I was 8, but this experience at age 17 truly strengthened my testimony.

It all started a few years ago when the young men and women of the ward began to hear of the not-so-happy experiences some children around the country were having as they went out on Halloween night to trick-or-treat. Remembering how much they as youngsters had enjoyed the traditional activities of this night, they felt it somehow wasn’t fair that their younger brothers and sisters should have to miss out. And so a new tradition was born.

The first year the party was held, only the Primary children and their parents were invited, but about halfway through that evening the young people realized they were leaving out almost half the children of the neighborhood. The next year everyone under 12 and their parents were invited. “This year we brought nine nonmember neighbors,” said Adrienne Brantzeg, a Laurel. Two of those were six-year-old Martin Seraphin and his mother who had recently moved with their family to Salt Lake City from New Jersey. “He’ll remember this until he’s 43,” Mrs Seraphin said of her son. “I can’t believe there are young people who would go to all this work just to serve the neighborhood children.”

And they do go to a lot of work. Planning begins during the last two weeks of September. Youth and adult leaders meet to make assignments. Traditionally, the Laurels are in charge of food (a light dinner), the Mia Maids handle publicity and decorations, and the Beehives plan and direct games. The priests, teachers, and deacons put together the spook alley that wanders through several rooms on the second floor of the meetinghouse, and the priests build the cardboard tunnel slide that swoops the children from the end of the spook alley, down the stairs, and into the foyer of the chapel. All are asked to help with cleanup.

After the assignments are made and specific class members are put in charge of different items and activities, adult leaders can take a deep breath and relax. “My Laurel adviser kept calling to check on how the food was coming,” said Cyndi, “but she didn’t have to worry.”

“I spent an entire afternoon making 350 individual Jello salads in plastic cups,” said Monika Guertler. “And after the party was over, and I looked at the Jello puddles here and there on the floor, I still felt it was worth it!”

Mia Maid president Allison Wright and her classmates hand-made and delivered invitations to all the homes within the ward boundaries. Over 300 people attended, with approximately 100 being nonmember children and their parents. “It’s a great chance for us to associate with and get to know those we don’t usually meet through Church activities,” said Marianne Miner. “I was in charge of the punch and chips, and I got a big cauldron-looking pot, put dry ice in the punch to make it smoke, and asked one of my neighbors to dress up like a witch to serve it.”

The Beehives, with Kim Astin directing, decided on five games, some of them successful repeats from former years. “We played Pin the Grin on the Pumpkin, Bite the Apple, Pop the Great Pumpkin’s Balloon, Keep Your Nose Clean (wet sponges are thrown at a member of the ward who stands behind a large cardboard partition and sticks his head through a small opening), and we also had a cakewalk, which works something like musical chairs,” said Kim.

Each year the young men try to make the upstairs spook alley even better than the year before. This year each of the quorums was in charge of a room. “It was pretty spooky,” one little clown was heard to say, “but you don’t have to go through it alone.” The young men make sure that one of their number or a young woman who isn’t busy at the moment accompanies each child through so that no scares are taken too seriously. And many children brave the alley not only because of their “big” friends who help them through, but also because if they don’t go through the spook alley, they don’t get to go down the cardboard slide. The Moffat brothers, Kayle and David, have always volunteered to build the slide. Kayle built it with David’s help for a couple of years, but now he is serving as a full-time missionary and David is handling it alone. David says that by the time he gets his call in a year or two, Kayle will be back and able to take over again.

Do the children seem to miss the trick-or-treat activities of the past? “We think they’d miss our party more,” said the deacons. Weeks before Halloween each year, neighborhood children and their grateful parents, member and non, ask if there’s going to be another celebration.

“Altogether it’s a great tradition,” said Marianne. “You feel happy and satisfied when you see that everyone has enjoyed themselves.” “You feel like you’ve accomplished something,” added Cyndi. “And every year,” said Monika, “you feel as if it is the best party so far.”

Will they do it again next year? You bet! After all, everyone likes to feel happy, and it’s an even deeper and more lasting happiness when there’s a little bit of tired, a good amount of work, and a whole bunch of share involved. Start your own tradition of service and make it a habit! According to the young men and young women of the Valley View Sixth Ward, you not only create a warmer, friendlier, safer neighborhood, you create a better you.

Photograph by German Sittner
Beatriz S., 15, is originally from São Paulo, Brazil, but she recently moved to Curitiba with her family. Once she was there, she started having problems with hair loss. “I did all the tests, thinking it was a lack of vitamins, but it was stress. It was psychological,” Beatriz says.
She found herself in a new place with no friends and a strange new culture. But when she felt alone, she knew that she could always count on Heavenly Father.
“I set a goal to make friends in my stake and to control my stress, and I downloaded an app that helped me control my breathing,” she explains. The app helped her practice meditation, and she focused a lot on the scriptures in her meditation. The hair loss eventually stopped as she adjusted.
“Now, I can see that I’ve improved a lot. I don’t think I’ll ever get that anxious again, because I’ve learned to focus on Jesus Christ. I’ve learned that I just need to control my breathing and help people.”

We have been blessed with six children and so, as you can imagine, we’ve accumulated an impressive amount of toys over our 18 years of parenthood. A few years ago, we brought out our Toy Story collection for our youngest keiki and found that our Woody’s pull-string mechanism wasn’t working. When we pulled the string, nothing came out from the voice box. Suspecting dead batteries, my wife, Amy, changed the batteries for the first time since we bought the toy. After swapping out old batteries for new ones, Amy noticed that the switch was on “TRY ME” mode and not switched to the full “PLAY” mode. For 12 years, our Woody Cowboy had been limited to just three phrases.

Once he was switched to PLAY mode he said four times as many phrases, sang “Home, Home on the Range,” AND there are sensors in his head, so he knows when someone takes his hat off! After 12 years, the Woody doll that we all loved was markedly better than he was when he was stuck in the “TRY ME” mode. Needless to say, it was quite the mind-blowing experience for us all.

Brothers and sisters, how many of us are stuck in our own “TRY ME” mode; not utilizing or magnifying the talents our Father in Heaven has blessed us with?

I would like to share a story about my grandfather’s transformation to illustrate this principle.

Though Okuma was fully converted from the time she was baptized, it took more time for her son, Tomosue (Tomo for short). He said of his own baptism in his pidgin English, “I was baptized on July 26, 1942. Baptized but not converted. But rather get baptized then get a good beating from mom’s broom. I would always do what mom wanted us to do, right or wrong, rather than get a beating from her! Glad she did not get the lesson on free agency, because I certainly didn’t get free agency when I joined the Church!”

Tomosue was an extreme introvert. He shared how in his sophomore class in high school they had to do a book report presentation in front of the class. Tomo chose to take an F instead of doing the presentation. He said, “I could not talk like that in front of 25 people.”

Despite his introverted nature, about 18 months after joining the Church, Tomosue found himself unwittingly set apart as a missionary. Once again his mother had used her agency to volunteer him! He recalled, “I do not believe I had any indication of the call. All of a sudden I was on a boat, headed to Hilo to serve. I guess that’s what you call being shanghaied!” Of course this story is shared with some humor—a mission is a personal choice and not something to be undertaken for someone else, but Tomo was eventually grateful to have such a fierce tiger mom in the early days of his spiritual journey!

Tomo shared how difficult, yet pivotal his mission was: “My mission experience was anything but joyful in the first months. I know I cried a lot. Whether it was fear or homesickness, I don’t know, but I know I wasn’t happy.” He persevered and little by little, he began to be converted. He continued, “I imagine that praying all day, all night helped me because at first prayers were mechanical, had no meaning, just a lot of words, but repeating it day after day, it turned from mechanical to really talking to the Lord.”

From that point on, Tomo went “Go for Broke” on the gospel. He later recalled: “As I review my life, this first mission was really the turning point. It is when the greatest change occurred. I can truly say that a miracle occurred while I was out serving. The growth and joy I’ve experienced through my membership in the Church has been phenomenal. Every challenge that came to me made me appreciate the Church and my Father in Heaven that much more.”

Tomosue eventually served another mission (this time voluntarily!), became a stake president here on Oahu, and a mission president and temple president in Japan, and went on to bless many lives. How remarkable is it that the Lord was able to take an introverted, uneducated boy with broken English and transform him into such a leader? As our Prophet, Russell M. Nelson, recently reaffirmed, “men and women who turn their lives over to God will [find out] that He can make a lot more out of their lives than they can.” [8] This is exactly what the Lord did with Tomo.

Melinda, from Idaho, a young pioneer of our day, wrote about how hard it was for her to have the courage to leave her friends when they were seeing a movie that was popular but clearly against her standards. “Some may think, ‘It’s just a movie, what’s the big deal?’” she said. “But it’s the little things that turn into big things. It’s not easy to do, but the Lord will help us,” she insisted. And when she left, others followed her. That’s pioneering.

Illustrations by Katie McDee
Grandma, how old are you?
186!
What?! You can’t be that old.
I’m only joking! But I’m still old. And do you know how I’ve lived this long?
How?
Because I always eat my vegetables!
Does eating vegetables really make you live longer?
It helps! When we take care of our bodies, God blesses us with strength and energy.
I think the stew is done! It smells good.
Time for a taste test!
Did we pass?
Yes! It’s delicious! And healthy too.
Maybe one day I’ll live to be 186.
Then you better eat your vegetables!

The Lubbock Texas Stake youth got a real workout recently at what leaders dubbed the “Stake Youth Health Spa.” They “toned up their muscles with an aerobic workout and used special weight-lifting equipment (hoes, rakes, and shovels) at the South Plains Bank Garden.”
The garden helps provide fresh produce for many needy families in the area. Afterwards, the youth cooled down by “doing laps” in a neighborhood pool. Those involved said they got a spiritual workout as well as a physical one by helping the community.

When the Millers gathered for dinner Saturday night, they were surprised to see flowers on the table and the best dishes set at each place. Dinner was especially nice, and when Mom brought out a fancy cake for dessert, Billie Jo wondered who was having a birthday.
Dad took a piece of cake. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“I don’t really know,” Mom said. “I just felt like celebrating. Maybe it’s the happy feeling we’ve had in this house all week without any fights. Or maybe I was remembering our family home evening and wanted to be prepared in case Jesus decided to come for dinner tonight.”
Everyone laughed, but when they bowed their heads for family prayer that night, they all felt in their hearts as if Jesus really had come to visit their home that week.

“Here are all the sego lily bulbs I could find today,” Shaquana said, carefully untying a pouch to reveal seventeen of the small roots. “They’re getting mighty scarce.”
“You did fine, dear,” her mother replied. “I’ll take them inside and get supper started. You go on out and help your pa with the watering.”
As Shaquana turned to go, her mother stopped her. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Quana.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Shaquana said, walking toward the field. When she saw that her mother had gone inside, her steps slowed and her shoulders drooped in weariness. She was hungry. Her bare feet were cracked and bleeding. Her dress was so threadbare that it wouldn’t take another washing.
Haven’t we suffered enough, Heavenly Father? she prayed silently. We’ve been mobbed. We crossed the country in a wagon. Ma lost two babies. We’ve done all that was asked of us, and yet now we’re facing a drought and everyone is so hungry. Please help us!
Seeing her father, Shaquana straightened her shoulder and tried to look strong.
“There you are,” her father said. “What kept you?”
“I had to go much farther for segos today, Pa.” She took a dipperful of water from the barrel and gently poured it on one of the plants. Each one had to be watered by hand so that not a single drop of precious water would be wasted. No one knew how bad the drought would be this spring of 1848.
“If this keeps up, are we going to make it?” she asked.
“God will provide, Shaquana,” Pa said. “We must have faith.”
“You, Ma, and the Elders all keep saying that, but things just get worse.”
Shaquana’s father patted her shoulder. “Yes, it is hard right now. Everyone is hungry, and clothes are wearing thin. We all need to muster as much faith as we can. Heavenly Father loves each of us. We’ve obeyed His commandments, and He will take care of us.”
Shaquana had always loved these talks with her father. He had such solid faith, no matter what trials came their way. Lately Shaquana’s faith had clashed head-on with her hunger and exhaustion.
As she was watering the last plant, she looked toward the foothills. The darkest cloud she’d ever seen was coming their way. “Look, Pa, rain’s on its way!”
Her father’s face paled as he looked at the dark mass moving quickly toward them. “That’s not rain! Go get your mother and some gunnysacks. Hurry!”
As Shaquana began to run, crickets descended from the sky in droves. She felt them squish under her feet.
“Ma, come quick!” she yelled when she was near enough to be heard over the deafening sound of the crickets. Grabbing some gunnysacks and sticks, she followed her mother back to the field, where they tried to beat the crickets off the crops.
Hour after hour they flailed at the insects, praying all the while for deliverance from them.
“How can we win?” Shaquana cried. “We kill some, and more take their place! It’s hopeless.”
“You go get something to eat and some rest, Quana,” Pa said. “You’ve worked long into the night. We can fight them again in the morning.”
Shaquana nodded and obeyed. “Oh, Heavenly Father,” she prayed before falling into exhausted slumber, “why aren’t we getting any help?”
Each day was the same. They beat back the crickets and prayed. Shaquana was so tired that at night she’d sob herself to sleep. I wish we’d never left our nice home back east and come here, she thought constantly.
They heard from the Elders that the crickets were infesting the entire Salt Lake Valley.
Sunday morning Shaquana slowly got out of bed. She dressed and picked up her gunnysack.
“Not today,” said Pa, “It’s the Sabbath. We’re going to church and hear Brother Charles C. Rich speak.”
“Church? Oh, Pa, I just can’t go sit in church as if all is well. I’m sorry—I just can’t.” Shaquana ran to her bed, flung herself across it, and sobbed.
Pa sat on the edge of her bed and patted her back. “That’s it, Quana, let it out. Maybe you should stay home today and sleep. I like the family in church together, but this once you stay and rest.”
After her parents left, she lay on her bed and prayed aloud, “Heavenly Father, why hast Thou forsaken us? I don’t understand anymore. I’m so hungry and tired, I just don’t …” Before she could finish, she was sound asleep.
She awoke with a start. A strange new cry had joined the whir of the crickets. She ran to the door. Everywhere she looked, there were seagulls!
“Now what?” she cried. Grabbing a gunnysack, she went out to meet this new menace, then stopped in mid-stride and stared. The seagulls were eating the crickets! They weren’t hurting the crops at all.
She quickly dropped to her knees. “Thank you, Heavenly Father!” she said over and over.
When her parents came home, she yelled, “Pa, Ma, look what happened! Heavenly Father sent the seagulls to eat the crickets. They gorge themselves, fly away, then come back for more!”
With tears of gratitude, she confessed, “Oh, Pa, I was so close to losing my faith! I was angry. I thought God had forsaken us. Now I feel ashamed.”
“A lot of folks felt the same as you,” Pa said. “The same things were being said by some at church. And now this miracle! You should write down what you’ve been through. It will help you in other times of trial. Everyone gets discouraged now and again. Sometimes our faith isn’t as strong as we’d like. Remembering the crickets and seagulls may help you get through other rough times that will surely come.”
Shaquana threw herself into her father’s arms. “I’m so glad you understand, Pa!”
He hugged her tight. “And I’m glad you found your faith again. If you water and nurture it as carefully as you have these crops, it will grow strong.”
“I will, Pa. I will.”

One day my dad and I were trying to lead one of our cows into a trailer so we could take her to a sale. She did not want to cooperate, though, and she ended up jumping the fence. We began to lose all hope of getting her in the trailer as we watched her trot into the center of our neighbor’s cattle herd.
As I walked toward the herd, I said a silent prayer that we would be able to lead her back into our pasture without startling the other cattle. Almost immediately after I said this prayer, our cow separated from the herd and jumped the fence back into our field.
Later that day as we ate dinner, my dad shared this experience with the rest of our family. He explained that he had been praying that everything would go well so our family could make some money from the cow. I smiled and told him that I had done the same thing.
I will never forget his next words. He looked me in the eyes and asked, “Did you thank your Heavenly Father?” I thought about it and realized that I had not. That night I said a prayer of thanks. I thanked Him for answering my prayers, for my family, and for my dad, who is such a great example to me.

Years ago, I arrived home from work and was startled to see white paint splattered everywhere—on the ground, the garage door, and our red-brick house. I inspected the scene more closely and discovered the paint was still wet. A trail of paint led toward the backyard, and so I followed it. There, I found my five-year-old son with a paintbrush in his hand, chasing our dog. Our beautiful black Labrador was splattered almost half white!
“What are you doing?” I asked in an animated voice.
My son stopped, looked at me, looked at the dog, looked at the paintbrush dripping with paint, and said, “I just want him to look like the black-spotted dogs in the movie—you know, the one with 101 Dalmatians.”
I loved our dog. I thought he was perfect, but that day my son had a different idea.
In the first story, our young son had a beautiful dog as a pet; notwithstanding, he grabbed a gallon of paint and, with paintbrush in hand, determined to create his own imagined reality.

Before Marjorie Pay decided to marry a young, returned-missionary named Gordon B. Hinckley, she recognized who came first in his life. She reminisced: "As we got closer to marriage, I felt completely confident that Gordon loved me. But I also knew somehow that I would never come first with him. I knew I was going to be second in his life and that the Lord was going to be first. And that was okay." How many women would be incensed to not be first on their man's list? But Marjorie was actually encouraged! She said, "It seemed to me that if you understood the gospel and the purpose of our being here, you would want a husband who put the Lord first."[14]

This Spring I was wandering through a State Park in Central Arkansas. The park is in a beautiful part of the world and the State of Arkansas has created an exceptional arboretum with tall magnificent trees, bushes and plants from all continents. It has beautiful streams and water falls. There are paths that lead to secret spots where it is easy to forget challenges and easy to remember what is important.

I was with my wife, two of our grandsons, and a brand new granddaughter. We were also with the children's mother who is our second daughter. It was the kind of day we will always want to remember. It was a day where grandparents are able to completely spoil their grandchildren. If they wanted ice cream they got ice-cream. If they made eye contact with a Snickers bar they got a Snickers bar. We were reminded that while our grandchildren enjoyed the sugar overdose what they really wanted was the undivided attention of their grandparents.

They wanted us to take the time to explore the world with them. We were gently required to look at flowers, climb on rocks, look at the fish, and allow them to explain to us the world as they experienced it. It is also a time when they ask questions that are almost impossible to answer. You know the ones, like 'are fish married?' Followed by the ubiquitous, why, and additional whys. It was during one of these required mini explorer events that the following happened.

Our grandson, Bram who was then four years old, became concerned when he discovered we were in the general proximity of a Dragon Fly. I apologize to the biologists on the faculty and the biology majors for not having the correct scientific name of the Dragon Fly on the tip of my tongue. Candidly, even if I did know the name I would likely butcher the pronunciation.

Bram exclaimed that Dragon Flies are poisonous and he was serious and deadly concerned. He did not explain how or why they were poisonous. I initially suspected his concern was because Dragon Flies do have a somewhat sinister look to them.

First the name Dragon is probably not a good way to start, and then there are the big eyes, long body, lots of wings, and an irregular flight trajectory. I asked him how he knew they were poisonous, expecting a just because response to his grandfather, instead he explained that Gary, his then six year old brother, had told him they were. I realized then that the toxicity of Dragon Flies had been established beyond doubt in Bram's mind because to a four year old there are few humans with more expertize than an older brother. And with their darting flying style and unique shape it easy to sell the story that dragon flies are deadly.

Except that six year old brothers and sisters, even if they are children of God, are often wrong. However, perceptions formed in young minds soon turn to reality and reality, right or wrong, is passed down to siblings and friends. Such perceptions are generally harmless. There will be a time when Bram will discover that his brother Gary does not have all of the answers and those he has may be wrong regardless of how logical they seem. His deference to for his brother will also change with time. Four year olds become six year olds and then they seem to know a great deal and older brothers seem to know less. Who knows, Bram may become an entomologist and spend his entire life studying Dragon Flies, and whether he becomes an expert on dragon flies or not, he will realize someday they are not poisonous and he was wrong. That is the most important part of this story we can be wrong about things and ideas and even behave inappropriately like an irrational fear of a harmless insect. We can be wrong for the most innocent of reasons -the miss guided expertize of a six year old brother ---or even the most sinister of reasons.

Another time, while serving a mission in Kentucky, Lorenzo was warming himself by a fire one evening at the end of a church meeting. An unfriendly man standing beside him (who was part of a gang waiting to attack him) accidentally bumped against Lorenzo and felt his scriptures in the pocket of his jacket. The scriptures were a gift from Joseph Smith, Sr., father of the Prophet Joseph Smith. However, thinking the object in Lorenzo’s jacket was a gun, the man immediately left without causing a fight. Lorenzo said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for taking care of him while he preached the gospel.

A young adolescent came to see me one day saying that he was having trouble communicating with his dad. In fact, he said, they never spoke but what they nearly came to blows. He went on to say that he thought his father was often behaving quite childishly. I was struck by the general level of maturity displayed by this 16-year-old. I vividly recall my reply to him, because when I finished one sentence, he looked at me and said, “I’ll do it.” His clipped response was in reply to this question: “Why don’t you become your father’s father and treat him the way you’d like him to treat you?”