Gospel Story Finder

When I was growing up in Guatemala, my family owned a factory that made uniforms for sports teams.
My dad wanted the children in our family to learn to work hard. We helped him in the factory. I got in trouble a lot when I was little. I always seemed to break things! But when I was older, my dad let me take care of the machines.
My dad paid us for the work we did. Then he would ask, “What are you going to do with your money?” I knew what the right answer was: “Pay my tithing and save for my mission.”
When I was about 13, our business lost a lot of money. We had to get rid of a lot of our machines. Instead of having two hundred workers, we had fewer than five. They worked in our garage at home.
I had always paid my tithing, but I never really understood how important it was. Then I learned an amazing lesson. One Saturday morning I heard my parents talking quietly. My dad told my mom that there was enough money to either pay tithing or buy food. There wasn’t enough for both. I was worried. What would my dad do?
On Sunday I saw my dad hand an envelope to our branch president. He chose to pay tithing! I was glad he did, but I was also worried. What would we eat?
The next morning some people knocked on our door. They told my dad that they needed uniforms right away. Usually people paid us after the order was finished. But these people paid my dad that day, even before we had made the uniforms!
In one weekend, I learned a beautiful lesson that has lasted me a lifetime. The law of tithing helps us build our faith and show our gratitude for Heavenly Father. Paying tithing is a blessing!

Romans 8:16 says, “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.” The first time I remember feeling with all certainty that Heavenly Father knew me, loved me, and cared for me was when I entered the waters of baptism at age 15. Before then, I knew God existed and Jesus Christ was the Savior of the world. I believed in Them and loved Them, but I had never felt Their love and care for me, individually, until that day as I rejoiced in my opportunity to make baptismal covenants.

I realized what a great miracle it had been to have been found and taught by the missionaries, especially with only a handful of missionaries amongst two million people! I knew then that Heavenly Father knew me and loved me in such a special way that He guided the missionaries to my home.

I received permission from my dear friend and emeritus General Authority Seventy, Elder Robert E. Wells, now 97 years old, to share his experience of more than 60 years ago:

While living in Paraguay in 1960 and employed as an international banker, Robert Wells, then 32 years old, and his wife, Meryl, were each a pilot in two different planes, flying home from Uruguay to Paraguay. Encountering thick clouds, Robert and Meryl lost visual and radio contact with each other. Robert quickly landed, where he learned his wife’s plane had crashed. Neither his wife nor the two friends flying with her had survived. His children, at home in Asunción, were ages seven, five, and two.

Elder Wells spoke of his grief:
“Words will forever be inadequate in expressing the pain that swelled within me, consuming my emotions and numbing my senses. Profound tears of sorrow simply wouldn’t stop flowing. To make matters worse, as my mind was attempting to deal with the devastating realization of my wife’s passing, I found myself experiencing tremendous guilt for feeling I was responsible for the crash.”

Robert blamed himself for not having had the plane inspected more thoroughly and for not giving his wife better instrument flying instructions. He felt he was guilty of neglect.

Robert said:
“My mind went into a dark daze. … I simply existed—[for the sake of the children,] nothing more.”

“I … lost my desire to continue on.”

In time, Robert was blessed with a deeply spiritual experience. He recounted:
“One evening, about one year later, while on my knees in prayer, a miracle occurred. While praying and pleading to my Heavenly Father, I felt as though the Savior came to my side and I heard an audible voice speaking these words to my soul and to my ears: ‘Robert, my atoning sacrifice paid for your sins and your mistakes. Your wife forgives you. Your friends forgive you. I will lift your burden. …’
“From that moment, the burden of guilt [and despair] was amazingly lifted from me. I had been rescued! I immediately understood the encompassing power of the Savior’s Atonement and … that it applied directly to me. … I … experienced light and joy like I had never before known. … I had been given an unearned gift—the Lord’s gift of grace. … I didn’t deserve it—I had done nothing to merit it, but He gave it to me nonetheless.”

I have been blessed to hear many modern-day examples of youth, just like you, who are not afraid to arise and shine forth and allow their light to be a standard among their peers. Joanna was one of only three members of the Church in her high school and the only young woman in her ward. She committed to herself and the Lord that she would never use bad language. When she was paired with a young man for a school project who had not made the same commitment, she did not lower her standards. She asked him to respect and honor her values. Over time, with many gentle and some not-so-gentle reminders, her friend formed new habits and used cleaner language. Many people noticed the difference, including his father, who thanked Joanna for being a good influence in his son’s life.

The Beacon: After battling cancer for four years, my mother passed away in May 2006. My father had also faced his own health challenges in the preceding years. In May 2007, my father was placed in the hospital as he continued to feel poorly, and the doctors sought to better understand these challenges. I received an urgent call one day from my dad’s youngest sister who said he was being moved from the hospital he’d been in to one in Pocatello, where she happens to live, and that things were not looking good. I immediately left work, headed to Idaho, and spent the next four days with him while a number of tests continued, and he was stabilized. I prepared to return home on Sunday evening and told Dad I’d be back on Wednesday, as I anticipated attending meetings scheduled at BYU–Idaho on Thursday.
My dad took a sudden turn for the worse on Monday evening and for all intents and purposes was likely being kept alive by medical equipment and personnel. After the doctors assured me he was comfortable and given the fact that there were others who desired time to get there to see him, I had determined that any and all machines would be turned off on Wednesday after I arrived in Idaho again.
When I arrived on Wednesday evening, Dad was now sleeping most of the time. My auntie from California flew in that night and was picked up in Salt Lake City by the auntie I referred to earlier, and they drove to Pocatello, arriving just before midnight. When they arrived, Dad actually woke up, gave a happy smile when seeing his sister from Pocatello, but then his eyes and face really lit up, and he gave a huge smile when he saw his sister from California because he had not expected to see her. It was a face of joy I can still see in my mind’s eye now, as if it had happened last night. After a few minutes, he essentially went back to sleep. It reminded me that his mind and spirit was still very willing and able though his mortal body was worn out. That actually made the decision I had made even more difficult.
As I decided to leave it all in the Lord’s hands and let things take their course, I was actually a little surprised when we prepared to leave and one of the nurses told me that it wouldn’t take long. I had anticipated maybe a couple days or so but didn’t really know what to expect. My aunties and I finally prepared to leave the hospital after 1:30 AM. Though I have many times since wished that I had chosen, or found, a way to remain at the hospital, I was probably tired, dazed, and didn’t really know what to do. If I stayed, my aunties would have wanted to stay, and I knew they were tired, and I didn’t want them up all night. I had a hotel room waiting in Rexburg and meetings scheduled that would start in just a few hours, along with some other associated issues, and all the scenarios quickly played over and over in my mind. So, I finally decided to go ahead and drive towards BYU–Idaho – a bit over an hour away.
As I approached the lower valley area, driving toward Rexburg, there it stood, beautifully situated on the hill and gleaming in the night sky: the glorious Rexburg Idaho Temple. Keep in mind that this took place eight months before the temple was dedicated, so thinking back now, I am actually somewhat surprised it was all light up. For me, in that moment, if felt like a tremendous tender mercy from the Lord. My mother had returned the year before to that God who had given her life, and now, as it turned out within another hour or so, so too would my father. It felt as if the Lord took this opportunity to personally assure me of the truths of His plan and the eternal blessings of the holy temple. We keep our eyes on the flag when we follow the counsel given by President Howard W. Hunter “to look to the temple of the Lord as the great symbol of [our] membership.” This story is that of the beacon.

Perhaps of all the Prophet’s Christmases, none was more pleasant than his last—December 1843. He recorded:
“This morning, about one o’clock, I was aroused by an English sister, Lettice Rushton, widow of Richard Rushton, Senior, (who, ten years ago, lost her sight) accompanied by three of her sons, with their wives, and her two daughters, with their husbands, and several of her neighbors, singing, ‘Mortals, awake! with angels join,’ which caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul. All of my family and boarders [in the house] arose to hear the serenade, and I felt to thank my Heavenly Father for their visit, and blessed them in the name of the Lord” (History of the Church, 6:134).
A large gathering of family and friends dined with the Prophet and spent the evening enjoying good music and dancing “in a most cheerful and friendly manner.” And then an uninvited guest interrupted the party. Joseph described the event:
“During the festivities, a man with his hair long and falling over his shoulders, … came in and acted [in an uncouth manner]. I requested the captain of the police to put him out of doors. A scuffle ensued, and I had an opportunity to look him full in the face, when to my great surprise and joy untold, I discovered it was my long-tried, warm, but cruelly persecuted friend, Orrin Porter Rockwell, just arrived from nearly a year’s imprisonment without conviction, in Missouri” (History of the Church, 6:134–45).

When I was a kid, I had problems with asthma. I knew what it was like to struggle for breath all the time. I always had an inhaler around.
Then the Lord blessed me with greater health. The asthma problems became much better. I still needed to be careful, but I could do more than ever before. I was so grateful for that gift of physical health. After about five years, I started really getting into sports. At that point some of the asthma came back to where I still need to have an inhaler on hand. But I’ve learned that I can still do many things, including sports. I actually play on my high school basketball team. I’m so grateful to be able to stay this active.
One of the ways I try to show my gratitude for physical health is by helping others. Last summer I had an opportunity to volunteer at a basketball camp for younger kids. We helped fourth and fifth graders one week, then sixth and seventh graders the next week. I got to know the participants really well. There were 25 attendees and 5 counselors. We worked on things like basic basketball skills, sportsmanship, and the importance of playing as a team. The participants had a fun time learning, and I definitely had a great time teaching them.
Joshua M., 16, California, USA

Brother Snederfler recalls another unforgettable moment: On 20 May 1991, the phone rang. The caller was President Thomas S. Monson, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. “He said: ‘Jirí, you have been called as the president of the Freiberg temple. You will begin this office on 1 September of this year. What do you say?’ At first I was not able to say anything at all because of my astonishment. President Monson inquired, ‘Are you there, Jirí?’ I told President Monson, ‘I accept humbly this calling.’”

In the temple, the Snederflers opened prison doors to generations of deceased persons who had never had an opportunity to hear the gospel. And they also opened temple doors to patrons who—having had no religious freedom—had languished in spiritual darkness on earth. They welcomed members of the Church from such former Communist nations as Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Croatia, Poland, Hungary, the Czech and Slovak Republics, and the DDR.

“It is so, so good to be in the temple,” Sister Snederfl er says simply. After four years of faithful service there, the Snederflers have returned home to Prague to continue family history research so that more of their own ancestors may enjoy temple blessings.

Ten-year-old Jesse Brewster of Lakeview, Oregon, made a step toward keeping his baptismal covenants by following the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” (See Mosiah 13:22; Ex. 20:15.) While Jesse was at the store with his mother, he saw a candy bar he really wanted but did not have any money to buy it with. He knew that his brother had some money saved in his room, and when he got home, he took some of that money, went back to the store, and nearly bought the candy. He realized at the last minute how wrong that would be. He put the candy bar back and bravely confessed to his brother.

By being honest, Jesse showed that he was willing to live by the covenants that he had made when he was baptized. He learned from this experience that “following what I know is right is always better than a candy bar.”

My family and I recently had a simple but impressive experience with one of God’s creations. I gave my wife, Barbara, a dozen rosebuds for a valentine. They were a delicate shade of peach and had a rich scent. Barbara put them into a vase and placed them on the table in our family room. As the days passed, the family watched the blossoms unfold from buds to full flowers.
As I watched this miracle, I became curious about roses. I was amazed to learn from a botanist friend that there are thousands of varieties of roses. Inside each rose is a storehouse of genetic coding that develops a seed or a slip into roots, stems, thorns, leaves, colors, and blooms.
This experience led me to consider the myriad forms of plant and animal life that thrive in astounding balance upon the earth. My esteem for our little roses took on an element of wonder and reverence. I pondered the power of the Creative Genius who lovingly provided such marvels for His children. I thought about how important it is for every human soul to see and appreciate the glory and grandeur of God in everything about us.

It happened years later, after our family had moved to the United States, when I was a student at the University of California. Randy, a friend who lived down the hall in the student dormitory, gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. It sat in my room, unopened, for a long time. Randy and I disagreed on many things, but every time he talked to me about the Church, I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me that what he was telling me was true.
For Christmas vacation, I planned to take a flight home and decided to pack a bag full of books to read on the plane.
As I was packing, the Book of Mormon caught my eye and I threw it in last, thinking that I would read it after I had finished the other books. On the plane, however, the last book in became the first book out, and suddenly I felt a great need to read it. It took me four days of reading day and night to finish the Book of Mormon. As I read and prayed, I knew it was true. I could hardly believe what I was discovering!
When I returned to college in California, I immediately told Randy I believed the Book of Mormon and wanted to be baptized. He was thrilled. We called the elders, and I was baptized shortly thereafter.

Life Experience #1
In 2007, I was an assistant football coach at The United States Naval Academy. One day there was a summit for world leaders at the Academy. As I looked out a window from my office I saw several helicopters that were preparing to leave the Academy as the summit had just concluded. The thought came to me how unique the Naval Academy was and how our students would go and serve our country throughout the world. I then had this clear and peaceful impression: “I would become the head football coach at the Naval Academy, and it wouldn’t be because of football, but the Lord would use me as an instrument to help build His kingdom.” Up until that point I had NO aspirations to be the head coach; life for our family could not be going any better. But because of that personal revelation I started to prepare to be the head coach at the Naval Academy. So, during my own free time I prepared. Offensive, defensive, and special teams schemes, plans for recruiting, in season practices, training sessions, philosophy on player discipline, academics, off season schedules and calendars, personnel and staff proposals…I left no stone unturned.

Well, later that year in December, I was in Seattle, Washington recruiting when I received a call from our athletic director. He told me to get on the next plane back to Annapolis, informing me that our then head coach had just taken a job at another school and that he would like to interview me as a possible candidate for the head coach position at the Naval Academy. I arrived in Annapolis later that evening. The interview lasted several hours. I answered every question that he asked me in great detail. Because of the personal revelation that I had received months early from the Holy Ghost, I was completely prepared for that interview. I was hired that night. The Holy Ghost guided me.

Pastel-colored tissue paper cluttered tabletops as young women from a ward in Utah, USA, working with their leaders, cut circle after circle, then threaded the circles together to form flowers, and then attached them to head bands. As they fashioned flower after paper flower, laughter and conversation filled the air—as well as anticipation. The flowers were to be worn at a dinner where, after months of anonymous service, the young women would finally meet their “secret grandmothers.”
From February to September, the young women had worked both alone and in groups—delivering treats, washing windows, plastering paper hearts all over doors—anything they could think of to brighten the day of the senior sisters in their ward.
And now it was finally time for the grandmothers to find out which young women had been serving them.
The evening for the dinner soon arrived. It didn’t take long before young women and “secret grandmothers,” all of them with paper flowers in their hair, were laughing and joking, saying, “So, you’re the one!” and “Thank you so much!”
Once everyone was a little better acquainted, and after sharing a delicious meal, the real fun of the evening began. The “grandmothers” had responded to questionnaires. As their answers were read aloud, the young women had to guess who was being introduced.
Answers revealed information such as favorite childhood activities, best advice received from parents, life-changing moments, family rules and chores when they were teens, favorite foods, embarrassing experiences, awkward dates, nicknames, their mother’s recipes, family heirlooms and traditions, favorite teachers, and much more.
There were some tender moments. One young woman, Charlotte R., 18, who lost her mother when she was eight, found out that two of the senior sisters had been through the same experience.
“That strengthened me a lot,” Charlotte said. “Here are women I admire, who do so much and help so many, and I never knew that they lost their mothers, too.”
Sister Shields, for example, was 16 when her mother died. Charlotte said, “When she said her mother’s faith stayed strong and that she heard her mother’s testimony many times, that really touched me, because that’s how my mother was.”
Sister Shields showed two prized possessions to the young women—a baptismal dress her mother sewed, and a coat her mother made for her just before she passed away.
Serenity M., 15, said that “seeing what Sister Shields’s mother did for her made me think about what my mother has given to me.” It also made her glad that she had made something nice for Sister Shields: “a hot chocolate mug with a smiley face inside, so that when she’s done drinking cocoa she has an extra reason to smile.”
Another young woman, Michaela M., 15, said she had often seen Sister Heyward at church before the months of service began. “I never actually knew her personally,” Michaela said, “but doing service for her made me feel closer to her, even though until tonight she didn’t know who was doing it.”
At the dinner, however, Michaela gained additional perspective. “Tonight, when the ‘grandmothers’ answered questions about growing up, going on dates, what they learned in seminary, and all of that, I thought, those are the same things I’m going through. I got the feeling that we’re all sisters, even though we’re different ages.”
Emma F., 13, agreed. “Sometimes it’s fun to be with people who are a little older because you get to see how much alike we are.”
Emily M., 15, said that an added benefit of the service and the dinner was that it made her feel eager to attend Relief Society. “If they’re all nice like these ladies,” she said, “then I’m excited.”
“It brought us together as sisters in Zion,” said Chloe F., 17. “It wasn’t scary or intimidating to be with these ladies; it was easy and natural because we all had things in common. It strengthened my testimony of how we truly are sisters, and I was impressed with their faith and how it has guided them.” It was, she said, “perfect preparation for when I go into Relief Society this fall.”
And Amanda L., 17, said, “The day after the dinner, Sister Coke left me some flowers and a note that said she was happy to get to know me. I’ve made a friend and it won’t taper off. I’m going to keep visiting her every once in a while to see how she’s doing, to let her know we still care.”
That is, after all, the sort of thing that sisters do.

Elder John R. Lasater, formerly of the Seventy (1987–92), told of an incident that occurred while he was traveling in Morocco. A car had injured one of the lambs belonging to a shepherd, and according to local law, the shepherd was entitled to 100 times its value. His interpreter said, “But the old shepherd will not accept the money. They never do because of the love [they have] for each of [the] sheep.” Elder Lasater then observed the old shepherd pick up the injured lamb, place it in a pouch in the front of his robe, stroke its head, and call it by name. The interpreter told him, “All of his sheep have a name, for he is their shepherd, and the good shepherds know each one of their sheep by name.”

Elder Lasater continued, “Do we understand the personal nature of the shepherd’s call? … Do they know us as true shepherds who love them, who willingly and freely give time and attention to their needs, and in that marvelous process, instill the confidence and security so greatly needed in God’s children today?” (“Shepherds of Israel,” Ensign, May 1988, 74–75).

This opportunity finally presented itself. We did not have a native speaker in our English class one year. I asked my classmates if it was a good idea to invite the missionaries. Then I asked the missionaries if they were allowed to come to schools. And finally I asked my English professor if they could come. I passed out a list on which everyone wrote what she would like the missionaries to talk about. I was amazed to see that the majority wanted to know why they had decided to go on missions, what kind of work they were doing, and how our Church differed from other churches.
Elder Allen and Elder Jones came to class and took most of the class period talking about the Church. It was awesome! After they left, I was bombarded with even more questions.
That year I was no longer the only member of the Church in my school. Because of two of my Latter-day Saint friends who began attending the school, the song “A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12–13) is now part of the music teacher’s repertoire.
It was not as difficult as I expected to talk about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for His Son, Jesus Christ, and for His wonderful gospel. I am also grateful for every opportunity to share my testimony by the Holy Spirit.

When I found myself in unfamiliar territory, facing a divorce that I didn’t want, I experienced pain and rejection that I have never felt before. I was in my mid-40s, alone to finish raising my teenagers, hold down a full-time job, and pay the mortgage. I was overwhelmed, tired, and worried, but mostly filled with the most incredible pain I have ever felt.
Because of my gospel foundation and my desire to live righteously, I knew I had to forgive my ex-husband. I knew it was important to not be critical of him in front of the children, but how was I going to get past those feelings of rejection that made me want to cry out in agony?
Day after day in my anguish, I turned to the scriptures, seeking direction from the Spirit. I searched diligently day and night. I needed to know what I could personally do at this unfamiliar crossroads of my life to follow the Savior’s example, to heed His call to follow Him.
As I studied the scriptures, I wrote down each attribute of Jesus Christ that I desired to develop in my own life. I recorded teachings from the stories and parables that He shared during His mortal ministry. I noted the things that spoke to my heart about forgiveness. I diligently penned in my notebook the hardships and trials that the Lord faced and how He overcame them.
Over time I recognized that His pain was much worse than mine, yet He forgave those who hurt Him. He was a perfect example. That notebook, filled with lessons from the Lord’s life, became a source of great strength to me. It was my lifeline. Following His example, I was determined to endure my trial as well as I could. I was willing to move forward through my pain.
It worked! Now a few years later, I am blessed to have a good relationship with my ex-husband. Even though he has remarried, our relationship as the parents of our children is sweet and pain free. By following Christ’s example of not criticizing him, I overcame the negative feelings of pain and rejection. I can love!
What a valuable lesson I learned during this intense trial. I am grateful for my Savior’s perfect example. He is my rock and my foundation. And I never feel alone. I have His love, His Atonement, His perfect example, and the love and blessings of a beloved Heavenly Father.

President Eyring reinforced this message at BYU–Hawaii during a question-and-answer panel discussion.
A student referenced President Nelson’s statement “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”46 The student asked where they would need the direction of the Holy Ghost.
President Eyring asked me to respond, and I cited the importance of choosing a major, career planning, and where we live after graduation. I had answered this question in similar forms many times in other university settings, and I thought I had done a reasonable job in my response.
Then President Eyring pasued on the phrase “survive spiritually.” President Eyring proceeded to explain that we are living in a season of great confusion about God’s truths and that students would need the Holy Ghost so they would not be misled.47

When I was 11 years old, my older brother and I each got a sled for Christmas. When the first snowfall finally came, one steep road in our town was covered with ice. It seemed like all the children in town gathered at the top of that hill with their sleds.
My older brother and I had contests to see who could go the farthest. Since he was bigger, he always won. A friend suggested something I could do to beat my brother—he handed me a block of wax and told me to rub it on the runners of my sled.
As I took the block of wax, I could feel the Spirit telling me I shouldn’t use it. I thought it might be cheating, and it was also dangerous. These thoughts gave me an uneasy feeling in my stomach and in my heart. But then I thought, It’s all right just this once. I deserve to win sometimes. No one will know. So I put a thick coat of wax on the runners of my sled.
As I started down the hill, my sled quickly picked up speed. Soon I lost control. I saw that I was headed toward a car parked on the side of the road, and nothing I could do would turn the sled. I rolled off onto the ice, hoping to avoid the crash, but it was no use. My sled hit the front wheel, and my left leg hit the back one.
I spent the next eight weeks in a cast from my mid-chest to the tips of my toes on my left side. I recovered well and have enjoyed a full and active life. But my left leg is just a little shorter than my right leg. This reminds me how important it is to follow the promptings of the Spirit. I learned from this experience that when I get the feeling that I shouldn’t do something, I must follow that inspired feeling without delay.

Betsy Ward slid the pan of biscuits into the black castiron oven. She huddled for a moment in front of the warm fire. Then turning, she arranged the pewter mugs and plates on the massive oak table. It seemed strange to be setting two places instead of six. First they had stopped setting places for Pa and Dan. Lt. Ward had had to go with his men, but Dan was only sixteen and had done some fancy talking to convince Ma that he should go fight Redcoats too. Betsy sighed. Fighting Redcoats would be so exciting.
Then Grandma Clay began to ail. She became so sick that Ma left last week to go care for her. Ma said that Grandpa didn’t even know how to boil water! Even little Hannah, who went with Ma, knew how to boil water. Now just ten-year-old Betsy and twelve-year-old Nate were left on the farm.
Betsy heard Nate whistling “Yankee Doodle” as he slowly wandered back from the barn. Nate, Betsy thought, has no gumption at all. He doesn’t even want to fight Redcoats; he’s happy with his cows.
“Hey, Bet, someone’s coming.” Nate had stopped whistling and was standing in the middle of the yard.
Betsy pulled her cloak off the peg by the rocking chair and hurried out onto the worn stone steps of the farmhouse. Nate was looking down the snowy, winding road at a skinny, ragged boy trudging toward them. He was no older than Nate, but much thinner. Slung over his shoulder was a battered drum and an empty knapsack.
“This the Ward place?” he asked.
“Yep,” Nate replied.
The boy fumbled inside his torn jacket and pulled out a folded brown paper. “Lt. Ward sent this.”
Betsy snatched the letter out of the drummer boy’s fingers. Christmas wasn’t as exciting as one of Pa’s letters! Then she handed it to Nate. She hadn’t learned to read cursive before the schoolmaster joined the army. Nate didn’t open the letter. Instead, he invited the drummer boy in to eat, and it wasn’t until the dishes were cleared from the table that he carefully unfolded the paper.
“‘Dear Rhoda,’” Nate read aloud. Rhoda was Ma. “‘I pray that all is well and happy for you. How do the children fare, and how …’” It seemed to Betsy that Nate never would get to the interesting part.
“‘We are here in Morristown now. Food, especially meat, is scarce, and my men are in rags. As we marched into camp, our path could be traced by our bloody footprints in the snow! There is hardly a decent boot in camp and not one stocking in my whole company. Please send us stockings quickly, for we march again on Monday night.’”
The drummer boy coughed and said he’d best be moving along. After he’d gone, Nate looked at Betsy and shook his head. “Too bad Ma isn’t here. We can’t do much without her.”
Betsy stared at Nate. “Of course we can!” she exclaimed. “You go hitch the oxen to the wagon. I’ll be out in a moment.”
As Nate reluctantly ambled out, Betsy ran to the chest of drawers where Ma kept the knitting needles and neatly rolled balls of yarn. There were eight large balls, all previously destined for sweaters, scarves, or mittens. Betsy scooped them up along with a pair of needles. Then she slipped into her cloak and ran outside to prod Nate along. “Where is your red coat?” Betsy asked. “You move so slowly, I’d swear you were on their side and don’t want Pa’s men to get stockings.”
“It isn’t going to do any good,” Nate grumbled. “You can’t knit enough stockings with that little bit of yarn anyway, even if we do get to Morristown. Monday is just the day after tomorrow.”
“Who says I’m going to knit them all myself?” Betsy countered. “And we aren’t going to Morristown—not yet anyway. First, drive me to the Lawrences’. There are four girls there who’ll knit too.”
By the time Nate was ready to go, Betsy was seated comfortably among the brown, blue, and white balls of yarn, and her needles were clicking away steadily. Nate guided the oxen out of the yard and down the long road toward the home of their neighbors.
By the time they reached the Lawrence place, Betsy had her first stocking half finished. Mrs. Lawrence ran out to meet them as they pulled into the farmyard.
“Goodness, Betsy child,” exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, “you’re as blue as a berry! You, too, Nate. Come inside this minute.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. We can’t,” said Betsy, glaring at Nate who had started to climb down from the wagon. “Read her Pa’s letter, Nate.”
Nate settled back onto the wagon seat and read the wrinkled brown paper. He skipped the beginning and just read about the condition of Lt. Ward’s company and the request for stockings.
Mrs. Lawrence’s face paled—her two sons were there too. “They shall have all the stockings we can knit,” she promised.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. If the clear weather holds, the short road to Morristown will be open and we’ll go that way. Since we won’t come this way again, would you mind sending the stockings by on Sunday night? Thank you again.” Betsy nodded to Nate, and he clucked to the oxen. Soon they were on their way to the next farmhouse, the Pauls’.
Young Mrs. Paul lived alone. Her husband was with the company. She promised to knit until doomsday if it would help. Then Nate and Betsy turned toward the Dixons’. By the time the oxen pulled out onto the road again, Betsy’s first stocking was finished. After stopping at the Moon farm and the Tucker place in the valley, Nate pulled the wagon into their cousins’ farm, the last one in the parish. The sun had been down for an hour, and the children were numb with cold and weariness. They didn’t mind a bit being bustled into the warm, friendly kitchen and being coaxed into staying the night with their cousins.
The sun rose the next morning a little after Betsy had prodded Nate out of bed. It was a long, cold trip home, and the trip to Morristown the next day would be even longer and colder. But Betsy didn’t mind. By helping Pa, she was fighting Redcoats! As the wagon rolled toward the stoutly built farmhouse, she started humming “Yankee Doodle.” Before she had finished the first verse, Nate was humming too.
As Nate drove the oxen into their farmyard, he asked, “Bet, how many pairs of stockings do you think we’ll get?”
Betsy felt so good that she teased her brother. “I’ll not be surprised if we have enough for all of General Washington’s army and for a few of the British as well!”
After starting the fire in the kitchen and fixing a little dinner, Betsy relaxed in the rocker to knit and wait for the stockings to come. She had almost finished two pairs when Nate came in from the barn and lit the lamp. “I expect we’ll have company any minute now,” he said. “Should be quite a flock of stockings here tonight. You’ve done a good job.”
Betsy kept knitting and rocking, and Nate busied himself with his pocketknife and a chunk of pinewood. When he had whittled one piece into fine kindling, he went to the woodbox for another, then another. The only sounds were the scraping of his knife, the clicking of Betsy’s needles, and the howling of a fierce wind that had started up outside. No company came. When she finished her fourth stocking, Betsy’s knitting fell into her lap.
Nate said softly, “Why don’t you go to bed? When the stockings come, I’ll wake you up.”
Betsy nodded and trudged upstairs. When she awoke, it was day, but the sky was a blanket of gray. She pulled on her clothes and ran downstairs. Nate was sitting in the rocker, his head resting on his chest. “Nate.” Betsy shook his shoulder. “Where are all the stockings?”
Nate awoke scowling. “You can see them yourself.” He swung his arm toward the table. “Your two pairs.”
Betsy’s chin trembled, and her eyes started to burn. Blinking furiously to control her tears, she looked at the two lonely pairs of stockings. Her throat felt twisted and tight. “Well,” she finally managed to say, “get busy and hitch up the wagon. Pa and Dan will have stockings when they march tonight.”
“Betsy, we’ve been beaten. Two pairs of stockings aren’t worth the trip—haven’t you seen the new snow? We’ll have to go the long way.”
Nate’s voice was angry, but Betsy knew that he was just as disappointed as she was.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to come,” Betsy said with a gulp. “I’ll go by myself.”
Nate stamped out the door and hitched up the oxen. Then he called Betsy, and they rode down the bleak, snowy road. For miles the oxens’ muffled plodding and Betsy’s needles were the only sounds they heard.
Suddenly a figure ran awkwardly toward them from the Lawrences’ narrow side road. Nate stopped the wagon and lifted Mrs. Lawrence’s bundle into the wagon.
“We’ve been knitting all night,” Mrs. Lawrence told them. “We wanted to get the stockings to you, but the storm stopped us. We knew that it would force you to pass this way though. Anyway, here they are—twelve pairs!”
Betsy and Nate both thanked her. Betsy was elated. Fourteen pairs were better than two! Nate slapped the reins, and they were off again.
When they came to a fork in the road, there stood Mrs. Paul and one of the Dixon lads, laden with stockings. Farther down the road they met little Richie Moon with a basket of stockings almost bigger than he was. When they finally left the parish area, Nate pulled the wagon to the side of the road. They both scrambled into the wagon bed and started counting: 50 … 80 … 110 pairs of heavy woolen stockings! Enough for the whole company—and a few of the British too!
Nate winked at Betsy and started humming “Yankee Doodle.” Before he had finished the first verse, both their voices were ringing across the frozen New Jersey countryside.
Late that night, Lt. Ward’s company did march—with a warm stocking on every foot!

As that first school year drew to a close, I again found myself without enough money to pay my tithing and my last month’s rent. I paid the tithing, hoping to find some extra work I could do somewhere to earn money. I was concerned because my already busy schedule did not provide much in the way of extra time, and I did not want to be late in paying Sister Knight. The day that my rent was due, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door, Don Wood, a member of the BYU football team, was standing in the doorway. He handed me an envelope that he told me he had received earlier that evening from his father, President Charles W. Wood, then first counselor in the Union Oregon Stake presidency. President Wood had asked Don to deliver the envelope to me. Don had said he would be seeing me at school the following Monday or Tuesday, but President Wood had replied, “No, you take it to him tonight. As my plane was landing in Boise, I was impressed that Jim needed some help. I think he needs it now, and I want you to deliver this envelope to him tonight.”
I had never spoken to President Wood nor, to the best of my memory, to Sister Knight or any other person concerning my lack of funds. As the oldest of seven children from a very poor family, I had always been aware I could not expect any financial assistance from my family. The experiences I had already had my first year at BYU had greatly solidified my testimony of tithing.
Recalling all this in my mind, I thanked Don for delivering the message and envelope. Slowly I opened it; inside was $20.