Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by David Habben
I go to a school run by one of the churches in my country. Some time back I was chosen by my classmates to be our class counselor. One day as I was planning what to teach, I came across a Church booklet about the law of chastity. I decided to teach my classmates about chastity and asked the full-time missionaries for booklets, which I gave out during the lesson.
After my lesson, many students wanted to know more about the Church, so I taught them and gave them more Church materials, including the Book of Mormon. I did not know that this was not approved by the head teacher.
One day she called me to her office and asked me which church I went to. When I told her, she asked why I was giving out the Church’s “Bible” to the students. I told her that I gave them only to those who asked for them.
After a long talk about the Church, in which she made it clear that she believed it was not the Church of God, she told me, “I know that you have no parents, but I am very sorry—you will have to leave my school because you will convert many of my good students to that church of yours.” She told me to choose between the Church and my education.
She called an assembly and told the school that I was not allowed in school anymore because I belonged to the Mormon Church and that any other students following me would have to leave.
After the assembly, she asked what I had decided: my church or my education. I felt the Spirit telling me to stand for what I know: that the Lord has restored His true Church. I shared my testimony with her as I was leaving. She told me to return the following week to pick up a letter showing that I no longer went to the school.
When I came the following week, she had changed her mind! She wasn’t making me leave the school anymore. I was very happy, mostly because I had stood for what I knew to be true.
This experience taught me to always stand for what we know to be true. The Lord will always be there for us. If I had denied the Church, the students would have said that what I was teaching them was not true, but now they know that I know the truth.

2. After Alice and Alvin were married, Alvin continued to spend long hours with his bachelor friends playing golf, hunting, and discussing business. Alice, anxious not to nag Alvin or be domineering, kept her feelings of disappointment at being left home to herself. Alvin began sharing his triumphs and experiences with his friends not with Alice.

This was the first danger signal—lack of communication. Then Alice, like Alvin, turned to someone else: a friendly neighbor man whose interest Alice found comforting. Their friendship soon became serious.

Alice and Alvin had a difficult time working through the problem. It required evaluation of their goals, repentance, and forgiveness for both of them. Both were guilty of finding persons outside their marriage to satisfy most of their emotional needs. No one should expect his spouse to satisfy all of his needs, but a marriage cannot survive an emotionally barren atmosphere.

I think of dear Sister Amy Gent, whom I was privileged to visit for several years as branch president, home teacher, and friend. The first time I visited her, she was 87 years of age. Widowed twice, she was the only member of the Church in her extended family. Was she lonely? Never!

She read the scriptures every day. Once she asked me to bring her some missionary tracts, which I thought were to vary her reading. I gave them to her saying, “You will enjoy reading these, Sister Gent.”

“Oh, they are not for me,” she replied. “I visit an old lady, and I want to share the gospel with her!”

Reaching out, helping, serving, this is the way we overcome the fear of loneliness.

Though Illinois was for a time a refuge of peace and safety for the Saints, that refuge was short-lived. The Prophet Joseph’s death on 27 June 1844 at Carthage brought more persecution and suffering to his followers. But despite hardship, many Saints—like Sidney Tanner—continued to endure faithfully. Sidney suffered the loss of his wife and three children within a two-year period, yet on 13 April 1845, when he wrote from Winter Quarters to his in-laws, James and Elsie Conlee (who were rather antagonistic toward the Saints) to tell them of his wife’s death, he said,
“[My wife, Louisa] requested me to write to you and tell you that she died in the full triumph of the faith of Jesus Christ and her greatest desire for living was for the benefit of her family and friends and [to] do what she was afraid they would not do for themselves, that they might arrive to a glorious salvation in the kingdom of God, where she expects to meet them and enjoy their society.”14

A treasured memory for them both was when they heard Elder LeGrand Richards, who was the visiting General Authority, speak at their first stake conference. My Father said he spoke about eternal marriage and about telling your wife you love her every day. My Mother said she was so impressed with the power with which he spoke.
They have been faithful members, raising six children, including five sons who served missions, and they are now seeing their grandchildren serve. And yes, my Father still tells my Mum that he loves her every day!

A year or two later a business associate asked me if I would be willing to accept some counsel. I readily indicated I would be happy to receive it. He suggested that I was too abrupt, too impatient, too brusk, and too intent on achieving my goals quickly. I had such respect for this man that I spent many hours pondering his perception and have made a great effort over the course of many years trying to gain control over an intensity that might overshadow other qualities I would rather acquire. The direction of my life has been affected in a major way by this effort.

The story is told that in ancient Rome a group of women were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another. Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys. One of the women said to her, “And where are your jewels?” to which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, “These are my jewels.” Under her tutelage, and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus—the Gracchi, as they were called—two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history. For as long as they are remembered and spoken of, the mother who reared them after the manner of her own life will be remembered and spoken of with praise also.

Two of the blessings that a senior priesthood companion can give are trust and an example of caring. I saw that when my son was given a home teaching companion who had vastly more priesthood experience than he did. His senior companion had been a mission president twice and had served in other leadership positions.

Before they were to visit one of their assigned families, that seasoned priesthood leader asked to visit my son in our home beforehand. They allowed me to listen. The senior companion opened with prayer, asking for help. Then he said something like this to my son: “I think we should teach a lesson that will sound to this family like a call to repentance. I think they won’t take it very well from me. I think they would take the message better from you. How do you feel about that?”

I remember the terror in my son’s eyes. I can still feel the happiness of that moment when my son accepted the trust.

It was not by accident that the bishop put that companionship together. It was by careful preparation that the senior companion had learned about the feelings of that family they were about to teach. It was by inspiration that he felt to step back, to trust an inexperienced youth to call older children of God to repentance and to safety.

I don’t know the outcome of their visit, but I do know that a bishop, a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, and the Lord were preparing a boy to be a priesthood man and someday a bishop.

In his first address as Church President, he spoke sorrowfully of the ridicule and persecution Latter-day Saints had suffered. “The Lord designs to change this condition of things,” he prophetically announced, “and to make us known to the world in our true light—as true worshipers of God” whose “mission in this world is to do good, to put down iniquity under our feet, to exalt righteousness, purity, and holiness in the hearts of the people, and to establish in the minds of our children, above all other things, a love for God and his word, that shall be in them as a fountain of light, strength, faith and power.”25
He promised the Saints if they would live nearer to the Lord, they would enjoy a greater outpouring of the Spirit. He then entreated them to feel “in your hearts and from the depths of your souls to forgive one another, and never from this time forth … bear malice toward another fellow creature.”26 He lived this counsel, refusing to allow repeated attacks upon his character to make him bitter and vindictive. “The spirit of the world is vicious,”27 he said, as he advised the Saints to prize the fruits of the Holy Spirit: “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance” (Gal. 5:22–23).
Antagonistic journalists made him the brunt of vilifying articles and defaming cartoons. His daughter Edith Eleanor recalled: “Some of the people at school had in their possession false reports and lies about Father. I went home from school furious one day. As soon as Father came in that evening I said to him, ‘Papa, why don’t you do something? You’re not doing one thing, and these mean men are taking advantage of you, printing all these lies.’” Her father smiled and said, “‘Baby, don’t get upset. They are not hurting me one bit; they are only hurting themselves. Don’t you know, Baby, that when someone tells a lie they are only hurting themselves more than anyone else?’”28

Not very many years ago in a Maori village in New Zealand, a baby boy was born. He soon received a blessing from his grandfather who said in the blessing that this boy would one day become an educational leader among his people. Some of the men in the village laughed at that blessing; it seemed so unrealistic. That boy, Barney Wihongi, earned his doctorate and became president of the Church College of New Zealand. He became president of the Church College of New Zealand at age 35 and had influence among other educators in the country of New Zealand. The promises given to Brother Wihongi as a baby amused some. Brother Barney Wihongi inspired many!

Andrea had been saving money from her paper route and her allowance for a long time. She wanted to get a CD player for her mom for Mother’s Day. She knew her mom would love listening to music in the kitchen while she worked. Finally, after paying tithing, Andrea had saved $20. With this money she hoped to find a great deal on a good secondhand CD player.

Andrea knew Mom wouldn’t mind if it was secondhand, because Mom was always happy to find “great deals” and “the best bargains” at the store. Mom would be proud to know that Andrea was trying to get the most for her money too.

The Saturday before Mother’s Day, Andrea was excited to find a CD player at her friend Robin’s neighborhood yard sale.

“How much?” Andrea asked.

“Fifteen dollars,” Robin said.

Fifteen dollars! That meant Andrea would have five dollars left over for a fancy gift box and a card.

“I’ll take it,” she said. “But can you keep it here for me? I’ll need to sneak it home later, after my mom leaves for her hair appointment.”

“No problem,” Robin said. “I’ll put a ‘sold’ sign on it, and you can pay me when you pick it up.”

Andrea walked home smiling and humming to herself. What a good bargain shopper she was! Mom would be so proud.

Then Andrea saw another yard sale. Maybe she could find a great deal here on wrapping paper or ribbon. As she looked at the sale tables, another CD player caught her eye. This one was almost the same as the one sold by Robin—except the sign on this one read “$5.”

Five dollars! That was a better bargain than the first one. Andrea couldn’t believe her good luck. By spending only five dollars she’d have enough money left over to buy not only a fancy gift box and card but also the choir CD her mom liked so much. Mom would be twice as proud of her for finding this great deal.

Quickly Andrea bought the CD player and carried it home. By now Mom was gone, so Andrea hid it in her closet. She happily called Robin to tell her she didn’t need her CD player anymore. Robin didn’t say much.

Soon after Andrea hung up, the phone rang. It was Robin calling back.

“What you did isn’t fair,” Robin said. “Lots of people wanted my CD player but I told them it was sold to you. Now our yard sale is over and I can’t sell it. You broke your promise to me, and that’s not nice.”

After Robin hung up, Andrea sat in stunned silence. At first she felt mad. “How dare Robin talk to me like that?” she thought. “It’s my hard-earned money and I can do whatever I want with it.” Besides, getting the best deal was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

Then Andrea started feeling bad. Robin was right, she realized. Andrea had broken her agreement. While Andrea had gotten a better deal, Robin got no deal at all.

Andrea said a prayer for courage, took a deep breath, and dialed Robin’s phone number.

“You’re right,” she blurted out as soon as she heard Robin’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you the money I promised, but you can keep the CD player. Maybe at another yard sale you can sell it to someone else. Is that OK?”

Now it was Robin’s turn to be stunned. Finally she responded: “That’s OK. You don’t have to pay me. I just remembered someone else who wanted it. I’ll give her a call. Thanks, though. I really appreciate it. See you at school, Andrea.”

When Andrea hung up, she gave a prayer of thanks that she was able to do the right thing. She knew it was the right thing because now she felt good inside. She was glad she had gotten a great deal on the CD player, but she was even happier that she had strengthened a friendship and learned to have integrity. That was the best bargain of all—one that would make her mother truly proud.

“Maron, Maron,” her father whispered. “Wake quickly!”
Through the fog of sleep that held her, Maron heard her name but thought it was part of a dream.
“Please, my child.” The man shook her shoulder gently but urgently.
Struggling to open her eyes, Maron slowly became aware of her father. “But it is not yet dawn, and—” she started to say.
“Shhhh!” Her father gently laid his rough carpenter’s hand over her mouth. “You must be very quiet.”
What sleepiness Maron clung to fled as fear clutched at her stomach. “What is happening?” she whispered.
“Listen carefully, little one.” Her father squeezed both her hands in one of his. “I have just learned that some of Mocum’s warriors are planning to attack our people when we gather to listen to Teomnihah, the leader of our people in Kurom. I must get a message to him, but Mocum is watching me.”
“Speak no more, my father.” Maron sat up and began to pull her tunic over her nightclothes. “I will go. No one notices a girl of only ten years.”
“You are indeed a blessing to an old man,” her father whispered. ”I would send Melekib, but Mocum is watching him too.”
“My brother has done his part. Now I will do mine.” Maron finished lacing her sandals, then swung a cloak over her head and shoulders as she turned toward the door. “I will return before sunlight burns in the fields.”
“Maron.”
She turned to face her father. By the dim candlelight she could see a slight grin turning up the thin lips above her father’s bearded chin. I have done something foolish again, she decided, but what?
“Do you not wish to know where Teomnihah is?”
Maron lowered her eyes. “Yes, my father.”
“Your acts must never be more eager than your thoughts,” he warned.
“It is a fault of mine,” Maron whispered. “But I will give more to my thoughts. I will not fail you.”
“You must not, Daughter. Teomnihah must not speak to our people this day. Now go. Go to Kurom, to the house of Jorish. Go with the speed of a lion. And may God travel with you.”
“He will,” Maron whispered. “And with His help, I cannot fail.” Silently she exited into the moonlit countryside. Kurom was a sixteen-thousand-cubit journey to the east. From the moon’s position, she guessed it to be about three hours until dawn. She must hurry in order to be back before Mocum’s guards noticed she was gone.
Swiftly, but carefully, she moved along the footpath to the road. Just before reaching it, she turned into the trees, and raced beside the road, being careful to choose the way that allowed her the most cover. There would be many guards. How thankful she was for the dark brown cloak her mother had made.
As Maron thought of the importance of what she was doing, her feet seemed to take wing and glide over the rocky earth. Strength and determination to prove herself to her father surged through her. Never before had anything so important been entrusted to her. Always Melekib did the exciting things, while she helped her blind mother. Always she—
Maron jerked to a stop and merged into the shadows. Struggling to keep her rapid breathing silent, she made herself as motionless as the tree trunk that concealed her. Ahead on the road a guard approached, a sword girded at his waist and his hand resting upon the hilt. Had he heard her as she had heard him? Fear tightened her stomach as the guard’s eyes searched the trees along the road. When he turned her way, he stopped and seemed to look straight at her.
With no visible motion, but with all her might, Maron pressed into the tree, wishing she were part of it. After a long moment the guard slowly turned and went on his way, still searching the tree-lined road. Maron waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then spent her fear in running.
It was the fourth day of the new year, and there had been much trouble along with the New Year celebrations. For the past few years, the people of Mocum had become bolder in their persecutions of the people who followed the prophet Nephi. To celebrate this new year, Mocum’s men had stoned many Christians and plundered the homes of the righteous.
The memory of the raiders’ cries and torches and cruelty sent Maron’s feet racing even faster. But she could not keep their words from ringing in her ears: “Where is this Savior you brag about?” they shouted. “Let us see if He saves you now!” Just the memory of the horrid words sent pricks of pain through Maron’s racing heart. Her family had escaped to the caves near the land Bountiful until the celebrating ended. Since then Mocum had set guards around the land and over the Christians to keep those who waited for the Christ from seeking revenge on the nonbelievers.
“Mocum does not believe,” Maron whispered to herself as she ran, “that we Christians would never hurt anyone as we have been hurt.” Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back and made her feet move faster. Her sides ached and tree branches whipped her face as she stumbled on through the darkness, but she would not let herself rest.
To stop the dreadful memories, Maron began singing to herself songs about the long-awaited coming of the Savior. As she approached the protective shadows of the nearest building in Kurom, a strange feeling caused her to look up. The stars seemed oddly cold and sad, even though the moon was bright and the sky cloudless. As she pondered this curiosity, Maron suddenly became aware of something eerier: There was no sound but her breathing—no insect or bird noises, no animal sounds, no wind rustling the trees or weeds. Nothing. Nighttime was always a quiet time, but not this quiet. The silence was more frightening than any sound she had ever heard.
Urging her tired body on, Maron carefully skirted the main street of Kurom. Why had she been so anxious to come? Why had she thought it would be exciting? Maron bit hard on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. She had not really thought of the danger or expected to have such strange feelings. “I must find Teomnihah!” Maron whispered to herself. “I must find the house of Jorish.”
There were no fires, no people, no sounds as Maron edged along the path to Jorish’s home. Tapping on the door, she called softly, “Jorish, Jorish.”
The door opened a crack. In the dimness Maron could see only the white of an eye peering out. “Who is it?” a harsh, whispery voice asked.
“Maron, daughter of Tat. I have a message for Teomnihah from my father.”
The door opened, and Maron slipped into the darkness. Finally a taper was lit, and Maron saw that the floor was covered with men on sleeping mats. The man who had opened the door turned to her. “What is the message?” he asked.
“Are you Teomnihah?” Maron asked.
“No,” the man said.
“I am.” A man sleepily turned on his mat to face Maron.
“I am Maron, daughter of Tat,” Maron whispered, though she didn’t know why. “My father sent me to warn you that you must not speak before our people today.”
“How did you get here?” Teomnihah asked.
“I ran.” Maron smiled proudly, forgetting her worries for a moment.
“Past the guards?” the man with the taper asked.
“I was careful,” Maron answered.
By now all the men were awake and stirring.
“You are a very brave girl,” Teomnihah said, “but Mocum has already gained control of the city and will allow no meeting.”
Maron’s heart fell. Her trip had been for nothing. Her message was not needed.
“Is there more news?” asked a man Maron recognized as Jorish. He stepped over the mats and men and came into the candlelight.
“No, only that Mocum has heavy guards around Bountiful. My father fears that he will make the Nephites his slaves.”
The men exchanged worried glances.
“I am afraid things are no better here. You must go back,” Teomnihah told her. “However, I do not like to see one so young go so far alone.”
“I will come to no harm,” Maron assured him quickly. “I came, and I will go back safely, for God is with me.”
Teomnihah looked at her intently. “Would that all Nephite fathers had daughters like Tat’s,” he said, smiling.
“At least let us feed her before she goes,” Jorish said.
Maron hadn’t noticed before how hungry she was. But as Jorish started pulling brown bread and cheese from a shelf, her stomach growled. The men laughed, and Maron felt her face flush with embarrassment.
A loud banging at the door silenced those in the room. “What goes on?” a deep voice asked.
Jorish looked at Teomnihah, then replied. “I am preparing the morning meal.”
“Cursed Nephites!”
Maron heard the man spit against the door before he continued, “Can’t even sleep like normal people. Always up before the sun. Let me see this breakfast party.”
Maron noticed the fearful looks on the faces in the room. She also noticed the men’s attempts to not let her see their fear. Teomnihah motioned, and the next thing Maron knew, she had been picked up and stuffed inside a large basket. Her head spun and her heart raced. The confusion and shuffling noises and a suffocating feeling all turned and churned and pounded inside her as a lid slammed over her head.
“Open!” the man outside growled. But before anyone inside could move, the guard began beating down the door. The sound of splintering wood pierced the basket where Maron huddled, and the intruder’s voice, now inside the room, cried, “Stop! Stop where you are or you will never move again!”

During December, my seminary teacher invited our class to bring food and presents for a family in need. We didn’t know the circumstances—only that there was a husband and wife with three little girls, ages 5 to 10 years old.
A few days before Christmas, I met my classmates in the seminary building with a Barbie doll and some boxes of macaroni and cheese in my hands. I was surprised to see that our class had filled not one box but several boxes with canned food, a large cooked turkey, baked goods, and toys.
We wrapped all the presents and carpooled to the family’s home. Most of us hid behind bushes and watched as a few boys quietly carried the boxes to the doorstep of the small, run-down home. Wanting our contributions to be anonymous, the boys rang the doorbell and ran.
From our hiding places, we watched a small girl in her pajamas open the door and squeal. One by one her sisters joined her, each screaming with delight as they saw the many boxes overflowing with presents.
The door widened and, as the mother stepped out, we could see a small Christmas tree with no presents beneath it in the center of their living room.
I saw the mother look around, bewildered. She then fell to her knees and began to cry. We saw her look up and heard her pray: “Thank Thee, God. Oh, thank Thee for sending Thine angels to give my children Christmas.”
We drove back to the seminary building in silence. No one thought of the doughnuts or hot chocolate waiting for us. Instead, there was a tangible feeling of love, peace, and gratitude.
When I got home that night, I sat on my bed and prayed to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for letting me act as His angel for a night. I realized that “I have been given much” and that part of that blessing requires that “I too must give” (“Because I Have Been Given Much,” Hymns, no. 219), which was the greatest blessing of all.

I shall never forget one night almost four decades ago. My bride, Patricia, and I had been married for two years. We lived in a small duplex on Oahu’s north shore. I was an army infantry officer assigned to a unit at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Our brigade had been ordered to war in Vietnam. My plane was scheduled for departure after midnight, and a good Latter-day Saint friend had agreed to take me to the airfield at 11:00 p.m.
All through that long evening, Pat and I sat on the sofa in our tiny living room with our fingers intertwined, watching the hands of the clock approach the fateful hour and listening to the soft lapping of the surf against the shore. The ticking of the clock seemed a metronome of mortality in painful contrast to the muffled rushing of the eternal sea. At last the hour of parting arrived. Inside the doorway to our little home, I clutched my bride to my bosom and kissed her one last time, and then I was gone. As I closed the door, I wondered if I had seen my sweetheart for the last time in mortality. It was truly night.
My friend and I drove silently in the darkness through the sugar cane and pineapple fields of Oahu. My heart felt as though it would break. Then as we passed Schofield, an unseen infantry unit on night maneuvers fired a flare. Its brilliance momentarily lit the inky darkness and seemed to ignite a spiritual flame in the blackness that invested my soul. My thoughts were drawn away from this saddest of days to the very happiest: back to that beautiful December day when Pat and I had entered the holy temple and there were sealed to each other, not just for this life only but for all eternity. I thought of the eternal covenants we had made. Like the sunrise, it dawned on me that no matter what happened in the uncertain future just ahead, Pat would always be mine. When I reached the air base, I telephoned her. In the spirit of a renewed hope and peace born of faith and understanding, we talked and laughed softly before once more bidding each other good-bye. It was only midnight, but for me the sun was already rising.

Daniel pushed the handcart with all his strength. His arms and legs shook from the effort. He saw sweat run like tears down Jane’s face as his sister pushed beside him, while their parents strained to pull the handcart. He saw his mother’s mouth moving and her eyes shut, and he knew that she was praying for strength.
The last few weeks had been difficult. The food supplies were low. Each person in the handcart company was allowed only two cups of flour a day. There hadn’t been any meat for days. Daniel didn’t mind the hungry feeling as much as the weakness. And now they had come to this stretch of the trail without sufficient energy to pull the handcarts through the deep, dry sand.
Daniel’s father set the cart handle down and said, “Let’s all rest for a few minutes.”
Jane crumpled into a heap at Daniel’s feet. He sat down by her and gingerly lifted one of her feet. He tore another little strip from the bottom of his shirt and wound it snugly around her foot.
Her shoes had worn out weeks ago. At first, she had tried walking in the soft dust of the wagon-wheel ruts. But her feet had become so sore that much of the time she either had to crawl or have Daniel carry her piggyback. Any time she had to stand, her feet bled painfully. “Tell me again about what the Salt Lake Valley will be like,” she said.
Daniel sighed. At least she hadn’t asked how many more miles they had to go. “The missionaries said that the beginning of a beautiful city is already there. Thousands of people have arrived in the valley, and a temple has been started.”
“Will we live in the city?” she asked next.
“The missionaries said some of us will stay there, but some families will be called by Brigham Young to settle towns and cities many miles away.”
“What is the land like? Is it beautiful?”
Daniel tore another strip from his shirt to wrap her other foot. He wondered if she was missing her flower garden. “Well, the missionaries said it was land that no one else wanted. That’s one reason the Saints hope to be able to worship and build Zion there without the persecution that we’ve had elsewhere. And we’ll make it beautiful. After all, the scriptures say that the desert is going to ‘blossom as the rose.’”*
Jane smiled contentedly. Daniel leaned against the cart. He knew that Jane had been waiting to hear, “blossom as the rose.” For some reason that gave her comfort. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked at her. Her clothes were worn and her feet were blistered and scabbed, but never a complaint escaped her lips. Her testimony that God was calling them was firm and sure. He wished that he felt that way.
He had at first. But lately, with so many adversities, he had begun to wonder. Why wasn’t God helping them? Why had the journey been so difficult? Did he really want to be planted in this new land—especially a desert—after all?
Daniel looked around. Not a handcart moved. Most of the company were doing as they were doing—resting. His parents moved closer to him and Jane. His father pulled off his hat and bowed his head in prayer. “Dear Father,” he pleaded, “Thou seest our situation and knowest our needs. We pray that Thou wilt bless us that we may live to yet serve Thee and to build up Thy kingdom. …”
“Pa, look!” Daniel whispered as soon as the prayer was over. A large cloud of dust was moving toward them.
“Is it a buffalo stampede?” Jane asked.
The attention of the whole company riveted on the growing dust cloud.
“I think it’s Indians, Pa,” Daniel whispered. Jane moved close and put her hand in his.
The Indians stopped a short distance from the weary company. The sun shimmered on the sand, and waves of heat could be seen as well as felt. One Indian dismounted and slowly approached the handcarts. Daniel hugged his sister protectively. He heard Mother’s sharp intake of breath.
The Indian went to where Father stood and stared at him for several moments. Without taking his eyes off Pa, he took hold of the cart handle and began to pull it. It moved sluggishly, protesting with loud creaks. At his signal, the other Indians got off their horses and pulled the handcarts through the sand. Their somber faces sometimes broke into smiles, as though they were having fun. A great cheer arose from the handcart company.
By evening the handcarts were on solid ground again. The pioneers began to fix their meager meal to share with the Indians, who now unloaded fresh buffalo meat from two ponies. As Daniel helped one of the Indians unload some of the meat, he noticed a pair of moccasins tied to the saddle. If only Jane could have them for her feet!
Perhaps there was something he could trade for them. All through supper, he hardly noticed the taste of the roasted meat as he thought about the moccasins. His only possession was a broken pocketknife. He pulled it out and looked at it. Very little of the blade was left. No, he couldn’t ask his new Indian friend to trade for it. It wasn’t a fair trade. He put the knife away.
Morning came early. The Indians stayed for breakfast, then they and the Saints prepared to go their separate ways.
Mother leaned her mirror against the wagon wheel. Daniel took the comb from her hand and began to comb his hair. He had long since quit grumbling about this morning ritual. Even though it seemed silly to him to comb his hair in such circumstances, he knew that it was important to his mother.
The astonished face of his Indian friend filled the mirror beside his own. The Indian examined it front and back. He pointed to the mirror then to himself. Daniel nodded. “Mother, I think he wants this mirror.”
Mother looked up from the campfire. “After all he has done for us, if he wants it, let him have it.”
Daniel lifted the mirror off the wheel and put it into the hands of the Indian. Within minutes the man was back with his horse. He put the reins in Daniel’s hand. Daniel understood that the Indian wanted to trade his horse for the mirror.
Daniel smiled warmly at his friend, shook his head, and handed him back the reins. The Indian pulled a long rifle out from under his saddle blanket and offered it to the boy. Again Daniel shook his head. His friend climbed on his horse, looked at him for a moment, then disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Daniel sighed. He had wanted to ask for the moccasins, but he didn’t know if it was fair to ask for more when they had already been given so much.
The next morning he was abruptly awakened by his sister. “Daniel, come quick! Look what Heavenly Father has blessed me with.”
There on her bedding lay the beautiful moccasins. Daniel gently slipped them onto her feet. The Indians had helped them get out of the sand, then given them food, and now his friend had left footwear for Jane! In his mind and heart the thought blossomed—Heavenly Father had answered their prayers!

I think also of an account I read about a sweet lady, the wife of one of our early pioneers. Her name was Catharine Curtis Spencer. She was married to Orson Spencer, a sensitive, well-educated man. Catharine had been reared in Boston and was cultured and refined. She had six children. Her delicate health declined from exposure and hardships after her family was forced to leave Nauvoo. Elder Spencer wrote to her parents and asked if she could return to live with them while he established a home for his family in the West.
Their reply: “Let her renounce her degrading faith, and she can come back—but never until she does.”
Sister Spencer would not renounce her faith. When her parents’ letter was read to her, she asked her husband to get his Bible and read to her from the book of Ruth as follows: “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”4
Outside the storm raged, the wagon covers leaked, and friends held milk pans over Sister Spencer’s head to keep her dry. In these conditions, and without a word of complaint, she closed her eyes for the last time.
This is the spirit of serving God. This is the spirit of putting Him first in our lives. Though we may not necessarily forfeit our lives in service to our God, we can certainly demonstrate our love for Him by how well we serve Him. He who hears our silent prayers, He who observes our unheralded acts will reward us openly when the need comes.

In our quest for an example, we need not necessarily look to years gone by or to lives lived long ago. Let me illustrate. Today Craig Sudbury occupies a position of prominence in Salt Lake City, but let me turn back the clock just a few years to the day he and his mother came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred Sudbury, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and indeed did not belong to the Church.
Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents. He shared his innermost hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He pleaded earnestly with me for a suggestion. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be rewarded. Such inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents, and, on occasion, write to Dad personally and let him know that you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.”
He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office. I was not to see Craig’s mother for eighteen months. She came to the office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig departed for his mission. His faithful service has qualified him for positions of responsibility in the mission field, and he has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently, my husband, Fred, stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and said, ‘All of you know that I am not a member of the Church, but something has happened to me since Craig left for his mission. His letters have touched my soul. May I share one with you? “Dear Dad, Today we taught a choice family about the plan of salvation and the blessings of exaltation in the celestial kingdom. I thought of our family. More than anything in the world, I want to be with you and Mother in that kingdom. For me it just wouldn’t be a celestial kingdom if you were not there. I’m grateful to be your son, Dad, and want you to know that I love you. Your missionary son, Craig.”’ Fred then announced, ‘My wife doesn’t know what I plan to say. I love her and I love our son, Craig. After twenty-six years of marriage I have made my decision to become a member of the Church, for I know the gospel message is the word of God. I suppose I have known this truth for a long time, but my son’s mission has moved me to action. I have made arrangements for my wife and me to meet Craig when he completes his mission. I will be his final baptism as a full-time missionary of the Lord.’”
A young missionary with unwavering faith had participated with God in a modern-day miracle. His challenge to communicate with one whom he loved had been made more difficult by the barrier of the thousands of kilometers that lay between him and his father. But the spirit of love spanned the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, and heart spoke to heart in divine dialogue.
No hero stood so tall as did Craig when, in Australia, he stood with his father in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Fred Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
The prayer of a mother, the faith of a father, the service of a son brought forth the miracle of God. Mother, father, son—each qualifies in a Hall of Fame.

The automotive stars were beginning to align. I had just returned from a camping trip that involved lots of driving through rural areas. All at once, my car stopped working. The engine shut down and I coasted to a stop … right in front of the metal shop where I worked.
Weird timing.
Because I had conveniently stalled out across from the place where I worked, I was able to push the car into the driveway without paying for a tow truck. A coworker connected some charge cables, and a bit later I could drive to a mechanic. They replaced a bad alternator.
A couple of weeks later I took an even longer road trip, this time visiting my parents out of state. I had a grand time, once again enjoying a journey without car trouble. That is, until I got back into town and once more drove past where I worked. At that point, my engine shut down. Again. Just as before, I coasted to a stop in front of my workplace.
Double weird. With a side helping of almost eerie.
As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once said when something similar happened to him, “Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.”1
Another push up my employer’s driveway, another battery charge, and a short drive to the mechanic revealed that they had unknowingly placed a faulty alternator in my car. They replaced it for free and I was soon back on the road.
For my vote, both cases of car trouble were a type of blessing we don’t always recognize.
Sometimes “bad luck,”2 as we call it, has excellent timing. Things would’ve been much worse if I’d broken down in the wilderness on my camping trip or along an empty highway while driving to visit my folks.

Early in my youth, I was counseled in a blessing to stay close to my mother and to keep her advice near me, and I would be safe. I have always remembered that, but I often wondered about it because it was my father who seemed to give most of the advice. Then one winter when I was in the seventh grade, I had blood poisoning and became quite ill. My father was traveling at the time—in the summer he farmed, and in the winter he traveled, selling livestock feed. It was during this period that mother gave me some important counsel. It concerned moral cleanliness, and I’ll always be grateful for that advice. It helped me to set some personal standards early in my life.

Children, develop a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Pray, and Heavenly Father will send you the help you need. Listen to and obey your parents, who only want what is best for you. And when the time is right for you, get your patriarchal blessing and heed its counsel too.

Let me encourage you faithful married couples without children at home to go on missions. The Lord needs you out in the mission field. Forget your fears. We don’t expect you to do everything the young missionaries do. In fact, I was in Idaho trying to eliminate the fears of some high priests, and I said, “You retired couples don’t have to memorize scriptures like the young missionaries, you don’t have to memorize any presentations unless you want to.” I told them, “You don’t have to get up early in the morning like the young missionaries do to study, and if it is raining or snowing, you don’t have to go outside until you feel up to it. …” At that point a fellow down in the middle shot up his hand and said, “When can I go? That’s a better life than I’ve got now!”