Gospel Story Finder

Several years back, some youth from my branch and I were returning from an activity and were standing alongside a lonely road waiting for a bus. Finally we saw a car coming. It stopped, and the driver was my former teacher, Mr. Enemor. We had not seen each other for some years. With great joy on his face, he exclaimed, “Ihenkoro, it’s been quite some time. You’ve grown big.”
Having him stop seemed a miracle, for we had been there for hours without seeing any cars. Now we would not even have to pay for a ride. As we drove, Mr. Enemor asked, “Where are you people coming from?”
I replied, “From a Church program.”
He said, “Oh, that’s nice. How I wish every young person would attend church. This country would be fine.” Then he asked, “Which church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I told him.
“Mormon? Are you a Mormon?”
I said yes.
He said, “That is not a church. I have heard about them.” He pulled over and said we should get out of his car. We did.
With a smile on my face, I said to him, “Thank you, sir, for the ride. I know you will one day bear a testimony of this Church.” He drove away, and we stood for another hour and a half before we could get a bus home.
I knew I would have to pay a price to be a good missionary. We all have to pay a price for anything of value. Our Savior showed us that when He paid the price for our sins.
I wanted to share the gospel with Mr. Enemor, so I went to his house. He never allowed me in, but I dropped off several Church pamphlets and a Church magazine for him.
Many months after that I received a letter from him. In the letter he asked, “Please forgive me for what I did to you that evening. I owe you an apology and all our thanks. My family and I are now members of that church I was once against. I am now a Latter-day Saint.”
Brother Enemor and his family are strong members of the Church in Abuja, Nigeria. He and his family have been sealed in the temple. He still writes me and always says, “I thank you for leading me to the light.”
We gain a living by what we get, but we gain a life by what we give. We can give the gospel and bring light to the lives of many others. People may forget what you say and what you do, but they don’t forget how you make them feel. Go and make them feel good by giving them the gospel light. I have been blessed with great rewards for the small price I paid to share the gospel with someone who at first spurned me for my beliefs.

We had an orchard where all kinds of fruit trees provided much of our living, but it also meant much hard work for little boys. The peaches were large and luscious, and when Ma had filled our pantry with bottles of fruit for the winter, Pa decided we could sell some. I was about twelve and Alice ten, and again we were in business.
I climbed to the tops of the trees and picked the largest, most colorful peaches; Alice put them in the boxes, I piled them neatly in the buggy and drove the long journey of about six miles to Pima, where many of the good women bought the fruit, and we soon headed home. As we counted our nickels and dimes and quarters, we found we had five dollars. It would be Christmas soon, so we excitedly talked about gifts for our large family.
When we got home and gleefully laid our money on the table, Pa reminded us again, “Have you counted out your tithing?” So, of course, we had to skimp a little on some of our planned Christmas gifts. As soon as the sweating mare was back in the pasture, the buggy in the shed, and the boxes stowed away, we went through the orchard and through the fence to the bishop again.
When I was in high school, I found it necessary to support myself. I suppose I was about sixteen, and I went to Globe, Arizona, the big mining camp, and there secured a job milking cows twice a day for a dairy. In those days we had no machines, and we milked with our hands. I milked between eighteen and twenty-eight cows twice a day, separated the cream, bottled the milk, washed the cans and bottles, fed the cattle, and cleaned the manure. For all of this, I received my meals, a cot in a bunkhouse, and $47.50 a month.
I was now on my own. No one was there to check up on me. When I received my first paycheck, I asked myself, “Should I or should I not pay my tithing?” I sent my dairy check home to the bank and received a receipt and a checkbook. I numbered the checks on the book and my first check was made out payable to the bishop.
The Lord has promised that if boys and girls and their parents are faithful in paying their tithing, he will pour out great blessings upon them. I know he keeps the promise.

Helping everyone accomplish the things they need to do to certify is a formidable task. Some need special help. The Austin Stake has several handicapped girls attending camp, and a special hike has been arranged for them. At first the leaders hope a few of the Adventurers will assist the girls on their special hike. But nearly all 22 Adventurers show up for the hike that morning because they don’t want the girls to think they have been singled out to go on a little 5-person hike. Jamie Townsend explains, “We had another hike with 25 people so these special girls would feel a part of things. We had one girl who is nearly blind, and we had girls holding her hand with such love it brought tears to your eyes.”

His first contact with missionaries is a story by itself. Brother Jay, as he is fondly called, had just been from a religious mini-course which was then the fad in the early 70’s, and it was this opportunity to be inquisitive about Jesus Christ that led him to seek spiritual enlightenment. He found it when two missionaries (Elders Gleave and Johnson) knocked on his door before Christmas of 1971.
The first question the senior Elder asked was “Do you want to know more about Jesus Christ?”—a question which he coincidentally was asking himself a few minutes before the Elders came into his life. It was as if God directed the two Elders to knock on the door at a very precise and opportune moment.
On February 12, 1972, or two and a half months after that inspiring meeting, Bro. Ledesma was baptized by Elders Adrian Pulfer and Bartolomew Birkett at the Buendia chapel.
And life has never been the same ever since for the architect turned equipment manufacturer-inventor—and Mormon missionary, whose secret formula for success, as featured in the August 27, 1977 issue of Focus (a nationally circulated weekly magazine), is the belief that challenges in life can be met and surmounted with strong faith in God and self-discipline, coupled with self-confidence and a spirit of unselfishness—the use of one’s endowments to help others find fulfillment in their lives.

One Sunday when leaving for church, our car would not start. We lived in Germany, far from our chapel and other members. My wife and I each offered a prayer for help, but still the car wouldn’t start. I suggested that perhaps we should rely on the faith of a child. We asked our three-year old son, David, if he would say a prayer.
“Heavenly Father, please bless the car to start,” he said simply but firmly.
We turned the key, and the engine started right up! We were grateful that day for David’s faith. It was pure, simple, and true.

But the man himself—what was he like? A good view of John Taylor is seen in this incident. Elder Taylor had gone to speak to a number of Saints near Columbus, Ohio. Shortly before the hour arrived, some of the Saints reported that most of the townspeople were planning to gather at the open-air site to hear him and that many expected him to be tarred and feathered. He was advised not to go. After a moment’s reflection Elder Taylor replied that he would go, and if his friends chose not to go with him, he would go alone.

When he arrived, he began by informing those gathered that he had come lately from Canada—a land under monarchical rule: “Gentlemen, I now stand among men whose fathers fought for and obtained the greatest blessings ever conferred upon the human family—the right to think, to speak, to write; the right to say who shall govern them, and the right to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences. … I see around me the sons of those noble sires, who, rather than bow to the behests of a tyrant, pledged their lives, fortunes and sacred honors to burst those fetters. …

“They nobly fought and nobly conquered; and now the cap of liberty is elevated on the tops of your liberty poles throughout the land, and the flag of freedom waves. … Not only so, but your vessels—foremost in the world—sail over oceans, seas and bays; visiting every nation, and wherever those vessels go your flag flutters in the breeze, a hope is inspired among the down-trodden millions, that they, perchance, if they cannot find liberty in their own land, may find it with you. … Gentlemen, with you liberty is more than a name; it is incorporated in your system; it is proclaimed by your senators; thundered by your cannon; lisped by your infants; taught to your school-boys. … Is it any wonder, gentlemen, under these circumstances—having lately emerged from a monarchical government, that I should experience peculiar sensations in rising to address you?

“But, by the by, I have been informed that you purpose to tar and feather me, for my religious opinions. Is this the boon you have inherited from your fathers? Is this the blessing they purchased with their dearest hearts’ blood—this your liberty? If so, you now have a victim, and we will have an offering to the goddess of liberty.” Here he tore open his vest and said: “Gentlemen come on with your tar and feathers, your victim is ready; and ye shades of the venerable patriots, gaze upon the deeds of your degenerate sons! Come on, gentlemen! Come on, I say, I am ready!” No one moved. No one spoke. He stood there, drawn to his full majestic six-foot height, calm and defiant. No one came.

After a pause he continued tc preach for three hours! At the conclusion, leaders of the community approached him, expressing displeasure at any unfortunate intentions of their fellow citizens.

“At Summer Quarters we read the scriptures every night,” explains counselor Dan Kolilis. “Just last night we went out to the tents where the boys stay and had pop and chips with them. Then we read in the Book of Mormon about Jesus Christ blessing the little children. All of this year’s male counselors are returned missionaries, so we talked about our missions. Then we read the verse that says: ‘Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand’ (3 Ne. 17:3). It was the last night of the camp. We wanted them to go home, as we will go home, to think about how, with the gospel in their lives, the Lord will help them and guide them.”

Dr. Bulane, a staff physician at the Makoanyane Military Hospital in Maseru, Lesotho, deals daily with a shortage of trained medical personnel and supplies. The people of Lesotho, a landlocked country in southern Africa, suffer from an HIV/AIDS infection rate of nearly 30 percent, a 34.4-year life expectancy, recurring drought, poverty, and a high infant mortality rate.
Because of his concern for infant mortality, Dr. Bulane registered for a training program in neonatal resuscitation conducted in his community by the Humanitarian Services Division of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Soon after participating in the June 2006 training session, Dr. Bulane saved a newborn baby boy by implementing his new techniques. “Through neonatal resuscitation techniques, the baby was saved,” he explained. “He is doing great now. … The training puts everything else in perspective. As far as I am concerned, it instills confidence. I now know exactly what to do. There is no panic.”

Years ago, when our two daughters were still living at home, I decided to show them and my wife the business unit of which I was in charge in the company I worked for.
My real purpose though was to show them a place where, unlike our home, everyone would do exactly what I asked them to do without questioning me. As we arrived at the front gate, which usually opened automatically when my car approached, I was surprised that it didn’t open this time. Instead, a security guard I had never seen before in my life came to the car and asked me for my company ID.
I told him I never needed an ID to drive into the property with my car and then asked him the classic prideful-person question: “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
To which he replied, “Well, since you don’t have your company ID, I cannot know who you are, and while I am at this gate, you will not be allowed to enter the premises without proper identification.”
I thought about looking at the rearview mirror to check my daughters’ reaction to all that, but I knew they were savoring every second of that moment! My wife at my side was shaking her head in disapproval of my behavior. My last resort then was to apologize to the guard and say I was very sorry for treating him so badly. “You’re forgiven,” he said, “but without a company ID, you’re not coming in today!”
I then drove very slowly back home to get my ID, having perhaps learned this valuable lesson: when we choose not to be humble, we end up being humiliated.

The day two activity for young men was river trekking. They were asked to wear white shirts and neckerchiefs. Since there was a very recent downpour, the river was filled with ankle to knee-high deep water. Young Men leaders were situated in front, in the middle, and at the back of the pack. We were having a great time appreciating the Lord’s creation in the company of fellow priesthood holders.
We began feeling the heat of the sun as proceeded with the trek. Most young men took their neckerchiefs off. Many of them dropped their neckerchiefs just about anywhere. I was prompted to pick up every neckerchief I saw along the riverbank.
After about two hours of trekking, our stake president instructed the leaders in front to start our way out of the riverbanks. Thirty minutes have passed, and we still could not find a safe exit.
Finally, the leaders found an opening, but the climb was quite steep. We tried the suggested route but found out that it was too slippery and that it was almost impossible for us to climb up and out of the riverbank. We figured we needed to hold on to something to pull ourselves up the hill and out. Going back or finding another route was too tedious and was going to take longer. We each said a prayer in our hearts for a miracle to happen.
I was reminded of the neckerchiefs I collected. We tied each end together until we were able to create a strong enough rope where the young men could hold on to and pull themselves out. With everyone helping each other, we were all able to get out safely. That was the miracle of the neckerchief!

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.

In the spring of 1972, President Spencer W. Kimball, who was serving as the Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was very ill. Throat cancer had returned, and his heart was threatening to fail due to a clogged artery and a malfunctioning valve. He was seventy-seven years old. The cancer was stopped with cobalt treatments, and his physicians recommended a complex surgical procedure on his heart, with only some chance of success.
In a meeting with his doctors and President Harold B. Lee of the First Presidency, President Kimball said wearily, “I am an old man and ready to die.” He wondered whether, at his age, it made sense to fight so hard to extend his life when, perhaps, his time had come. President Lee arose and said with power, “Spencer, you have been called! You are not to die! You are to do everything you need to do to care for yourself and continue to live.”
Spencer did not give up and die. He was not a man who gave up, no matter how difficult the task.
The surgery was performed and was successful. While he was recovering, President Joseph Fielding Smith passed away. Eighteen months later, President Harold B. Lee also passed away, and Spencer W. Kimball became the twelfth President of the Church. Considering his age and health history, most people expected his administration to be a brief “caretaker” period. But instead, it was a vigorous time of miracles. For the next twelve years, in the words of Elder Neal A. Maxwell, “one often got the feeling that [President Kimball] was always on the next ridge waiting for the Church to catch up. Though he smiled at us and beckoned us, he would like to have seen us move more than just a bit faster.”
He talked about the importance of missionary work and challenged us to “lengthen our stride.” He said, “It seems to me that the Lord chose his words when he said ‘every nation,’ ‘every land,’ ‘uttermost bounds of the earth,’ ‘every tongue,’ ‘every people,’ ‘every soul,’ ‘all the world,’ ‘many lands.’” He urged us to pray that the hearts of leaders of oppressive governments would be softened and that they would allow the missionaries to come into their lands. The number of missionaries doubled, and nearly three million people came into the Church. At the time of his death, 60 percent of the stakes in the Church had been created during his time as President.
He stressed the importance of temple work, and the number of temples rose from fifteen to thirty-seven, with several others announced or under construction.
He discussed the importance of the family as the basic unit of the Church, and a new Sunday meeting schedule was introduced to give families more time together.
A new English hymnbook was published; it became a standard for many language editions that later followed.
He taught the importance of scripture study, and new editions of the standard works with more extensive cross-referencing and a better topical guide were published. Individuals and families were encouraged to study the scriptures. Two revelations were added to the scriptures—the vision of the celestial kingdom given to Joseph Smith (D&C 137) and the vision of the redemption of the dead given to President Joseph F. Smith (D&C 138).
The First Quorum of the Seventy was formally organized and expanded, so that there were more General Authorities to handle the responsibilities of a rapidly growing worldwide church. Men from half a dozen nations were called to that Quorum. All the General Authorities, including President Kimball, traveled extensively, and area conferences were held in many cities on six continents.
But perhaps the most exciting moment occurred in June 1978 when the Lord revealed that the time had come to extend the priesthood to worthy men of all races. (See OD 2.)
Every good teacher knows that one of the best ways to get the attention of students is to whisper. President Kimball whispered, not because he wanted to, but because cancer had taken most of his vocal cords. And he got our attention! We listened raptly to his inspired counsel:
“I find that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and spirituality returns.”
“Grow all the food that you possibly can on your own property.”
“We ask you to clean up your homes and your farms. … Make our properties a thing of beauty to behold.”
“Every person should keep a journal and every person can keep a journal.”
“Suffering can make saints of people as they learn patience, long-suffering, and self-mastery.”
“Marriage can be successful as long as selfishness does not enter in.”
“The spectacle of a nation praying is more awe-inspiring, more powerful, than the explosion of an atomic bomb.”
“Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”
“I know that Jesus Christ is the Son of the living God and that he was crucified for the sins of the world. He is my friend, my Savior, my Lord, my God.”
Surely the Lord had prepared Spencer W. Kimball for just this time, had known of his unique talents, had seen him grow through many trials, and knew that he was the man who could lead the Church in a time of such growth and excitement.
He was born 28 March 1894 in Salt Lake City, the sixth child of Andrew and Olive Woolley Kimball. When he was three years old, his father was called to be president of the St. Joseph Stake in southeastern Arizona, so the family made the four-day move south.
Spencer thrived in the Gila Valley, but he also learned sorrow. There his mother died when he was just eleven years old. Four of his sisters also died.
The first World War thwarted his hopes for more advanced education, but he served a mission in the central United States and later married Camilla Eyring, who was a school teacher. They had three sons and a daughter. He established his own insurance business, was active in community affairs, and served in Church callings as diverse as music director, stake clerk, and stake president.
One youthful experience tells us much about his personality and abilities. When Spencer was fourteen, he attended a meeting in which the speaker asked how many in the congregation had read the Bible. He felt miserable that he could not raise his hand. He wrote, “That very night at the conclusion of the sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up to my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.”
He learned to work hard and long on his father’s farm, and he was not one to give up easily. When he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1943, he was shocked, overwhelmed, and humbled. In his first talk as an Apostle at the October 1943 general conference, he testified:
“I remember reading that Jacob wrestled all night, ‘until the breaking of the day,’ for a blessing; and I want to tell you that for eighty-five nights I have gone through that experience, wrestling for a blessing. Eighty-five times, the breaking of the day has found me on my knees praying to the Lord to help me and strengthen me and make me equal to this great responsibility that has come to me.”
The announcement of the June 1978 revelation also illustrates his patience: “We have pleaded long and earnestly in behalf of these, our faithful brethren, spending many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple supplicating the Lord for divine guidance.
“He has heard our prayers, and by revelation has confirmed that the long-promised day has come when every faithful, worthy man in the Church may receive the holy priesthood” (OD 2).
Perhaps Spencer W. Kimball’s patience and tenacity were just the qualities needed to bring about this great blessing from the Lord.
In a speech to a group of servicemen shortly after he had been called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder Kimball expressed his feeling of humility and wonder that such a call could come to him. But then he said, “I don’t know exactly why the Lord has called me, but I have one talent to offer. My father taught me how to work; and if the Lord can use a worker, I’m available.”
He became a legend for his energy, his long working hours, and the way he applied his motto—“Do It”—to himself. But always evident in his life was his great love of people. In fact, he often described himself by saying, “I love people.”
He had a special love for the Lamanites. In his patriarchal blessing he was told, “You will preach the gospel to many people, but more especially to the Lamanites.”
As a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he was given responsibility for the Indian mission and later for the South American missions. President George Albert Smith gave him a special charge to look after the Indians throughout the world.
Stories abound of his kind acts and thoughtfulness. One snowy day when many airline flights had been canceled, thousands were stranded in a busy airport. A young mother and her two-year-old child waited in line after line trying to buy a ticket. The child was tired and hungry, and the mother was pregnant and could not carry her child. As the child sat whimpering on the floor, the mother moved her along with her foot. As people behind her in the line muttered and criticized, the young mother wanted to cry.
Then a man approached her with a kind smile on his face, “Young lady, it appears to me that you need a little help.” He took the child in his arms, comforted her, and gave her a stick of chewing gum. After he told the other people of the woman’s plight, they agreed to let her go to the front of the line. The man took her to her flight. As she boarded the plane, she thought, “What a wonderful man, and I don’t even know his name.” A few days later, she saw his picture in a newspaper and learned that he was Elder Spencer W. Kimball of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
On another occasion, a bishop in South America asked if Elder Kimball could bless a dying man in the hospital between stake conference sessions. They raced to the hospital and ran up the stairs and down the hall. As they entered the room, the bishop recalled, “There was an amazing change. Elder Kimball seemed to have all the time in the world.” They visited unhurriedly, administered to the man, and took their leave. Once out the door, they ran to the car and sped back to the conference.
Many people, sick in the hospital, were blessed and comforted by a much sicker Spencer Kimball during his many hospital stays. He once said, “My life is like my shoes—to be worn out in service.”
He spent a great deal of time counseling those who had become weakened by sin or were struggling with adversity. The sorrow and joy he shared with them inspired his books The Miracle of Forgiveness and Faith Precedes the Miracle, which have, in turn, inspired many more members of the Church.
Had Spencer W. Kimball died at the age of seventy-seven, he would have lived a marvelous life as a missionary, husband, father, businessman, stake clerk, stake president, and, for thirty years, Apostle. His many struggles with poor health, his acts of kindness, his loving wisdom would have stood as a monument to him.
But, at an age when most people retire and take their ease, he was given the greatest challenge a man could have. He accepted a calling he never expected to have and magnified it in such a way that millions of people, living and dead, were blessed.

I also have been greatly influenced in my study and use of the scriptures by President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973). During my initial missionary training in Salt Lake City in 1971, approximately 300 elders and sisters were blessed to receive instruction from President Lee in the assembly room of the Salt Lake Temple. To be taught by one of the Lord’s special witnesses and a member of the First Presidency in such a sacred setting was a most memorable experience for me.
The format for the instruction was quite simple: President Lee invited us to ask questions about any and all gospel topics. I will never forget what I felt as I watched President Lee answer every single question from the scriptures! I knew I would never have the command of the scriptures that he did, but then and there in the Salt Lake Temple I resolved to study and use the scriptures in my teaching and follow the example of President Lee. And that commitment as a new and inexperienced 19-year-old missionary has blessed my life in ways that cannot be counted or adequately described.

“Let’s go on an adventure!” said Tanner. “Let’s be explorers!”
Tanner rode his bike. Mom walked.
They went up and down hills. They giggled as his bike bounced.
They went through trees and around a lake. Tanner told Mom about his friends in school. He told her about his favorite books. He told her about his favorite games.
“Mom, what are your favorite things to do?” asked Tanner.
“One of them is having adventures with you!” said Mom.
Heavenly Father blessed us with families! What do you like to do with your family?
Illustrations by April Hartmann

Alison listened eagerly as the bishop announced that their ward would be having a Christmas open house this year. “We want it to be a special evening,” he said. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to invite friends and neighbors.”
Alison loved the Christmas holidays. She liked shopping for presents for her family and friends and singing Christmas carols. And she loved reading the story of Jesus’s birth and thinking of Him as a small baby.
The bishop’s next words caught her attention. “Because of the open house, we won’t be having our traditional ward Christmas party this year.”
Alison frowned. “No party?” she whispered to her mother. The ward Christmas party was one of her favorite parts of the season.
Mom put a finger to her lips.
“Some of our friends and neighbors do not understand that we are Christians,” the bishop continued. “We want them to know that we believe in Jesus Christ.”
Alison turned her attention back to the bishop.
“The open house will focus on Jesus Christ,” he said. “We’re asking families to bring nativity sets, and we will have a live reenactment of the Nativity scene.”
As the time drew near for the open house, Alison started getting excited. Mom and Dad invited an elderly neighbor to go to the open house. Alison invited Erica.
The night of the open house, Alison helped Mom wrap both of the family’s nativity sets in newspaper. Then Mom and Dad drove her to pick up Erica.
When they got to the church, Alison and Erica looked at nativity sets from Japan, Austria, the Philippines, and many other countries.
Then the girls went outside where the young men and young women were acting out the Nativity. There were live cows, sheep, and even a nanny goat. “Everything but a camel,” Alison said.
The bishop asked everyone to gather in the chapel. Alison and Erica sat with the Primary children. The children sang “Picture a Christmas” and “The Nativity Song,” and the ward choir performed parts of Messiah.
“That was really great,” Erica said on the ride home. “I wish my parents could have come.”
“Maybe next year,” Alison said, smiling. She thought about the open house and realized she hadn’t missed the Christmas party after all.

My daughter also has Hirschsprung’s disease. On top of that, she suffers from a heart defect and has Down syndrome. She spent her first few weeks on the earth in the hospital. After three major surgeries, she is a sweet ball of smiles. At first, her diagnosis felt like a tragedy, but now it feels more like a blessing. Despite some hard times, she has taught our family love and patience. She brings joy to simple moments, never ceases to surprise us, and makes people happy wherever she goes.

“After jogging along several hundred miles the monotony was broken by our cattle stampeding. It seemed the longer we went and the harder the cattle worked, the easier they got frightened. The one that terrified me the most was at night. We had had one or two before so the cattle were prepared for one at any moment. I think it was on account of the Indians, or it might have been the large herds of buffalo that we saw daily, that our company was counseled to corral their animals every night. At night the cattle were turned out to feed, they were watched and herded, then brought into the corral. It was made with wagons formed in a large circle with the wheels touching each other with one opening to drive them in, then log chains put across the opening, so they were perfectly secure.
“We were in buffalo country. We had heard what a terrible thing their stampedes were, that not long before a large herd had started on their mad run and that when those in front came to a high bluff of the Platte River, they dashed in and made a bridge for the last ones who trampled to death and drowned their companions.
“One night about two o’clock the whole camp was peacefully sleeping when all at once there came an awful sound of tramping and bellowing, the ground shook, our wagon trembled and rocked. It flashed through my mind in a moment that a herd of buffalo was stampeding and that we would all be trampled to death. So I covered my head and prepared to die. Mother soon called out to Phebe and myself as there was no sound from our little bedroom (the front end of the wagon). I gave a smothered answer from under the bed clothes that I was alive.
“All at once there was a change. It was our own cattle broken out of the corral. Something had frightened them and then they started on their wild, mad run. They had run around and around inside and then broken through the log chains. Nothing could stay them. They scattered over the country for miles and miles. It took our men days and days to gather them back again, and a sorry looking lot they were, those that were left, for some died from exhaustion and others were killed. One pair of the captain’s cows ran up a very steep hill, fell backwards and broke their necks—one pair less to pull his wagon and one pair less to milk (oh the delicious milk—what a luxury on the plains).
“In that stampede there were two or three men hurt, one quite badly. He was a gold digger going to California who had overtaken us and was traveling with our company a while. The California emigrants traveled much faster than the Mormon emigrants. In trying to stop the cattle he was knocked down and trampled on. His groans were hideous. I did not see him again until one day the next winter, when he called on us. During all the time he was there he was down on his knees. He could stand up but could not sit down. I never heard from him again after he left for the gold mines. Old cattlemen say that tame, domestic horned cattle are the most crazy and wildest of all animals in a stampede. It is very singular, but they seem to start all at once, just as if a bolt had struck every one at the same instant.”

Jensen: I guess going on a mission is something you always have in the back of your mind, but I hadn’t made the commitment as early as I should have. Then when I started having a lot of success in sports, I wondered if I couldn’t motivate people with that example instead. I remember sitting down with Coach (LaVell) Edwards. The things he said had a great influence. He said that if I was thinking about a mission I should go and that he would support my decision. I remember talking to my dad and my old high school coach and some of those people that had been an influence on me. I decided that a mission would really help me in a lot of ways.

Some years ago, while visiting the members and missionaries in Australia, I witnessed a sublime example depicting how a treasury of testimony can bless and sanctify a home. The mission president, Horace D. Ensign, and I were traveling the long distance from Sydney to Darwin, where I was to break ground for our first chapel in that city. En route we had a scheduled stop at a mining community named Mount Isa. As we entered the small airport at Mount Isa, a woman and her two children approached. She said, “I am Judith Louden, a member of the Church, and these are my two children. We thought you might be on this flight, so we have come to visit with you during your brief stopover.” She explained that her husband was not a member of the Church and that she and the children were indeed the only members in the entire area. We shared lessons and bore testimony.

Time passed. As we prepared to reboard, Sister Louden looked so forlorn, so alone. She pleaded, “You can’t go yet; I have so missed the Church.” Suddenly the loudspeaker announced a 30-minute mechanical delay of our flight. Sister Louden whispered, “My prayer has just been answered.” She then asked how she might influence her husband to show an interest in the gospel. We counseled her to include him in their home Primary lesson each week and be to him a living testimony of the gospel. I mentioned we would send to her a subscription to the Children’s Friend and additional helps for her family teaching. We urged that she never give up on her husband.

We departed Mount Isa, a city to which I have never returned. I shall, however, always hold dear in memory that sweet mother and those precious children extending a tear-filled expression and a fond wave of gratitude and good-bye.

Several years later, while speaking at a priesthood leadership meeting in Brisbane, Australia, I emphasized the significance of gospel scholarship in the home and the importance of living the gospel and being examples of the truth. I shared with the men assembled the account of Sister Louden and the impact her faith and determination had made on me. As I concluded, I said, “I suppose I’ll never know if Sister Louden’s husband ever joined the Church, but he couldn’t have found a better model to follow.”

One of the leaders raised his hand, then stood and declared, “Brother Monson, I am Richard Louden. The woman of whom you speak is my wife. The children [his voice quavered] are our children. We are a forever family now, thanks in part to the persistence and the patience of my dear wife. She did it all.” Not a word was spoken. The silence was broken only by sniffles and marked by many tears.

My freshman year in high school, my family and I moved to Vancouver, Washington. I was trying to adjust to a new school, and I ached for my friends in Saratoga Springs, New York. I missed the nice big house we’d lived in there and its peaceful country setting. We were now living in a cramped apartment on a noisy street while my parents house-hunted. I wanted so badly to live in a house again. I wanted my own room, not one that I had to share with my little sister. I wanted the feeling of permanence that comes with living in your own house.

Just when Mom and Dad were narrowing down their choices and I was daydreaming about the wallpaper and frilly curtains I’d put in my new room, Dad was laid off. The small company he was working for was not doing well, and Dad was one of several employees to be let go. Buying a house was now out of the question. Finding a job became Dad’s urgent priority.

Christmas was quickly approaching, and I had never felt so depressed. It was at this time that the Young Women in my ward organized a service project. We would visit the battered-women’s shelter for 12 consecutive nights before Christmas.

On the first night, we drove to the shelter with Sister Harris, our Young Women president. I think we were all a little nervous. As the van pulled up in front of the old two-story house in a dilapidated neighborhood, I suddenly felt sorrow that women and children would be forced to flee to such a dismal place.

Once inside the bleak, chilly house, I didn’t feel any better. The faces we saw looked sad and dejected. All except the face of little Aisha. This beautiful baby girl never stopped smiling as she looked at each of us. We took turns cradling her in our arms, and her mother confided that the small scar on Aisha’s face was due to an injury inflicted by her father.

Another woman asked who we were. Sister Harris told her we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and then bore her testimony of the Lord’s love and concern for each of his children.

We left a Christmas tree and decorations that night and took with us the good feelings that come when we show others we care.

On the nights that followed, we brought gifts donated by members of our ward—baskets with combs and brushes and toiletries for the women, toys and blankets for the children.

The drab living room looked a little less drab each night. We hung homemade stockings on the bare wall above an old television set and taped Christmas cards above the fireplace. The tiny lights on the tree reflected in the silver ornaments. It was actually beginning to look and feel like Christmas in that humble shelter.

On the 12th night we arrived with a turkey dinner and all the trimmings. My heart was touched when a ten-year-old boy cried out, “This is the best Christmas I ever had!”

Something else happened to me during those 12 nights of Christmas. I returned home to our apartment each night feeling so blessed. As I walked into our living room, I saw for the first time how warm and pretty it was. I felt the love that was there and the strong sense of security even during this difficult time. I was grateful that my home was a place of safety and refuge instead of one of violence and fear. I felt a new appreciation for my mom and dad. I no longer resented having to share a room with my little sister.

And I had to agree with the little boy at the shelter—it was the best Christmas I ever had.