Gospel Story Finder

While Henry was longing for his mother, she was thinking constantly of him and Mary. In Utah she worked long hours, sewing, tailoring, and making hats. After three years she had earned enough to send for her children.
But Henry could not be found! He was nine years old by the time Church leaders in England found him. On April 30, 1866, he and his sister Mary boarded the sailing ship John Bright with about seven hundred other Latter-day Saints.
The voyage was a mixture of terror and fun. Violent storms brewed at sea, lasting as long as three days. Other days were calm and cloudless. On those days the passengers sometimes sang, danced, and played games on the deck. Henry often played marbles with other children when the ship was steady enough for the marbles to stay in the ring. He and Mary ate food they had brought with them, such as bread and pickled fatty bacon that had turned green.
After the ship landed in New York on June 6, Henry and Mary still had a long way to go. They travelled to Nebraska by boat and train, often riding in cattle cars. The bedding and equipment sent by their mother were not waiting for them in Nebraska, so on July 13 they set off in a Church wagon train with only the clothes on their backs.
To make matters worse, Henry lost his wooden clogs when he crossed the Platte River. Not wanting to wait for the rest of the wagon train to reach the river, Henry got up early and left by himself—something he knew he was not supposed to do. When he reached the river about noon, he was tired and fell asleep. When he woke up, he saw the last of the wagons pulling up on the other side of it.
He shouted, and William Henry Chipman, the captain of the company, told him to swim across the river. Taking off his heavy coat and wooden clogs so he could swim, Henry plunged into the water. When the current carried him downstream, Captain Chipman rode his horse into the water. Henry grabbed a stirrup and held on while the horse swam across.
He was safe, but he had to walk across the remaining plains barefoot. His feet became black, hard, and cracked from the journey; blood often oozed from the cracks. Sometimes at night Mary cried in sympathy as she pulled spines of prickly pear cactus from his feet.
Near Fort Laramie, Wyoming, the Saints lost many cattle in an Indian raid and had little food, but a relief train from Salt Lake City kept them from starving.
When Henry and Mary entered Salt Lake City on September 15, 1866, it had been more than four years since they had seen their mother. Henry walked proudly at the head of the train, his clothes in tatters, his hair sticking out in all directions. In honor of the occasion, he was wearing a pair of boots, many sizes too large, that he had discovered in a burned-out pony express station.
His mother was nowhere to be seen. When the company halted for the last time, Henry sat on a crate in a wagon, heartsick, watching the happy reunions between loved ones. At last he saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl approaching. He went to her and said, “Hey, Mother.”
“Is that you, Henry?” she asked. “Where is Mary?” Mary was hiding inside a wagon, ashamed of her ragged clothing. The family was finally reunited. However, there was sad news. During her journey to Utah, Sister Roberts had watched her baby, Thomas, weaken and die. She had buried him in a donated breadbox coffin along the way.
When Henry arrived in Utah, he couldn’t read or write, but he learned very quickly. Brigham, as Henry was now called, helped to support his family by farming, herding cattle, training horses, prospecting, mining, and blacksmithing. One night he and a friend shot a 550-pound (250-kg) grizzly bear. They sold the hide, and Brigham used his share of the money to help pay for his education at the University of Deseret (now the University of Utah). He finished his two-year course of study in one year, graduating in 1878 at the head of his class.
Brigham, or B. H. as he was often known in later life, went on to achieve great things. He served missions in the United States and Great Britain. He presided over the Southern and Eastern States Missions. He wrote many books, including the six-volume Comprehensive History of the Church. He became famous for his eloquence in preaching the gospel. He served in the First Quorum of the Seventy and was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. The poor boy sleeping in doorways, yearning for his mother’s love, had grown into one of the most loved and respected men in the Church.

But you may have done more than you know. Your deacons quorum president next week may ask you to invite to come with you to a Sunday meeting a boy who has never attended, nor has anyone in his family. You may trudge up to his house, get him to come with you a few times, and then see him move away. You may think you haven’t done much that mattered. But the grandfather of such a boy came up to me during a stake conference, described in detail how a deacon had done just that for his grandson—more than ten years before and almost a continent away—and with tears in his eyes asked me if I could thank that deacon for him, now grown older, unaware that the Savior had reached out through a twelve-year-old servant assigned by a thirteen-year-old quorum president.

Some of you brethren know the feelings of that grandfather. The mother of his grandson was raising him alone with no contact with the Church. The grandfather had tried every way he knew to reach out to touch their lives. He loved them. He felt responsible for her and for his grandson. And he knew what you know: He knew that someday, when they saw things as they really are, they would wish with all their hearts that they had made the choices that would qualify them for eternal life, choices which won’t and can’t be made without faith in Jesus Christ sufficient to salvation.

Achy Djite Angenor is an investment assistant at China Harbour Engineering Company Limited (CHEC).
When I returned from my mission, I set goals for myself to be self-reliant, however, things did not go the way I expected. I hunted for a job for two months without success. At a point I got lost, but somehow, I had the impression to speak with a Church leader. He counselled me to visit the WSRS [Welfare and Self-Reliance Services] manager and to learn of the WSRS tools.
I spoke with Koffi Priva, one of the WSRS managers. I received training and coaching from him. I served in his department as a volunteer while at the same time pursuing my job search. My efforts paid off when after about two months I received calls from organizations to attend job interviews. I received four job offers and I had to settle on one. I am now employed with China Harbour Engineering Company as an investment assistant.
My next goal is to improve myself through career development and to stay competitive.
I recommend the WSRS initiative to every returned missionary.
I know with faith and determination that one can tame the elements and win the prize.

Another important bit of counsel that I received from my father as a young man was that we should decide what we would do in various situations where temptations were served up—while able to think rationally and unemotionally rather than waiting until the actual situation developed and the pressure of peers, or of emotions, made making the right decision difficult.

I’d like to give two illustrations of the value of this counsel—the first was when I was about thirteen. Two of my closest friends wanted me to try smoking with them behind their garage. I solved that problem by serving as their “lookout” rather than as a participant.

Almost forty years later the second example occurred. I was a member of a scientific team sent to Moscow, in the USSR, to work out an exchange agreement with the Russians in the field of magnetohydrodynamics. The research and development were going on simultaneously in both our nations. The Office of Coal Research, which I then directed, was charged with the responsibility by President Nixon to establish a “bridgehead of understanding” in this nonmilitary field.

Our agreement, which was very one-sided in the Russians’ favor, included our furnishing their twenty-five megawatt experimental power plant with a special superconducting magnet, to be made at the Argonne National Laboratory, and also to build for them a special channel for collecting the generated electric power using electrodes developed after a great deal of research at MIT. In return for our giving them this equipment, they agreed to permit our technical people to come to Russia at their invitation to observe the equipment in action.

On the evening prior to our signing the protocol agreement, I was invited to attend a dinner at the Bolshoi Theater Ballet Restaurant not far from Red Square with the president of the Kirzhinsky High Energy Institute, his wife, his vice president (who spoke good English), and his wife. I was the only American invited to the dinner. It is traditional at dinner meetings in Russia for the host to offer a toast to be accepted by drinking a small glass of vodka. Then the other party would propose a toast, consuming a second small glass of vodka in the process. This toasting procedure continues until everyone has had an opportunity to have his or her particular moment on the stage.

As my host presented the first toast for good relations between the United States and the USSR, I picked up, instead of the vodka glass, my glass of water and had a sip from it to complete the toast. I then proposed a toast and capped it off by taking another sip of water from my glass. I noticed that the wife of my host was becoming very agitated, and as her turn came to offer a toast she picked up a fresh glass of vodka, walked clear around the table to where I was seated, and put it in my hand. She then said, “Doctor Hill will drink with us.” She then went back to her place, lifted another glass of vodka, and offered a gracious toast. She then watched me closely to see that I responded by drinking the vodka. Quickly through my mind flashed the idea that since I was the only American there, no one would know that I had participated in drinking the alcoholic beverage and that if I did not do it I risked offending this beautiful lady and her husband. But I also recalled an agreement I had made with my father years before that I would never drink alcohol as well as my covenant with the Lord to keep his commandments. So, I gently put down the vodka glass and had another sip of water.

The lady became furious. She got so upset that her husband had to take her out of the room. I thought, “Uh oh, I have probably ruined our chance to complete this mission. They likely will not sign the agreement at the meeting tomorrow.”

After the dinner was over I retired to the hotel and spent a fitful night wondering if I had jeopardized the whole purpose of our mission.

The following noon we had a small luncheon before the protocol agreement was to be signed. The vice president of the institute made it a point to sit next to me, next also, to his boss, for the meal we were to partake of before we signed the agreement.

He posed a question early in the meal asking why I had not drunk the vodka when his boss’s wife had made such an issue of it. I explained carefully that it was a matter of religious conviction.

He said, “Religious conviction, what’s that?”

So I responded that I belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that through a prophet the Lord had indicated that alcohol was not good for man and that I had agreed as a boy not to use it.

And then I said, “Why do you ask?” He responded, “My boss’s wife has an alcoholism problem, and he wants to know what it was that made it possible for you not to drink alcohol when under that heavy social pressure.”

Needless to say, I was relieved and elated, particularly as we finished signing the protocol agreement and I was able to return to the United States with the mission a success.

In 1890–91, earnest efforts were being made to establish the beet sugar industry in our territory. Because of the financial panic of 1891, many who had signed (pledged to buy) for stock were unable to pay what they had pledged and I was sent east to secure the funds needed to establish the industry. Having failed in New York and Hartford to obtain all of the money required, I was subsequently sent to San Francisco, where one hundred thousand dollars was secured from Mr. Henry Wadsworth, cashier of Wells, Fargo and Company’s bank in that city. I am confident that my having been faithful when a boy in his employ, at the time he was agent of Wells, Fargo and Company, in Salt Lake City, had some influence in causing him to loan to my associates such a large sum, at a time when there was a great demand for money.

I have had that experience in my own family. When our children were small, my wife and I sometimes punished their disobedience by making them go to their room or sit on a chair. I remember one particular time when one of my daughters who was about four or five was sent to her room for punishment. When she started her door was closed but pretty soon I heard it quietly and slowly open. It wasn’t long before a little foot appeared in the doorway and slid carefully into the hall. After a few minutes part of a body began to appear. Gradually, she extended more and more of her body into the hall until only her hand was left in the room. She then asked, “Can I come out of my room now?” In her mind she was still in her room because her hand was there, but the rest of her had escaped. She had basically disobeyed the order to stay in her room, but was going through enough of the motion of being there that she could think that she wasn’t violating what she was told. Too often in life we are like my daughter pretending to be obeying the Lord when in reality we have left the spirit of it far behind.

Mother poked her head around my opened bedroom door. “Well, your visitors are here. Are you ready?”
I nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
I quickly returned the journal to its drawer and turned to pick up the book I’d been reading a lot lately off of my bed. My mind raced back a few months to my eventful 16th birthday.
Under the tissue paper in that white box had been yet another book. This one had a midnight blue cover and one of the most peculiar titles I’d ever read. Brett had scrawled a message on the inside cover in his now strangely familiar handwriting:
This book was given to me by two amazing guys one day at the hospital during a particularly bad stay. It brought me a lot of comfort during my darkest hours, and now I’m not so scared to die anymore. If this book brought comfort to me to face death, then surely it should give you strength to face life.
According to what these two guys teach and what is found in this book, I will see you and all my family again someday. So, although our time together on earth was short, we’ll always have forever.
My heart was pounding after reading those words for about the millionth time. It had taken a lot of pleading and persuasion, but I’d finally convinced my parents to let me invite two special “visitors” to our house so that I could learn more about this book. My hands were shaking as I closed the cover, took a deep breath, and walked, clutching the book in my hands, down the hall to the living room.
The two young men in suits and ties stood up when I walked into the room. With huge smiles, they introduced themselves and shook my hand. My heart was still pounding as I nervously smiled back.
We all sat down, and then one of the young men asked if he could offer a prayer. I nodded, and as I did, my eyes found the laughing, smiling face in a picture standing where it always had been, on the top shelf of the bookcase in our living room. Only this time, I could swear the smile was bigger and happier than ever before.

Rain poured as a cold wind blew. I saw trees that had been uprooted and lost all their leaves. The power was off in some areas due to damaged electrical lines. The scene before me was now like a haunted place. Everything had been blown away. People were starving for food and longing for shelter.
My heart was filled with the desire to serve. My family and other members of the Church had traveled to a poor community where a typhoon had devastated thousands of homes and taken thousands of lives. We were there to give relief goods to the victims.
When we first arrived, I had seen the mourning in people’s faces. I realized then how blessed we were that our homes hadn’t been destroyed.
It was still raining when we started handing out relief packs at a muddy, roofless gym, but that didn’t matter to us. The relief packs—sets of plastic trays, kettles, plates, spoons, forks, glasses, and flasks—we nicknamed “home-return kits.” As my family and I handed relief packs to the people, they gave us warm smiles and thank-yous.
The priceless gratitude of the people uplifted me, and I felt the influence of the Spirit. Their smiles manifested that there is hope and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will never leave us and will always bring light to our dark days.
I know that if we serve and love one another, we will gain eternal blessings and inherit Christlike attributes. The blessings of serving do not always come right away, but they will come if we continue to serve others with a sincere heart. I know that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

At last Benito reached Oaxaca. It had taken him three days to walk down the mountain from the hut where he had lived with his uncle for the past nine years. Benito was only three years old when both of his parents died, and he could not remember either of them. Nor could he remember having had enough to eat or to wear. Benito spent each day herding his uncle’s sheep near the pool at the bottom of the towering snow-capped peaks while he dreamed of some day going to Oaxaca to find his sister Josefa who lived there. In Oaxaca there might also be hope of good food, decent clothing, and a chance to go to school. There was so much Benito wanted to know!
His bare brown feet were blistered from the three-day journey. His clothes were almost in tatters. Benito carried with him only a gourd from which to drink, and he ate the few berries he picked from the bushes along the way.
When Benito reached the city he found that the people in the market place spoke a language he did not understand and so they could not answer any of his questions. Benito Juarez was a Zapotec Indian, and he had never heard Spanish spoken before he reached Oaxaca, Mexico. For a moment he almost wished he were back with the sheep. But when Benito remembered how often his uncle had beaten him and how he had sent him to find a sheep that had either strayed or been stolen, Benito pushed back his thin shoulders and kept walking and asking questions until he found someone who helped him find his sister.
Nearly thirty years later Benito was elected governor of Oaxaca. In 1861, when he was fifty-five years of age, Benito Juarez was elected president of all Mexico.
The story of the ragged shepherd boy who was always proud of his Indian heritage, who ignored the cruelty of his schoolmates because he was so eager to learn, and who suffered many hardships all through his life is a thrilling one to read. It is well known to children throughout Mexico, and a statue of this great man stands in almost every city and village. Even streets and schools and cities have been named after him.
Benito Juarez lived during a very crucial time. Many historians believe the dream of liberty and education for all that Benito carried with him down the mountain from his uncle’s hut did more to shape the destiny of Mexico than anything else. Benito Juarez is honored as the liberator of his country, and these words he spoke long ago are still found painted on walls throughout Mexico: “For nations, as well as for individuals, respect for the rights of others is peace.”

I married Shawna Lynch, an alumna of Ricks College, in 1992.
We had four children together and adopted a child from North Carolina. Three of our five children were born significantly premature. We spent many long, harrowing weeks in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit watching our babies fight for their lives. They say, "there are no atheists in foxholes." Well, I can tell you there aren't many atheists in the NICU either.
Constant prayers and priesthood blessings got us through that experience. During one particularly frightening moment, my daughter suffered a brain hemorrhage (which is relatively common among premature babies) and I gave her a priesthood blessing to stop the bleeding in her brain. I was terrified but much to my relief, the blessing worked and the bleeding stopped. I look back now, years later, and think to myself, "How did I survive those experiences?" It was so frightening and beyond anything I felt equipped to deal with on my own. The answer, of course, is that the Lord was sustaining me. I was so grateful that I was able to rely on His priesthood power when there was nothing more I could do to help the situation. I learned much from these trials--such as the need to depend more on God and how precious and fragile life can be.

The zeal of the Korean Saints for missionary work also played a great role in the growth of the Church. One great member missionary was Lee Sung Man of the Jamsil Ward, who joined the Church in his 50s. He had many ups and downs in his life; however, he always had a positive attitude in his religious life. A shoe repairman, he piled up copies of the Book of Mormon in his shop and invited customers to take one for free if they would read it. Over 50 people, including his relatives, joined the Church because of him. He read the standard works dozens of times. They were found beside him when he died.8

This year I sometimes have had to get up at 5:45 a.m. so I could ride with my mom while she drove my sister and some others to early-morning seminary. Once we get to the church my mom and I wait in the parking lot until seminary is over, then drive the kids to school. Some days I go to school right after my mom’s car-pool duty, so I have to be super organized the night before, with my clothes all laid out and my homework all done.
Even though I’ve had to give up an hour of sleep, I’m glad I can help my sister get to seminary and also help my parents by not complaining about it. My sacrifice hasn’t been totally hard because my mom and I have played games, worked on cross-stitch, and watched the sun rise as we waited.

Many years later, Diane had a friend named Lynn who was taught by missionaries. Diane saw how happy Lynn was. At Lynn’s baptism, Diane heard the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” She remembered her friend Emma. That was the name of the church Emma went to!
Diane wanted to know more. She read the Book of Mormon and asked Heavenly Father if it was true. She felt happy, just like Emma had said she would. On the day of her baptism, she was so thankful for Emma, the friend who told her about the Church while playing hopscotch.

In 2002 I learned an important lesson about problems. While in Asunción, Paraguay, I met with the city’s stake presidents. At that time, Paraguay faced a terrible financial crisis, and many Church members were suffering and unable to make ends meet. I had not been to South America since my mission and had never been to Paraguay. I had been serving in that Area Presidency for only a few weeks. Apprehensive about my inability to give guidance to those stake presidents, I asked them to tell me only what was going well in their stakes. The first stake president told me about things that were going well. The next mentioned things that were going well and a few problems. By the time we got to the last stake president, he mentioned only a series of vexing challenges. As the stake presidents explained the magnitude of the situation, I grew increasingly concerned, nearly desperate, about what to say.
Just as the last stake president was finishing his comments, a thought came into my mind: “Elder Clayton, ask them this question: ‘Presidents, of the members in your stakes who pay a full tithing, pay a generous fast offering, magnify their callings in the Church, actually visit their families as home teachers or visiting teachers every month, hold family home evening, study the scriptures, and hold family prayer each day, how many have problems they cannot address on their own without the Church having to step in and solve their problems for them?’”
Responsive to the impression I had received, I asked the stake presidents that question.
They looked at me in surprised silence and then said, “Pues, ninguno,” meaning, “Well, no one.” They then told me that none of the members who did all of those things had problems they were incapable of resolving on their own. Why? Because they lived in the finest homes. Their faithful living provided them the strength, vision, and heavenly help they needed in the economic turmoil that surrounded them.

One day at recess, my best friend, Julie,* told me that she no longer wanted to be my friend. I was very sad and asked her why. She said that she didn’t know why, just that she no longer wanted to be my friend. I felt very bad and walked away crying.
When I got home from school, I told my mom what had happened. She listened to me and hugged me. She reminded me that I had other friends to play with. When my dad came home, I asked him what to do. He told me that when I see her to just think about what Jesus would do.
The next day at school, we ignored each other at first. Later, at recess, she apologized and asked to be my friend again. I remembered how bad I’d felt and didn’t want her to hurt my feelings again. So I told her that I would think about it.
The rest of recess, I thought about what my parents had told me. I decided that Jesus would give her a second chance and so should I. I forgave her and told her that I still wanted to be her friend. I learned that even though it is hard to forgive people sometimes, if you forgive, you are happier and feel closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

When we watch television, we probably don’t think about what a “fool” idea TV was once thought to be. We just take it for granted that it pulls pictures out of the air and then converts them into images that we can see on our TV sets. Little thought is given to how marvelous this means of communication is.
But the way it was invented is marvelous indeed.
Not widely known is the fact that television was actually invented by a fifteen-year-old boy, and if it were not for the urging of his high school teacher, the boy might never have gotten the patent for it.
It all began in the early 1920s in Rigby, Idaho, when a teacher, Justin Tolman, recognized a student’s genius. He saw a very rare potential in young Philo Farnsworth and did all he could as a teacher to encourage and develop the youth’s scientific talent.
Although Phil, as he was called by his family and friends, was busy with school and other activities—he played the violin in the school orchestra and taught himself how to play the piano—his inventive mind traveled far beyond the limits of the classroom and his community.
Most people who listened to Phil’s ideas weren’t able to understand the boy’s advanced concepts. And they didn’t put much faith in his theory that pictures could be sent through the air and instantly received and seen on screens hundreds, even thousands of miles away.
Phil’s teacher, Justin Tolman, was truly amazed at the youngster’s grasp of electronics and his ability to solve problems with innovative solutions. He watched for hours after school as Phil expertly drew diagrams on the blackboard, illustrating his television theory. Tolman was sure that, given the equipment to conduct experiments, the boy could produce this wonderful invention. But where could such elaborate equipment be found? Certainly not in the high school lab!
It wasn’t until several years later, when Phil was married and attending college, that he was able to get the financial backing he needed to perfect his television. Then, when he applied for a patent on his invention in 1927, he discovered that a man named Vladimir Zworykin, who worked for RCA, was applying for a similar patent. Which of these inventors should the patent be awarded to was a real problem for the United States Patent Office. From the documents his backers provided, it appeared that Vladimir had had the idea first.
But if Phil’s high school teacher, Justin Tolman, could be found, it was possible that the teacher could vouch for Phil’s claim of having had the concept for television first. Tolman was found, and the patent office asked him to appear before them. Assured that Tolman had no chance to talk to Phil beforehand, the patent authorities questioned Tolman at great length, and his memory proved to be excellent. He described in detail all the diagrams that Phil had drawn on the school blackboard as a student so many years before.
Impressed with Tolman’s clear description of Phil’s television, the patent office awarded the patent to the young inventor.
Philo Farnsworth, who died in 1971, had lived a very productive life and had been awarded a great number of patents in the field of electronics.

A few years ago, my family and I were driving home when we decided to stop by a friend’s house to see their new baby goats. My little sisters, in their excitement, managed to lock the keys in the van. We were far from home, and my dad was working, so he couldn’t bring us his set of keys.
My mother started to get frustrated. She enlisted the help of a local fireman who tried for 45 minutes to unlock the door, but to no avail. He threw a hopeless glance at my mother, said he was sorry, and walked back to the fire station across the street.
Once the fireman had retreated, six-year-old Leah plopped herself down on her knees and proceeded to offer a fervent prayer to help us get home. My mother watched in silence and gave Leah a giant hug as soon as she was finished.
About 10 minutes later, my mother’s friend pulled up. Her husband emerged from the car and asked what the problem was. After we explained, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I used to have an old Ford van just like this one. I still have the keys. Shall we give it a try?” We were all for it, and, miracle of miracles, the key fit!
We gave out a whoop and piled into the van. As my mom started the engine, little Leah approached her and said, “See, Mommy? Heavenly Father always helps us when we ask him.”
Once she heard these words, my mother’s eyes filled with tears. She praised Leah for doing the right thing. Leah taught us all a very important lesson that day—to turn to our Father in Heaven. We should all remember to have the faith of a little child.

I was busy shopping one day some years ago when two young women asked if they could speak with me. “Certainly,” I replied.
“If you died today,” they asked, “would you go to heaven?”
They must have noticed my surprise, because they immediately opened their copies of the Bible and quoted a verse from the New Testament. “All you need to do to go to heaven,” they declared, “is to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
What followed is still a painful memory. I was amazed at their doctrine, and I tried to remember what I had learned at Sunday School, seminary and college religion classes I had taken on the New Testament; but I could give only one scripture to indicate that there was more to entering the kingdom of heaven than simply a profession of faith.
The two women quickly quoted other scriptures similar to the first. I could share some of my beliefs as a Latter-day Saint, but I could not quote the principles from the scriptures. Unconvinced by my feeble arguments, they soon left me. I watched them walking hurriedly up to the next shopper.
“It is a common thing,” President Spencer W. Kimball said, “to have a few passages of scripture at our disposal, floating in our minds, as it were, and thus to have the illusion that we know a great deal about the gospel.”
Such an illusion was mine!
“Each of us,” he continued, “at some time in our lives, must discover the scriptures for ourselves—and not just discover them once, but rediscover them again and again.” (Tambuli, September, 1976.)
The experience discouraged me, and I determined to never again be unprepared. I set aside some regular study time, and began to discover the gospel again.

During the monsoon when heavy rains swelled the Ciliwong, a monkey PLOPPED in front of Kancil while she was nibbling on tender young liana leaves. Kancil reared back on her tiny hooves and her large eyes rolled wildly. “Why scare me so, Monyét (monkey)!” she cried.
“Hurry, Kancil,” Monyét urged, “your grandmother is gravely ill. She wishes to see her family one more time. I’ve just risked my life leaping from branch to branch over the Ciliwong to find you. Hurry, before the river bandjirs (floods).”
Kancil dashed toward the Ciliwong, but the fast-rising waters were already touching the upper banks. Her familiar stepping boulders were hidden under the rushing waters. How was she to get across to her seriously ill grandmother?
Just then a large tree trunk, felled by the storms, came floating by and halted in a whirling eddy at the river’s edge.
Kancil lifted one tiny hoof to see if the trunk were solid. Then she noticed nostrils and beady eyes. She stepped back and did some quick thinking. “Hello there, Buaya!” she shouted over the roaring river.
Buaya’s piercing eyes never left Kancil. He had not forgotten his humiliating defeat in front of his girl friend and this time he vowed he’d get even.
“Guess what I just heard!” Kancil shouted even louder.
Buaya only stared, hoping to lure her into the water.
“Monyét claims the Kancil family far outnumbers the Buaya family!”
“Impossible!” cried Buaya, his eyes looking even beadier. “The Buaya family has always outnumbered every family in the jungle.”
“Monyét says there are more of us than you!” Kancil switched her short tail while keeping a wary eye on Buaya.
“‘Tis a lie!” Buaya’s tail slapped the water in disgust.
“Ask Monyét!”
Buaya’s eyes searched the tree branches overhanging the Ciliwong, but Monyét was nowhere to be seen.
“Why don’t you call all your family members together and I’ll call mine. In an hour we’ll meet again and count them and get this over with once and for all!” Kancil shouted.
Kancil had to make her preposterous proposal twice because Buaya never quite trusted her. But Kancil’s eyes looked so big and anxious and sincere that Buaya dove into the river and within half an hour was back with sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews, nieces, grandparents, and other distant relatives.
When Buaya saw only Kancil on the riverbank, his tail slapped the water. “Where’s your family?” he shouted.
“On the other side. I sent Monyét to tell them about our argument, and they’ll be waiting to be counted. In the meantime let’s start counting the Buaya family.” Kancil continued smoothly, “You line up side by side in rows across the river and I’ll count you. When I’m finished, you shall count my family.”
The crocodiles lined up side by side, feet touching, and Kancil jumped from back to back, counting, “1, 2, 3, …” until she reached 207. Then she jumped onto the shore. “Thank you friends!” she shouted, making a curtsy by bending one slender hoof under her tiny body, “for making a bridge. I was in desperate need to get across!”
All the crocodiles’ tails churned the muddy river into a bandjir that overflowed the banks for miles. But Kancil ran ahead of the spreading flood till she was safe with her grandmother.

Eunice Billings Snow knew the Prophet when as a young girl. "During the times of the persecution of the Prophet, . . . he would request my father and mother to come to sing for him." I thought that was interesting, because it wasn't a new thing for him to ask John Taylor to sing to him in Carthage. "They would take me with them and when Joseph found that I could sing a part alone he requested them to bring me. We would sing his favorite hymns, 'When Joseph His Brethren Beheld,' 'Redeemer of Israel,' 'The Spirit of God,' and several others. He would have me sit close to him and laying his hands on my head would say, 'My little sister, you will be able to sing the songs of Zion as long as you desire.'
"I was always very much affected by the spirit, which he manifested. At first I did not know what it was, but my mother told me it was the power which Joseph possessed."