Gospel Story Finder

Ezra Taft Benson was born in Whitney, Idaho, on August 4, 1899. He was the first of 11 children of George T. Benson, Jr. and Sarah Dunkley Benson. The birth was difficult. The doctor said he would try to save the mother, but he held little hope for the baby.
President Benson tells the story, “The faith of my father, the administrations of the priesthood, and the quick action of my two grandmothers, who placed me first in a pan of cold water and then in a pan of warm water alternately, brought forth a husky yell to the joy of all” (Ensign, Oct. 1974, pp. 22–23).

“I’m scared!” Adam blurted out as he and Mom drove to the church.
“There’s no need to be scared, Son,” Mom reassured him.
“But what will he ask me? What if I don’t know the answers? Will I still get to be baptized?”
“You don’t need to worry. It will be very much like the father’s interviews you have each month,” Mom replied, parking the car.
“But why do we have to do it in the bishop’s office?” Adam asked as he shut the car door.
“Because that’s where he interviews all the boys and girls before they’re baptized. It helps them understand how important baptism is. And it reminds them that the bishop has the priesthood keys—the authority—to authorize ordinances in our ward.”
Adam and Mom sat down outside the bishop’s door. Soon it opened. “Hello, you two,” the bishop greeted them warmly. “Adam, come in. I’ve been looking forward to our visit all day.”
Mom gave Adam a smile of encouragement as the door closed behind him.
After a few questions about school, the bishop asked, “Adam, do you love Jesus?”
Adam nodded.
“Would you tell me what you’re doing to show Him that you love Him?”
“Well, I want to be baptized like He was. And I try to be a good example to my friends so they’ll want to know about the Church.”
“Very good. Anything else?”
“I pay my tithing, go to church, and say my prayers. And I’m preparing to serve a mission.”
“Excellent! I want you to know that I appreciate how kind and helpful you are to others, too,” the bishop added. “That’s another important way you show love for the Savior. Let’s read Mosiah 18:10, a scripture about baptism.”
Adam took the book from the bishop and carefully read, “‘Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?’”
“Adam, are you willing to serve the Lord and keep His commandments?” the bishop asked.
“Yes!”
“Well then, you’re ready to be baptized.”
The two stood up. The bishop shook Adam’s hand. “Congratulations! I’m very, very proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Adam said with a grin.

After Parley P. Pratt was ordained an Apostle, Oliver Cowdery, one of those appointed to help select the Apostles, gave a specific charge to Parley, saying that he would “have the same difficulties to encounter in fulfilling this ministry, that the ancient Apostles had.” He said that Parley would face “strong dungeons and gloomy prisons,” but such circumstances should not daunt him, because the trials would enable him “to receive the glory” the Lord had in store for him.7
Parley’s life followed that pattern. He at times faced crushing poverty. He experienced ridicule as he preached the gospel. He was imprisoned in 1838 and 1839 on charges stemming from difficulties that Church members faced in Missouri. Yet Parley also experienced the blessings Oliver had promised. Not long after his release from prison, he wrote, “We are well, and greatly prospered in the Lord, after all our tribulation.”8

It was a real feeling of fear, she explained, that gave her “more than the usual desire to be ‘in’.” When Pat Terry Holland was 16, she moved with her family from a small rural town to a larger city. Recalling the anguish of that experience, she said, “I felt overly sensitive, very awkward, afraid, and unaccepted. I remember being really hurt at that time because my fear and hesitancy was mistaken for conceit and stand-offishness. It hurt so much to have people think I was stuck-up just because I was afraid to be outgoing and friendly.”
This timid young girl, in spite of her beauty, her intelligence, and the strength of her family, experienced the anguish of feeling left out and alone. She was hurting inside. “If I could just be really popular,” she had thought, “that would help me feel confident and happy. If I could just be a class officer, if I could be a cheerleader, if I could enter a queen contest and win, then I would be a really happy teenager.” These thoughts kept flooding her mind at that time when it appeared to her that no one else was suffering those terrible left-out feelings.
Years later, and still looking like a queen, but now more confident and happy, this young mother recalls those times as she relives and suffers a bit with her own children who are now facing the challenges that are so much a part of growing up. “You know,” she said happily, “all of those things did eventually come to me (class officer, cheerleader, and campus queen), and they did bring a lot of attention. But to my great surprise, I discovered that they, in and of themselves, were very empty experiences.”
She now draws strength from a more lasting and dependable resource, she explained: “Those honors, while rewarding, did not bring the real confidence and happiness that I was sure they would.”

One day, my Young Women leaders taught us about special moments when you really feel the Spirit and feel close to God. They called them “celestial moments,” a simple phrase that was easy to remember. For me, I knew exactly what a “celestial moment” was; I’d felt it before, such as when you feel a tiny glimmer or taste of what life in the celestial kingdom might be like. And I’ve had plenty of these moments!
After our leaders introduced the idea, we went outside. The sun was gleaming through the trees. We shut our eyes. I felt the sun on my face as a warm breeze blew. Birds sang and trees swished in the wind as we enjoyed God’s creations. That was a celestial moment.

“They even showed us their new lime-green fire engine,” recalled Andrea Owens, Laurel class president.
The Laurels in the Wichita Kansas First Ward thought it would be a good idea to get to know the firemen in the area near the ward house. Because they know firemen spend a lot of time in the station, they chose to prepare a “goodie box” for the men.
The girls called ward members and asked them for copies of the Ensign, New Era, Book of Mormon, and other magazines or books that they might have on hand. Each girl contributed a batch of her favorite cookies. The magazines and cookies were delivered in a gaily decorated box.
Six members of the class and their adviser walked to the station during activity night. Andrea explained a little about the Church and the Young Women program. The firemen returned the favor by giving the girls a tour of the station and their equipment.
“The firemen were happy to see us,” added Andrea. “They asked us to come back any time. And we asked them to come quickly if there was ever a fire at the church!”

The small farmhouse appeared dreamlike in the predawn Florida mist that enveloped it and the surrounding swamplands. A large white ibis resting atop a darkened tree shape started at the sound of a screen door banging closed. A young girl ran from the farmhouse toward an as yet invisible landing on the edge of the swamp. She was crying and carrying a large doll with a broken right leg.
Cassie Gunnerson climbed into one of three wooden boats, untethered the rope that secured it to the pier, and shoved off into the gray silence. Using a long pole, she pushed with angry, tearful grunts against the soggy bottom of the shallow water.
The ibis blinked its eye, and the eleven-year-old girl was gone, swallowed up by the mist.
It wasn’t long before Cassie’s twelve-year-old brother, Nathan, and their parents, were up and searching for her. “We got in a fight, Pa,” Nathan sheepishly admitted as he and his parents scoured the mangrove thickets on the outer edge of the field. No one bothered to call to Cassie because she had been born deaf. “Cassie dropped the spyglass you gave me into the water yesterday while we were fishing, because …” Nathan’s voice trailed.
“Because why?” his father gently but firmly probed.
“Well,” Nathan continued somewhat hesitantly, “I guess because I cut her line. And that’s because,” he added defensively, “she kept splashing her feet in the water and scaring away the fish!”
“You haven’t told us why she ran off,” Nathan’s mother prompted him.
Nathan’s eyes fell, then lifted slowly. “I really liked that spyglass.” His look shifted to his father’s, hoping to find some kind of sympathy. But what he saw was deepening concern. “With it I could see things in the marsh nobody knew were there,” Nathan continued. “Little things like cooties and skater bugs and cucumber beetles and potter wasps and …” Anger festered inside Nathan as he tried to justify what he was about to say. “I broke Cassie’s doll,” he declared, “because of what she did to my spyglass!”
“Do you realize how long your sister saved for that doll?” Nathan’s mother questioned sternly. “How much it meant to her?”
“I guess about as much as my spyglass,” Nathan retorted.
Father rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Do two wrongs make a right?”
Nathan’s mother stared toward the swamp. “Cassie’s boat is gone!”
The swamp was deep, a maze of twisting waterways in a jungle of trees and vines. What made matters worse was Cassie’s being deaf. She couldn’t hear them call for her.
Father rested a calming hand on his wife’s arm. He turned to Nathan. “Son, I’ll take my boat; you take yours. I’ll carry my rifle; you take my Colt Dragoon. Whichever one of us finds Cassie first will fire three shots, is that understood?”
“Yes, Pa.”
Father’s eyes focused on Mother. “You stay near the house, in case Cassie shows up here first. Grandpa Sawyer’s pepperbox pistol is in the root cellar. If she does come here, fire three rounds to let us know.”
Nathan navigated his small boat through the lily-pad-laden backwater with his long pole. His eyes scanned the densely brushed islands and the countless waterways between the huge cypress trees for any sign of his sister’s boat. To his right, on some goldenrod that protruded above a log wrapped with Spanish moss, he observed a tiger swallowtail butterfly. To his left, a harmless rat snake rested in the fold of a dead tree. Directly above him on an old, dilapidated walkway that spanned two small islands, a gray squirrel chattered loudly and shook its bushy tail at him. And less than fifty yards in front of Nathan a sandhill crane waded looking for food. The young boy found himself thinking that he would gladly trade all these wondrous sights for a glimpse of his younger sister.
The boat scraped against hidden roots of cypress trees and groaned like Nathan’s conscience. He gazed into the smooth, glassy water and stared at his reflection. Then he disrupted his image with a swish of the pole—he didn’t like what he saw.
The thrashing of brushwood on one of the nearby small islands caused him to lift his eyes with a start. There, in a little clearing high atop dry ground, Nathan witnessed two male white-tailed deer contending with each other. They pushed against each other with their heads and curved antlers. Finally the fight ended when one of them tired and ran away. “I guess Cassie got tired of fighting and ran away, too,” Nathan muttered. “It was a stupid argument,” he added as he continued on down the winding, watery corridor. “Why do people who love each other fight so much? And what if something’s happened to Cassie and I didn’t tell her I was sorry!” Nathan’s pace quickened, scanning the shadows with unblinking scrutiny.
Nathan searched all day, meandering in and out of a maze of waterways. He was a few miles from home when it started to rain. He steered his little boat under the protection of an overhanging tree limb. His eyes welled up. He hadn’t heard any gunshots. Cassie hadn’t been found, nor had she returned home. He gazed through the gray curtain of falling rain. “Cassie!” he screamed, knowing full well that she couldn’t have heard him even if she was sitting right beside him. He bowed his head and beseeched his Heavenly Father to help him find his sister. He knew that Heavenly Father could hear him even through the pounding rain.
A few moments later the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, and Nathan continued his search. A great horned owl stared out of the mossy shadows with its bright yellow eyes and hooted as the little boat moved quietly by.
A short time later Nathan’s dugout floated into a clearing. He felt prompted to stop and listen. He heard someone whimpering! Rapidly poling toward the sound, he saw a small boat harbored along the shore of an island. Then he saw Cassie. She was sitting in a patch of goldenrod, her face soiled and drawn, her hair tangled. She looked very lost and very frightened. Relief washed over Nathan.
A moment later Nathan was standing before his sister. She was relieved to see him, but her reaction was dulled by leftover hurt. He glanced at the broken doll in Cassie’s boat, then at a paint-root plant in a tuft of grass. He picked some seeds from it and crushed them on a smooth rock. He dabbed his index finger in orange dye from the seeds and wrote “I love you” on Cassie’s arm. After a long look at her arm, then at Nathan, Cassie leaned forward and hugged her brother.
Smiling through his tears, he took his father’s Colt Dragoon from his boat and fired three rounds skyward.

As he passed his little garden, now covered with the white of winter, he remembered the first time he had met the missionaries almost two years ago. It was in the summer of 1893. They had come by and talked with him as he stood bent over, pruning bushes.
“Those missionaries planted a sweet seed in my heart that day. It all seemed sensible,” he remembered. As he walked slowly along he remembered other things, too. “The next day the minister came, and I told him what the missionaries had told me. He tore every word to pieces, and he filled me with his talk again. The next time the elders came, I told them what the minister told me. They taught me the gospel again and planted the seed again. It soon became obvious that I had to know for myself.”
The night was very dark. The children cuddled close to their parents. The hand of tiny Thorvald squeezed his father’s, and pretty little Astra clung to Ibine. Anthon looked down at Thor and remembered his own childhood. He remembered the cows he had herded, the wooden shoes he had worn in winter, his own sister who had died in a terrible blizzard too far from home to get help. He remembered the worried look of his father who couldn’t support his family of nine during the mid-1800s war with Germany. He remembered working from 2:00 in the morning until 11:00 at night on a farm in order to help. He remembered crying in bed at night. “I wondered what I was sent on this earth for. I couldn’t see what good I was doing. All I could see ahead was endless work to no real worthwhile end.”
The frigid cold gripped Anthon’s face, and he wondered if the children or Ibine were uncomfortable. The chilling breeze made him think of glacier ice, and he remembered learning that ice-age glaciers had left his Denmark an undulating flatland so suited to farming and agriculture. He was grateful that at least a few years of formal education were mandatory—that his country believed in the virtues of learning and working. He saw ships’ masts in the harbor poking above the fields.
He and his family were nearing the place where they would be baptized. A sick feeling of loneliness hit him in his stomach. “My homeland, my forefathers, all that has been good to me—am I giving up their trust in me for a far-fetched religion sprouted in a distant, upstart country?”
Then he and his little family turned the corner of the last block. They could see the ice-covered water clearly. Anthon felt the whitened wool next to his skin. He had been ordered to wear it constantly since his illness. His illness! Yes, he remembered the birth of his testimony. He had been healed after 12 months of life and death struggle with pneumonia. The elders had said that with faith and a special blessing called administration he could be healed. He had submitted to their counsel and believed. Shortly after Anthon had resolutely cleared away the dark clouds that had been gathering around his search for truth. He told the ministers of the other churches that he could not serve two masters. They had been good neighborhood friends, but with his decision to join the Mormons, that friendship ended—the ministers gave him up as a lost soul.
Every member of the Mormon church who lived in Aalborg was there on the seashore, some holding lanterns. It was a small but cheery group. They sang hymns and smiled. But Anthon was still quiet. He looked into the faces of his beautiful children and wondered if he was doing what was right for them. He knew he would have to find a private school for them because the prejudice in the public schools against the few Mormon children was too much for such young children to bear.
The singing was over. A prayer was given to open the meeting. The missionaries asked a blessing on Brother and Sister Jensen that as they were baptized they would not fall ill from the freezing temperatures. A hole was chopped in the ice. The sacred ordinance was performed for both Anthon and his wife, Ibine. The two new members were welcomed with hugs and handshakes and sent quickly home to a warm fireplace. It was then that Anthon noticed something special—something unexpected. On their way home he found himself walking, almost skipping, with lightened step—his wife and children smiling at him all the way. The heavy burdens of worry had been lifted. He knew he had done the right thing, and above all he knew now that there was something important for him to do in life.
“I went to my former friend and minister the next day to bear him my testimony. I was so happy that I felt I could convert the whole world, and I wanted to,” he later recorded. “I wanted everyone to feel the peace and the joy that came with my baptism. And the most wonderful thing of all, I had an assurance that greater joys and greater knowledge were yet in store—not only for me but for my beautiful family.”

As the mother of three preschoolers, Geri Brinley was trying to live the gospel and to rear her family in righteousness. But she didn’t think she had time to study the scriptures.
“What did Lehi’s journey to the promised land have to do with my problems?” she wondered. “Where was the chapter and verse in the Book of Mormon that tells how to toilet-train a stubborn two-year-old or get a four-year-old to pick up his toys? I was sure I had more relevant things to worry about than who was going to win the next Nephite-Lamanite war.”
Her answer came when she was called to be a Relief Society Spiritual Living teacher. As she studied the scriptures to prepare for her lessons, she found that they contained the answers to many questions. She began to look for scriptural answers to her questions about rearing children.
“I began reading the Book of Mormon with a purpose,” she recalls. “Whenever I discovered an example of parenting, I wrote down the reference with a brief note. When I finished, I organized the examples I’d discovered into principles taught and my applications of each principle.” The scriptures became a guide to rearing her children. (See “The Book of Mormon as a Guide to Parents,” Tambuli, August 1989, page 33.)

I was born in the Dominican Republic and was raised in the Church. I grew up surrounded by great leaders who tried to help me follow the right path. I dreamed of serving a mission and helping people.
Because my father moved to the United States to try to find a better life for us, my mother raised my sisters and me alone. Sometimes I felt alone, but I never was because I could talk about any difficulties in my life with my Church leaders.
When we moved to the United States, great trials began for me. We attended a small branch and I had great leaders who wanted to help me, but my school friends tried to pull me off the gospel path. Unfortunately, I began to speak to my mother in an unkind way and rarely listened to her counsel.
I would go to church every Sunday, but I really didn’t have the desire to go, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go on a mission anymore.
One morning I opened the Book of Mormon, and it opened exactly to the page of my favorite scripture, 3 Nephi 12:14–16:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, I give unto you to be the light of this people. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.
“Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that is in the house;
“Therefore let your light so shine before this people, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”
It gave me great joy to read this because it helped me remember what I learned in seminary and how marvelous the plan of our Father is. So I decided to try to be a light to the world.
I invited two cousins to come to church. One was less active, and he became active. The other was not a member, and I was able to baptize him.
A year later I received my mission call to serve in California, USA. As I served, I saw without a doubt that this is the true gospel of Jesus Christ. As I helped people, my testimony grew more and more, and every time I read my scriptures, I always recited the passage in 3 Nephi to be a light unto the world.

The odds seemed against our marriage from the start. My parents divorced when I was four. By the time I left for my mission, my parents had gone through three more marriages. One of those marriages lasted only seven months. My wife’s parents divorced when she was 13. According to statistics, we were three more times likely to divorce than people raised in intact homes.1
Those of us who have experienced this can wonder if marriage is a good idea. After all, we’ve suffered the effects of divorce. We’ve had siblings, grandparents, and other relatives who have entered and exited our lives like waves on a seashore. We’ve seen what divorce can do to everyone involved. Why would we enter this relationship that’s supposed to last for eternity, when we’ve seen the bitter ends of these kinds of relationships in a few short years?
Despite all that, I wasn’t afraid of marriage. I had watched the relationships falling apart as a youth, but I knew that if I could find a better model, I could make marriage work. Since all of them lacked a firm gospel foundation, I thought that might be the missing ingredient.
When Nephi was told to build a ship, the Lord told him, “Thou shalt construct a ship, after the manner which I shall show thee” (1 Nephi 17:8). Nephi did and says it was not built “after the manner of men” but “after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me” (1 Nephi 18:2). By building your future marriage on gospel principles—by building them in the manner the Lord has shown—you can have a successful relationship regardless of your background.
As we moved forward in our relationship, Annie (my wife) and I agreed on a few things. The first was that there was no easy escape clause in our marriage. Divorce wasn’t an option unless infidelity or abuse were involved. We agreed that everything else could be worked out. We also recognized that the behavior patterns we had seen in our homes growing up didn’t work. We needed a better way: that way is the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because Annie and I had both previously been endowed, temple attendance was an important part of our courtship. We went regularly and enjoyed the Spirit together. We started studying the Book of Mormon together. This formed a good basis for our discussions about what we wanted to create in a marriage.
The same month that my wife and I got engaged, the Church released the proclamation on the family, which counsels, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”2
Similarly, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) in speaking of the increase in divorces throughout the world, identified one major reason: “It appears to me that there are some obvious reasons that account for a very high percentage of these problems. I say this out of experience in dealing with such tragedies. I find selfishness to be the root cause of most of it.”3
It’s easy to blame our spouse for problems, especially the small annoyances that bubble up with daily living. If we concentrate on those problems, they can grow into huge divisions that can sink a marriage.4 I’ve often found that selfishness makes those frustrations grow. Knowing this has helped me to think more about Annie and her needs and helps me to ignore minor annoyances.
We have now been married for 22 years. It hasn’t always been easy. Annie and I have had the normal relationship bumps. There have been difficulties over the years. But because of our commitment to the relationship and a willingness to turn to the Lord for answers, we have grown together. As different situations and questions have arisen, we have been able to turn to the scriptures, the teachings of the prophets, and prayer to find solutions.
The average length of a first marriage that ends in divorce is nine years (in the USA).5 Because Annie and I built our marriage after the manner the Lord has shown us, we beat those odds. I’m glad we didn’t let fear of the world we were raised in stop us. There’s always more work to do, but we are both confident that our marriage will continue to improve through the years to come.

“We hear some these days who say that because of economic pressures they cannot afford to pay their tithing. I recall an experience I had as a stake president some years ago. A man came to get his temple recommend signed. I questioned him in the usual way and asked, among other things, whether he was paying an honest tithing. He candidly replied that he was not, that he could not afford to because of his many debts. I felt impressed to tell him that he would not pay his debts until he paid his tithing.

“He went along for a year or two in his normal way, and then made a decision. He talked about it sometime later, telling me: ‘What you told me has proved to be true. I felt I could not pay my tithing because of my debts. I discovered that no matter how hard I tried, somehow I could not manage to reduce my debt. Finally my wife and I sat down together and talked about it and concluded we would try the promise of the Lord. We have done so. And somehow in a way we can’t quite understand, the Lord has blessed us. We have not missed that which we have given to him, and for the first time in many years we are reducing our debt. We have come to the wisdom of budgeting our expenditures and of determining where our funds have been going. Because we now have a higher objective, we are able to curtail some of our appetites and desires. And above all of this, we feel we can now go to the house of the Lord with those deserving of this wonderful blessing.’

“We can pay our tithing. It is not so much a matter of money as it is a matter of faith. I have yet to find a faithful tithe payer who cannot testify that in a very literal and wonderful way the windows of heaven have been opened and blessings have been poured out upon him or her.”3

Andy’s little sister, Trisha, had been born with many health problems. She needed extra help to do even the smallest thing. Trisha was 18 months old, but she couldn’t walk or sit up or even roll over. She couldn’t feed herself and had to eat through a tube.
Andy’s daddy, grandpa, and uncles had given Trisha many blessings, and Andy wanted to do something to help her too. He set a goal to help her do the things she couldn’t do for herself.
Every day Andy looked for ways to help Trisha. When he saw her trying to roll over, he gently helped her roll from her tummy to her back. When she struggled to sit up, Andy supported her.
One evening after Andy had helped Trisha sit up, Mommy and Daddy sat down to talk with him.
“We know you love Trisha very much and want to help her,” Mommy said. “But it’s important to let her become as independent as possible. That means we need to let her do the things she can by herself.”
“But Trisha can’t sit up by herself,” Andy said.
“She can’t sit all the way up,” Mommy said. “But she can pull herself up partway. We need to let her do that.”
Andy knew how hard Trisha struggled to pull herself up. He didn’t want her to have to work so hard. “Why can’t I help her?” he asked.
“When she tries to do things by herself, it helps her to grow stronger,” Mommy said. “I know it’s hard to watch her try so hard to do something. I want to help her too, and then I remember that Heavenly Father is always there to help and bless her.”
“Will Trisha be sick forever?” Andy asked.
“She’ll always have some problems,” Daddy said. “But we know that one day she’ll be resurrected with a healthy, whole body, and that she’ll be with our family forever.”
Andy knew that his parents had been sealed in the temple, and that he and Trisha were sealed to them.
Andy thought about what he could do for his little sister. He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and Trisha and that He listened to prayers. “I can pray for Trisha,” Andy said.
“That’s the best gift of all,” Mommy said, and gave him a big hug.

As the branch grew, the rented facilities became too small for them. So President Castañeda obtained permission for the use of this plot of land [slide shown], upon which to build a chapel. Other branches in the mission had met with extreme difficulty in obtaining such permission, but the village officials in Bermejillo were aware of the accomplishments of the branch and were pleased at the prospect of having a chapel built here.

A small, temporary, adobe chapel has been erected on the property and is now serving while the Saints raise their share of the funds for their new meeting place, which they have been authorized to build.

Much of their portion of the money is being earned through branch projects. Every Tuesday and Thursday the Relief Society sisters divide into small groups to make doughnuts and tamales. They then sell them in the parks or door-to-door. One of the sisters reported how difficult it was to sell door-to-door, but she said, “We want our chapel, and we are willing to do whatever it takes to earn enough money.”

To date they have met all their commitments, and the construction of a chapel on this site is scheduled to begin before the end of this year.

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each boy would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.

During one such race we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it.

The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

He kept finding out more about his computer until he became experienced enough to talk to people all over the world under his computer name Condor. When he was 13, his parents gave him a modem for his birthday, and Steve promptly contacted computer facilities all over the United States.

“I didn’t know and I talked to some people for half an hour,” Steve laughs. But the grin fades as he recalls working off a $549 phone bill, while the modem remained in his parents’ custody for a while.

In February 1846, more than three thousand Latter-day Saints fled nauvoo, crossing the Mississippi River into Iowa. Many left without adequate food and shelter, and suffered terribly from cold and hunger.
One of those Saints was Aurelia Spencer. When her family had traveled only thirty miles, Aurelia’s mother died. The grieving family returned to Nauvoo to bury her before continuing their journey west.
Aurelia’s father, Orson, was called to preside over the Church in Great Britain, so she, her three sisters, and her two brothers spent the next winters in Winter Quarters with only kind neighbors to keep an eye on them. During the first, harsh, winter, their horse and seven of their eight cows died. Most of the money their father sent never reached them, and they suffered great poverty.
They left for the Salt Lake Valley in May 1848 with President Brigham Young’s company. In the Valley, they lived in a log room their uncle built for them, until their father’s return.
In 1851 Aurelia married Thomas Rogers. They settled in Farmington, sixteen miles north of Salt Lake City. There Aurelia gave birth to twelve children, only seven of whom lived to adulthood.
Concerned because Farmington’s boys were often getting into mischief, Aurelia asked Eliza R. Snow, the sister of Lorenzo Snow, if there should not be an organization to help little boys grow into good men. Sister Snow relayed the suggestion to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the governing body of the Church following the death of Brigham Young. John Taylor, the President of the Quorum, gave his approval, and Sister Rogers was called upon to organize and serve as the president of the first Primary in the Church. She wisely decided that girls should also be part of the organization, and the first Primary was held in Farmington Ward on August 25, 1878.

When I was in high school, I was one of three LDS students in a student body of five hundred. One year I sent invitations out for my 16th birthday. On the bottom they read, “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” When I gave those invitations out, my parents and I were afraid that no one would show up at the party. However, 35 out of 50 did show up.

About a month later, I received an invitation to a friend’s party. On the bottom it read “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” More such invitations followed in the next two years.

What you have to do is decide now what you will do and then stick to it. True friends will accept you for who you are. They may continue to smoke or drink, but they won’t pressure you once you’ve politely said, “I don’t smoke” (or drink, or whatever). If they do continue to pressure, find a new set of friends who accept you for you and what you stand for.

Warmed by the medicine man’s healing fire inside the earthen lodge, Little Wind’s all-day vigil is over. For the valiant heart of the old buffalo—injured in a senseless and shameful slaughter two days before—is still beating.
Curled against the shaggy warmth of the great beast, the exhausted boy dreams of the sky people, then sleeps …
The first long, frosted slivers of light pierced the night sky over the tablelands. Ten Days Walking stepped out of his tepee, pulled a buffalo robe around him, and headed toward the earthen lodge. He entered quietly and stood for a long moment in the little bit of night still hiding inside, his eyes upon Little Wind, his son, who lay asleep with his head pillowed against the old buffalo. The ancient beast’s sides no longer rose and fell with a steady cadence.
Ten Days Walking stepped closer and put his ear to the animal’s side, but there was no heartbeat.
Little Wind stirred, then awoke. The look on his father’s face told him all he feared to know. His dark eyes widened and studied the creature beside him, then his vision was blurred by a thin veil of tears. “He only sleeps, Father.” Little Wind whispered with wishful uncertainty.
“It is the long sleep, my son,” Ten Days Walking uttered with reverent matter-of-factness. “The Great Spirit has called it home.”
“But I prayed so hard. It cannot be!” Little Wind buried his face in the old creature’s soft fur and wept.
Ten Days Walking sat down beside the boy and leaned back against the still warm bison. Gently and slowly he ran his large hand through Little Wind’s long hair, then he spoke. “Was it not this great one’s time, small warrior?” he asked. “No man or beast can remain on this earth place beyond his given time. This old four-legged had fathered countless of its kind and given much majesty and dignity to Mother Earth. Would it not perhaps be wrong now, maybe even selfish, to deny it its blessed rest?”
Little Wind could not—even in his pain—deny the simple wisdom of his father’s words. He nodded through his tears and snuggled himself against the big warrior who enclosed him in his great robe.
For a long while Little Wind watched the new light grow brighter in the lodge, spilling down through the hole in the center of the thatched roof and shedding its glow on the old buffalo. Then he muttered softly, “Grandfather says that life is like a blossom and that death is like the flower unfolding. What does he mean, Father?”
Ten Days Walking smiled knowingly. “Red Owl Watching means that to become like the Great Spirit, we must first become like a little child, like a … blossom … that opens into its greater self in the brighter light of heaven.”
Little Wind looked confused. Ten Days Walking’s smile broadened and he went on. “What your grandfather means is that he is anxious to leave his earth lodge and enter the great lodge of your Father and mine and to share in the wondrous things that await every valiant warrior who has served his Creator well.”
Little Wind didn’t know if he felt better because of his father’s strong arms around him or because of his wise counsel. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it was something to cling to every time his eyes returned to the old buffalo or to the lodge where his Grandfather, Red Owl Watching, lay in a long illness. “Will Grandfather die soon also?” he wondered out loud.
Ten Days Walking held his smile. There was a sadness in his voice at the thought of the old man’s leaving, but also the sound of hope. “Yes, it will very soon be his time. But as time rushes by like wind over a bird’s wing, my son, we will soon be together again. It is all part of a very wise plan.”

When I became part of a new ward in Guatemala, I was surprised at a call to serve in Primary. I had not worked with children for a long time and was happy to accept the call.
Among my first duties was preparing the children for their annual sacrament meeting presentation. Of all the music I needed to teach the children, my favorite became “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus” (Children’s Songbook, 78–79). The problem was, I couldn’t seem to memorize the words well enough to teach them.
One afternoon I set aside some time to listen to the music while concentrating on the words. As I repeated the words over and over, I began to recognize the deep meaning of the doctrine they expressed. A warm, wonderful feeling grew inside me. My eyes filled with tears, and a lump formed in my throat. Still, although I spent several days trying to learn the song, I couldn’t do it. I started to feel desperate. Why can’t I get this song right? I asked myself. Why is it so hard for me to learn? And then, unexpectedly, I answered my own question: Perhaps it’s because I’m not really trying to be like Jesus.
At that moment I committed myself to acting more as the Savior would have me act—to be, as much as possible, like Him. I continued to practice the song every day, but in addition I practiced its message. From that day to this, I have tried being kinder and more gentle, more loving, and more helpful. On my face is a warm smile, and on my lips are encouraging words. I visit the sick and give to the needy. Each month I go out into my community with a backpack of clothes, toys, and cookies, looking for those in need. Each day I try to find some way of showing my love to a friend or neighbor. Each morning I wake up happy, knowing the day will give me more opportunities to follow my Savior.
Today, I know the song well. I know it because, with all my heart, “I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.”