Gospel Story Finder

Kobe T., age 9, talked to his dad over the webcam. He and his dad sent each other silly things (like funny wigs) and took pictures wearing them!

Thomas hoed a stubborn weed out of the corn as the sun beat down on his back. Wiping the sweat from his face, he lifted his eyes longingly to the cool mountains. How he wished he was in the whispery shade of the trees there!
He loved the rustle of the white pines and the cool breezes that created soothing music among their branches. He loved the smell of the fresh wind filtering through the pines. Those ancient trees standing straight and tall seemed to him like soldiers on guard.
How he loved it when it was time to head for the hills! Every fall they took their team up to the mountains to cut firewood. He knew that they needed the wood to keep their family warm, yet every time one of those giant pines fell, he hurt inside. He felt a reverence for them. They had lived so long. They were so tall and straight.
When they brought the wood down to their farm, they sawed and chopped the logs into firewood. Thomas had a natural love for good wood and saved any exceptionally nice pieces. Then, during cold, snowy, winter days, he carefully sawed, carved, and fitted wood pieces together to make fine furniture. He loved the feel of this good wood in his hands.
Thomas remembered Grandfather Heiler. He, too, had a feel for wood. Before he had left Germany, Grandfather was a master cabinetmaker. He had planned to teach Thomas his craft but died in Winter Quarters before he could teach the boy much. Crossing the prairies was not a good place to learn woodworking. Still, it made Thomas feel good to turn this beautiful white pine wood into pieces of furniture that his grateful mother lovingly polished.
Returning to his hoeing, he stopped dreaming of cool pine forests. It wasn’t likely that he’d get up to the mountains for weeks. There was too much to do here. Even craftsmen had to delay their work to grow crops. There were no stores to buy food at in this pioneer land. His family must grow what they ate, and they worked hard to get it.
As he hoed, he spotted a carriage pulling up to their home. He watched as their neighbor, Brother Erickson, got out. Ether, Thomas’s little brother, ran to the fields to fetch his father. What was happening? What would bring a neighbor out during farming season on a Tuesday morning?
Thomas kept one eye on his hoeing and one eye on the house. When his father came in from the field and greeted Brother Erickson, Thomas worked his way closer to hear their conversation.
“The word is out that Brother Brigham [President Brigham Young] is looking for some fine wood to help build an organ for the new tabernacle,” Brother Erickson told Father. “I thought you’d like to know that.”
“Yes,” Father said slowly. “That’s interesting. But what has it to do with me?”
Brother Erickson pointed to their cabin. “Just look at those logs. The finest logs I’ve seen anywhere. They’re long and smooth, and there is not a knothole in the whole of it!”
“That’s true,” Father said. “Those logs made a snug cabin for us. Are you thinking we should let Brother Brigham know about the pine we have around here? It’s over three hundred miles to Salt Lake City! Couldn’t they find some closer?”
“Brother Robert Gardner and his son William have been traveling all over the territory, searching out good wood. Brother Brigham charged them with that responsibility. I don’t think the distance would be a problem if the wood was good.”
Father nodded. “Pine Valley would be proud to help with the furnishing of that great building. Let’s do it! Let’s send a piece of one of our very best logs.”
Over the next weeks, several men from the valley gathered at their cabin to help select and cut just the right wood to send to Salt Lake City.
Thomas wished that he could be the one to take the wood there. He ran his hand over the smooth surface of the pine chest he was making. He knew that when the Gardners saw this wood, they would want it.
“We’ll send it with one of the missionaries heading that way,” Bishop Johansen told the men. “There’s no need for a special trip.”
Hanging his head, Thomas went back to work. He longed to travel to Salt Lake City and see how the work on the organ and the tabernacle was getting along. But he knew that his family still needed every spare moment they had to provide a living for themselves. There just was no time for trips anywhere.
Over the next months, Thomas waited to hear if their beautiful white pine had been chosen for the organ. No word came. Then in the spring, men came with ox teams to haul the superb logs to Salt Lake City.
“Dad,” Thomas exclaimed happily when he saw the teams snaking up the mountain, “they’re going to use our wood!”
His father smiled at him. “It was the best they found in the territory. They’ll use our wood for some of the pipes. The metal pipes are being made back East by the Simmons company. But the largest of the wood pipes are of our wood. And they’re encasing some pipes in pine that comes from a canyon close to Salt Lake City. They’ll paint that wood to look like oak.”
Thomas grinned from ear to ear. “I sure would like to hear that organ when it’s completed.”
His father put his hand on his shoulder. “I think we could manage a trip, even one that far, to attend general conference one of these years.”
It was a promise he kept, but Thomas had to wait two whole years for the organ and the Salt Lake Tabernacle to be ready for a conference. However, in September 1867, after the crops were safely in their bins, Thomas’s family began the slow wagon ride to Salt Lake City. They arrived in plenty of time for the conference on October 6.
That morning, Thomas slid into his seat. He listened in awe to the partially finished organ. He knew that it would take Brother Ridges several more years to finish it, but he loved the sound.
Here in the wilds of Deseret, beautiful music was forming. The organ would someday be world famous. Thomas knew that as it was completed, it would only become better. For now, he was happy just to listen to its beautiful strains.
Later that day, his father introduced him to Joseph Ridges. When he found that Thomas was interested in the instrument, he showed him what they were doing. Then he introduced him to Niels Johnson, Shure Olsen, David Anderson, William Pinney, and John Sandberg, men he had been training to work on the organ, too. They were all there that day to hear its beautiful tones.
The following Wednesday, as his family traveled home, Thomas was still marveling at what he’d seen and heard. Here in the wilds of Deseret, the Lord had helped his servants use what materials they had, and what skill they had, to begin building one of the greatest organs in the world. He had felt the Spirit very strongly as its music flowed through that great building. He thrilled at the messages of the prophets. He loved the music the choir sang, accompanied by the organ. How proud he was that some of the wood inside it came from his valley.

It was the same with the Haraga family, who came to the Hamilton Temple in April 2024. The parents received their endowment and were sealed to each other, and their daughter, Barbara, was sealed to them. Brother Haraga was also sealed to his deceased parents.

Brother Haraga was the first in his family to embrace the restored gospel when he was baptized in 2011. His wife and daughters joined him in 2015.

The Haraga family’s greatest desire was to attend the temple together to become an eternal family. Their dream became a reality in April 2024 when they entered the Hamilton Temple to be endowed and sealed. Faith in Jesus Christ led them to receive ordinances and make covenants in the house of the Lord.

Soon I will be eight years old. I’m not sure that I want to be baptized. I am a little bit afraid. … What would Jesus Christ want me to do?

Many years ago, our family had an experience which left an indelible impression as to the importance and value and power of a father’s blessing. The lessons learned may be of interest to you.
When our oldest children were ready to begin formal schooling, Sister Bateman and I decided that a father’s blessing would be given to each child at the beginning of the school year. The family home evening preceding the start of school would be the occasion. The year our oldest son, Michael, entered the third grade holds special memories for us. During the preceding summer he had participated in Little League baseball. He loved the sport. When we gathered for family home evening just before the start of school, Michael announced that he did not need a blessing. He had completed his first season in Little League, and blessings were for younger children.
Sister Bateman and I were stunned. We encouraged him, suggesting that a blessing would help him with his schoolwork. It would be a protection to him. It would help him in his relations with his brothers, sisters, and friends. Our encouragement, along with some coaxing, failed. He was too old. Believing in the principle of agency, we were not about to force a blessing on an eight-year-old. All of the children except Michael received a blessing that year.
The school year proceeded normally. Michael and the other children did well in school, and the family enjoyed their associations together. Then the following May arrived, and it was time for Little League baseball to begin. Following the last day of school, Michael’s coach called a team practice. Michael’s anticipation could not have been greater. His dream was about to be realized. He was to be the starting catcher. The baseball diamond was only a few blocks from our home. The boys and the coach walked to the baseball field, crossing a busy highway. Following the practice, the boys and coach started for home. Michael and a friend ran on ahead of the coach and the other boys. As the two boys approached the busy highway, Michael failed to look and darted in front of a car driven by a 16-year-old young man out for his first drive. Can you imagine the fear that must have struck the young man’s heart? He slammed on the brakes and swerved in an attempt to miss the boy. Unfortunately, the side of the front fender and bumper hit Michael and threw him down the highway.
A short time later, Sister Bateman and I received a telephone call from the police. Michael, in critical condition, was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital. It was important that we hurry. Before leaving, I called a friend and asked him to meet us at the hospital and assist in giving a blessing. The 20-minute drive was the longest of our lives. We prayed fervently for the life of our son and to know the will of the Lord.
As we parked the car by the door of the emergency room, we saw a policeman exiting with a young man who was crying. The policeman recognized us and introduced the young man as the driver of the car. We knew enough of the story to put our arms around him and tell him that we knew it was not his fault. We then entered the hospital to find Michael. As we entered his room, the doctors and nurses were working feverishly, attending to his needs. My friend had arrived, and we asked if it would be possible to have two or three minutes alone with him. My priesthood brother anointed, and I sealed. As I laid my hands upon Michael’s head, a feeling of comfort and peace came over me, words flowed, and promises were made. He was then rushed to the operating room.
For the next four weeks, Michael lay in a hospital bed with his head bandaged and his leg in traction. Each Wednesday, his Little League teammates would visit him after the game and give him a report. Each Wednesday, tears would well up in Michael’s eyes and run down his cheeks as the boys relived the game. After four weeks in traction, Michael was put in a body cast from his chest to his toes. On two or three occasions we took him to a game to watch his friends play. Another four weeks passed, and the body cast was replaced with a cast from his hip to his toes. Two days before school was to begin, the final cast was removed. As the family gathered the next night for school blessings, is there any wonder as to who wanted the first blessing? A nine-year-old boy, a little older and a lot wiser, was first in line.
Over the years our children have come to understand that accidents are not always prevented by priesthood blessings, but they also know that more than one type of protection is available through the priesthood. Today, our grandchildren are the recipients of priesthood blessings. The tradition is in the second and third generations. We believe that this practice, like the family, will prevail through the eternities.

In doing so, we need to be realistic. If we are constantly frustrated, we may be pushing too hard. The Lord can help us and guide us through His Spirit to do those things that are possible and appropriate. In some cases, He will give us miracles, small as they may seem.
We will always remember being told by a leading orthopedic specialist that Dora would never walk. But after several years of much prayer and hard work, Dora can now walk with assistance. Her overall condition hasn’t changed, but the Lord gave us a small miracle to help her grow and find more enjoyment in life.

Mallory and Susan left Sister Swan’s old stone house with cookies in their hands and the usual happy feeling in their hearts that being with Sister Swan always gave them.
“Isn’t she the nicest lady!” Susan said, munching on her cookie.
Mallory nodded. “It’s been six years since she was our Sunbeam teacher in Primary, and she still treats us just the same.”
“When I had my tonsils out, she brought over something cool and creamy for me to eat every day that week,” Susan said as she skipped over the lines in the sidewalk.
Mallory brushed the cookie crumbs off her hands, “When I was trying to earn money for my bike, she’d send me to the store for something about every other day and pay me a quarter.” Both girls were quiet for a minute, enjoying the warm spring sunshine.
“You know,” Mallory said, “I’d like to do something really nice for her, something special.”
“Like what? What could we do?” Susan asked, “I don’t have any money to buy her anything.”
“Neither do I,” Mallory said. They thought for a few minutes. “She really loves flowers. Remember the other day when she said she missed having cut flowers in the house now that she’s getting too busy to work in the yard?”
“That’s right,” Susan said. “But where would we get flowers? We don’t have any in bloom in my yard right now.”
“We had a few tulips, but they’re gone now,” Mallory said.
Both girls stopped and looked at the Jensen’s yard. All along the fence enormous red and white peonies were blossoming, and the rosebushes by the house were covered with blooms. They walked on silently and came to the Allreds’ house. In the middle of the lawn was an oval flower bed full of irises and tulips. They stopped and looked.
“What are you thinking?” Susan said. “Would they let us pick any?”
“Maybe,” Mallory said thoughtfully. “But I’d like Sister Swan to have a really huge bouquet, something so big you could hardly get through the door with it. That would show her how much we really love and appreciate her.”
“Well, we couldn’t ask anybody for that many flowers.”
“No.” Mallory was thoughtful again. “What if we got our bikes and went around and just picked a few flowers from everybody’s yard?”
“You mean without asking?”
“Well, yeah, but they wouldn’t miss just a few flowers.”
“Mmmm,” Susan mused. “There are lots of flowers around that we could make into a giant-size bouquet. … Let’s do it!”
The girls were soon making their way around the block, plucking a few flowers from each yard and filling the baskets on their handlebars. Susan had even remembered to get a paring knife to cut some roses. No one seemed to notice them. Soon they were back in Susan’s garage, their baskets overflowing with blossoms of every color.
“Aren’t they beautiful!” Susan exclaimed.
“Sister Swan will love them! What can we put them in?” asked Mallory.
“My dad has some old plastic milk jugs in here somewhere. Let’s find one and cut off the top and put on some pretty contact paper.”
They worked hard arranging the flowers, putting the huge peonies in the center, the irises and tulips around the edges, and the roses throughout. When they were finished, they sat back and admired the magnificent bouquet.
“She’ll love them!” Mallory repeated. They left their bikes and walked to Sister Swan’s. Mallory carried the bouquet very carefully—it would be disastrous to stumble. They climbed the steps to Sister Swan’s house and rang the bell.
Sister Swan opened the door and peered out. “My goodness,” she said. “Come in.” She stepped back and opened the door wide. “What’s all this? I can’t even see you. Is that you, Mallory? Susan?”
The girls giggled. “Yes, it’s us,” Mallory said. “We brought you a bouquet.”
“It’s beautiful. Bring it into the kitchen and put it on the table.” The girls followed her into the kitchen, and Mallory set the bouquet carefully in the center of the round oak table. Sister Swan looked at the bouquet. “Where did you get all these gorgeous flowers?”
The girls looked at each other. Somehow it had never occurred to them that Sister Swan would ask this question. “We wanted you to have a great big bouquet because we really love you,” Mallory said.
“And because you do so many nice things for us,” Susan added.
Sister Swan nodded. “Sit down,” she said. The two girls sat, and Sister Swan stood between them and looked first at Mallory and then at Susan. She moved the bouquet over so that she could see them better. The fragrance from the flowers hung heavy in the silence.
“You said you missed having cut flowers, and we wanted you to have a whole bunch,” Susan ventured.
Sister Swan looked at the flowers, then said thoughtfully, “I wonder if this enormous bouquet will last any longer than a small one would. I wonder if it will last any longer than one rose in a vase would.”
Susan and Mallory looked at each other. Sister Swan wasn’t as pleased as they had thought she would be.
“I’m touched that you wanted to do this for me”—tears welled up in Sister Swan’s eyes—“but you didn’t answer my question, and now I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”
Mallory looked down at the linoleum under her feet. Susan looked sadly at the flowers. “What should we do?” Susan finally asked. “We can’t take them back.”
“No,” Sister Swan said quietly.
“I guess we could go back to the houses and tell the people we’re sorry.”
Mallory looked up. “Every one? We went to a lot of houses.”
“It would take a lot of time,” Sister Swan said. “And some courage.”
Mallory faltered, “It’ll be embarrassing to knock on their doors and apologize. But Susan is probably right.”
“We could even do some yard work for some of them, especially the ones where we took a lot,” Susan suggested.
Sister Swan smiled a little. “Another good idea.”
“But what can we do for you?” Mallory asked. “We wanted to do something special for you.”
Sister Swan stood up and went around the table. She leaned over and put an arm around each girl. “I know,” she said, “and I love that. But here’s some advice from your old teacher: Never express your love for someone by doing something wrong. It never works out.”
Standing up straight, she smiled again at the girls and added, “You know, if you have time after making amends with the neighbors, I’ve been wishing someone would spade up that little spot by my porch and plant me some snapdragons.”
“We could do that!” Susan whooped.
“Yes!” Mallory shouted. “Come on, Susan, let’s get going!”

This was an issue with my great-great-grandfather Phineas Wolcott Cook. He was born in 1820 in Connecticut. In his diary he notes that he had made a covenant with the Lord to serve Him if he could find the right way. He attended many churches and at one was asked to “testify [and] join the church [and] be a Christian.” His response was he “could not tell which one to join, there were so many.” He continued to investigate several churches. One doctrine was of particular significance to him. He explained: “Sometimes they found fault with me because I wanted a more liberal salvation for the family of man. I could not believe the Lord had made a part to be saved and a great part to be damned to all eternity.”13 Because of this doctrine, he allowed his name to be taken off the records of one Protestant religion. When the LDS missionaries taught him the true doctrine of the plan of salvation in 1844, he was baptized.

The day after Mother’s Day, Eric and his mom went to the local pharmacy to fill a prescription. Eric walked around the pharmacy while his mother purchased the medication. When they got back in the car, Eric asked if he could talk to his mom for a minute.
“Sure, Son,” Mom said, reaching for the ignition.
Eric grabbed her hand and said, “Don’t go. Can we talk right here?” Mom turned off the ignition and shifted in her seat to listen.
Eric then told her about a boy in his school class named Josh.* His mother had died of cancer during the previous Christmas holidays. He said that ever since then, Josh was often very sad at school. Sometimes his dad even had to come and take him home from school because he couldn’t stop crying.
Mother’s Day had been very hard for Josh. He had brought a stuffed bear to school that next day and had hugged it for comfort all the time. During recess, he had taken the bear out onto the playground. Some of the bigger kids took Josh’s bear away from him. While they teased him by throwing it back and forth, the bear had ripped apart. Eric felt bad because he knew that Josh’s family didn’t have a lot of money and that they might not be able to buy him another bear. While in the pharmacy, Eric had seen a bear just like Josh’s. He wanted permission to spend his allowance money to buy it for him.
Eric and his mom went back into the pharmacy and bought the bear. Eric took it to school in his backpack the next day. Mom told Eric not to give the bear to Josh until she’d made sure it was OK with their teacher. The teacher said that she would be glad to arrange for Eric to give the bear to Josh.
That evening, Mom asked Eric how it went. He said that their teacher had asked the two of them to stay in for a few minutes while the rest of the class went to recess. She’d asked Josh what had happened to his bear the day before. Josh’s first words were “Eric didn’t do it.”
She said that wasn’t the reason she’d had them stay in and then explained that Eric wanted to give him another bear. The bear went from backpack to backpack for safe keeping. Eric said that Josh almost cried when he gave it to him. Eric said that the best feeling of all was to see Josh smile, and, as he left for the day, Josh gave him a big high-five.

When my wife and I visited Sister Choi, she ushered us through a gate toward her backyard. Hundreds of carefully cultivated plants—fruits, flowers, and vegetables—spread across a narrow space.

I’d like to share with you two important lessons that I learned in my youth. When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood there watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

You must be their counselor, their comforter, their anchor and strength in times of sorrow and distress. You must be strong with that strength which comes from the Lord. You must be wise with that wisdom which comes from the Lord. Your door must be open to hear their cries and your back strong to carry their burdens, your heart sensitive to judge their needs, your godly love broad enough and strong enough to encompass even the wrongdoer and the critic. You must be a man of patience, willing to listen though it takes hours to do so. You are the only one to whom some can turn. You must be there when every other source has failed. Permit me to read you a few lines from a letter sent to a bishop.
“Dear Bishop:
“It has been almost two years since I desperately called you asking for help. At that time I was ready to kill myself. I had no one else to turn to—no money, no job, no friends. My house had been taken, and I had no place to live. The Church was my last hope.
“As you know, I had left the Church at the age of seventeen and had broken just about every rule and commandment that there was in my search for happiness and fulfillment. Instead of happiness, my life was filled with misery, anguish, and despair. There was no hope or future for me. I even pleaded with God to let me die, to take me out of my misery. Not even he wanted me. I felt that he had rejected me, too.
“That’s when I turned to you and the Church. …
“You listened with understanding, you counseled, you guided, you helped.
“I began to grow and develop in understanding and knowledge of the gospel. I found that I had to make certain basic changes in my life that were terribly difficult, but that within me I had the worth and strength to do so.
“I learned that as I lived the gospel and repented, I had no more fear. I was filled with an inner peace. The clouds of anguish and despair were gone. Because of the Atonement, my weaknesses and sins were forgiven through Jesus Christ and His love for me.
“He has blessed and strengthened me. He has opened pathways for me, given me direction, and kept me from harm. I have found that as I overcame each obstacle, my business began to grow, enabling my family to benefit and making me feel as though I had accomplished something.
“Bishop, you have given me understanding and support through these past two years. I never would have reached this point if not for your love and patience. Thank you for being what you are as the servant of the Lord to help me, his wandering child.”

As soon as President Monson started to announce the new temples, I felt a confirming witness so strongly that he is the prophet and that he is God’s mouthpiece. And since that’s true, then why not try to follow his teachings completely?
Whitney A., Oregon, USA

A recent survey of returned full-time missionaries provides definite evidence that a mission does make a difference in a young man’s life. Over a thousand missionaries answered questions on their attendance at Church meetings; obedience to certain key commandments; and service in the Church; and the results were impressive:
97 percent of the returned missionaries attended at least one sacrament meeting a month, and 91 percent attended at least three sacrament meetings a month. This is far ahead of overall Churchwide attendance figures.
89 percent of the returned missionaries had a current Church calling.
95 percent of the returned missionaries who were married were married in the temple, again far ahead of Churchwide figures.
Why was the survey conducted? Elder Carlos E. Asay of the First Quorum of the Seventy, executive director of the Missionary Department, explained that for some time stories have persisted in the Church claiming that a high percentage of returned missionaries became inactive. “Even one or two missionaries falling away concerns us greatly, but we found it hard to believe that such large numbers were being lost!” So, to find out if there was a great problem, and, if not, to squelch such stories, Eric Ott of the Missionary Department and John Madsen of the Priesthood Department administered the survey.
The questionnaires were mailed to 1,757 returned missionaries. More than 65 percent of those who received questionnaires returned them—an unusually high percentage for mailed surveys. But to reduce the possibility of error even further, the bishop of every fifteenth returned missionary was called, to see what relationship there was between the missionaries’ self-assessment and their bishops’ view of their activity in the Church, and also to see if those who returned the questionnaire were significantly more active than those who did not.
The results of the follow-up survey reinforced the original results. Though missionaries who failed to return the survey tended to be slightly less active, the difference was almost negligible—three percent.

A 14-year-old sister was all dressed up to go to a Young Women activity at a time in her life when she felt very unsure about herself. She was quietly and self-consciously inching her way toward the front door, hoping not to be noticed by all the young men in the living room who were visiting with her older brother Russell. She was given a life-changing boost when her older brother interrupted his conversation and said to her in front of all his friends, “My, Emily, you look pretty tonight!” A small thing? No. There are young women who claim that they would not have made it through those growing-up years without the encouragement and support of their older brothers.

I would like to say a few words to the Primary children who may be listening. Children, I’ve been trying to teach your moms and dads something very important, but I need your help. I’ll make you a deal. If you will promise to listen very carefully, I promise not to talk very long.
Do you remember the story of Bambi, the little deer, and all of his friends in the forest? If you do, you will remember that one of Bambi’s good friends was a rabbit named Thumper. Thumper was about your age. He was a neat rabbit, but he had one problem. He kept saying bad things about people. One day Bambi was in the forest learning to walk, and he fell down. Thumper just couldn’t resist the temptation. “He doesn’t walk very good, does he?” Thumper blurted out. His mother felt very bad and said, “What did your father tell you this morning?” And then Thumper, looking down at his feet and kind of shifting his weight, said, “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.” That’s a good piece of advice that all of us need to follow. What I need you to do, young people, is this. If you hear anyone in your family start to say something bad about someone else, will you please just stamp your foot and say in a loud voice, “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.” Now, even though that isn’t correct English, everyone will understand exactly what you mean. Now, Moms and Dads, that ought to make it a little easier to live the commandment.

Franklin Saavedra, also a 17-year-old at the time, was one of the first piano students to quickly use his talents to serve in his branch (now the Carabuela Ward) as pianist. He, too, accompanied a stake event—the priesthood session of one of the Otavalo stake conferences—only a few months after he began to use his newfound talent.
The Heywoods say that Franklin is very teachable (he practices until he can play a hymn to perfection), and he is a teacher (giving lessons after Sunday meetings to his family and ward members). Sister Heywood says, “Franklin is another example of the faith and dedication that are found among the sons and daughters of Lehi who are growing in the gospel in Otavalo, Ecuador.”

The work of John Halliday and his fellow missionaries, with the associated growth in Church membership, did not go unnoticed or unopposed. Writing to Franklin D. Richards (1821–1899) in December 1847, Halliday stated, “Since I wrote last to you, the officers of the law have interfered in our behalf, and last week we had quietness again,”4 showing that opposition was serious enough for Church members to seek police protection to be able to worship as they pleased.

When Roger awoke he remembered it was a special day. He had circled March 20 on the big calendar in the kitchen and today was that day. Daddy had told him the small blue letters beside the number read, “First day of spring.”
Roger loved spring. He liked the warm sun on his cheeks. He liked the easy wind that didn’t blow up his sleeves and send shivers down his back. And he liked the soft, cool air that didn’t sting the inside of his nose.
Roger put on his slippers, raced down the stairs, and flung open the back door. Then he stopped suddenly; the air was frosty and cold. Snow covered the ground, and an icy wind whistled around the corner of the house and blew his pajamas against his legs. Roger shut the door.
“Today is the first day of spring,” Roger said to his mother who was working in the kitchen, “and it’s cold. Why is there still snow outside?”
Mother smiled and explained, “The calendar keeps track of the time it takes for the earth to tilt on its axis far enough toward the sun so that spring can begin. But it doesn’t happen overnight just because of a date on a calendar. Spring comes slowly.”
“Oh,” said Roger, disappointed.
Then Mother said, “Every day when you go out to play you can look for signs that tell us spring is coming, OK?”
“Even today?” asked Roger.
“Even today,” answered Mother, smiling.
After breakfast, when Roger was bundled up in his snowsuit, cap, boots, scarf, and mittens, he went outside to play. He rode his tricycle on the driveway, making tire tracks in the snow. Then he ran around in the backyard, making footprints in the snow. Just before he went into the house, he ran around to the front yard. Underneath the evergreens that grew in front of his house he spied bits of green poking up out of the ground. He bent down and with a mittened hand pushed the snow away. Bravely sprouting in the frozen ground were the crocuses he and his father had planted last autumn.
“Mother! Mother!” he shouted. “I found it! I found it!”
“Found what?” asked his mother, who had hurried out the front door, wiping her hands on a towel.
“The first sign of spring!” said Roger, pointing to the crocuses.
As the days became warmer Roger found more signs of spring. The crocuses blossomed, skunk cabbages bloomed down by the creek, there were raccoon tracks in the mud along the creek bank, and the pussy willow catkins pushed out of their hard brown hulls. There were even some days when the sun and air were warm and Roger wore only a lightweight jacket and cap outdoors. The robins returned and built a nest in the evergreen tree by the mailbox.
One day it rained and rained, and Roger had to stay inside the house. He pressed his nose against the window and watched the rain streaming down the glass. It rattled in the rain gutters and ran in little streams along the ground.
The next day was warm and sunny, and Roger found brown, pointed spring mushrooms growing under the trees in the backyard. The shrubs around the house were dressed in bright pink and yellow flowers, and the branches of the flowering quince tree were frosted with blooms. Roger reported each new sign of spring to his mother, for she enjoyed this magic season too.
One morning Roger woke up and saw the sun shining in a blue cloudless sky. He put on his warm sweater and baseball cap and went downstairs.
He ran out the back door, down the steps, and through the trees at the end of his backyard. Suddenly he stopped. A cottontail rabbit was hopping off through the trees. A spot on the ground in front of him moved ever so slightly. He bent down and rolled back a soft covering of fur and matted grass. In a small, saucer-shaped nest dug in the ground were four wriggling, lightly furred baby cottontails. Roger stared with wonder at the tiny babies, their eyes still tightly closed and softly whimpering as they tried to crawl under each other. Then he gently replaced the soft covering and walked slowly back to the house.
“Mother!” cried Roger, “I just found the best-of-all sign of spring. A nest of baby rabbits! The mother rabbit put her little babies in the ground so she knows it won’t get cold again. And that means spring is finally here!”

Guidance can come when grappling with a serious challenge in life. Years ago, in the days of my early scientific research in a field that was then new to medical practice, a scriptural standard of truth gave me the courage needed to persevere. I leaned heavily upon these verses in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“All kingdoms have a law given;
“And there are many kingdoms; for there is no space in the which there is no kingdom; and there is no kingdom in which there is no space. …
“And unto every kingdom is given a law; and unto every law there are certain bounds also and conditions.” We learned laws that pertained to the “kingdom” of our concern and mastered control that had previously been relegated by ignorance to chance alone.