Gospel Story Finder

Mother taught me that we have an obligation to give, that others don’t owe us a living, and that more joy comes from giving than receiving.
As a child, I desired a birthday party. I invited all of my friends to come—it wasn’t even near my birthday—and I carefully instructed them to each bring me a dime. When Mother heard of my trick, she immediately gave me a scolding, sat me down, and carefully explained why what I did was not right. Then she went with me to each of my friends so that I could apologize. It was an embarrassing lesson, but one I have never forgotten.

Jennie shivered and drew the patchwork quilt more tightly around herself. She snuggled close to Susan. Outside the wagon, the wind whipped fiercely across the prairie, snapping the white wagon cover above her. Frightened, she wondered if the big wagon could withstand the raging storm. Papa had said the wagon was to be their home on the long journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. But suppose the wind shatters this old wagon, she thought, then how would Susan, Baby Sarah, Mama and Papa, and I get to the valley?
Although the wagon was cold and uncomfortable, it did provide pretty good shelter from storms, and it was large enough to carry the things that Jennie’s family would need to start their new home in Salt Lake. Besides all of Papa’s tools, there was a heavy iron blade for a plow. Mama, too, had packed many things. Her beautiful dishes were carefully wrapped in bedding and linens to protect them from breaking as the wagon creaked and jolted across the land. She had also packed a sewing box of scissors, thread, and needles. Along with the grain and vegetable seeds there were tiny packets of flower seeds. Lovely flowers blooming in the yard would help make their new house a home. There had been no room to carry furniture, so Mama’s beloved carved dressing-table had been sold, as had Papa’s chest of drawers and Susan’s framework for her bed.
Jennie remembered their pleasant home in Nauvoo. It had been hard to leave it, but cruel men had forced them to go. Papa had promised her that someday they would have a new home in the Rocky Mountains where they would all be safe and happy. Now thunder rumbled loudly across the prairie, and the wind moaned through the night. Jennie buried her head in her pillow and wished that the days of happiness and safety would come soon.
“Sister Quigley! Sister Quigley!” It was Brother Olenslager’s urgent voice. The light of his flickering lantern could be seen through the canvas wagon cover. “Are you awake? You must come. My wife is having her baby!”
“Yes, Brother Olenslager, I’m awake and I’ll come at once.”
Jennie heard Mama hastily dressing in the cold darkness of the wagon box. Tonight Papa was gone, for it was his turn to guard the horses and cattle. Jennie suddenly realized that she would be alone in the big dark wagon with four-year-old Susan and Baby Sarah.
“Mama?” she whispered.
“Jennie, I must go to help Sister Olenslager. Please watch after the little ones if they wake up.”
“Yes, Mama.” Jennie’s throat was dry and she could scarcely speak. How she wanted to cry out, “Don’t go, Mama. I’m frightened!”
“If I’m not back before morning, Jennie, you must prepare breakfast and prepare the wagon to start moving at daybreak. The morning bell will signal when it is time to wake up.” Then Mama slipped from the wagon into the wet night and was on her way to Sister Olenslager.
BOOOOM! A frightening clap of thunder directly overhead split the night, jolting Susan from her slumber. “Mama!” she cried.
“She isn’t here, Susan,” Jennie explained, trying to soothe her frightened sister. “She’s gone to help Sister Olenslager with her baby.”
“I want Mama,” Susan began to cry. “I’m scared.”
Jennie hugged her younger sister and said softly, “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right. I’m here with you. It’s just that this noisy storm woke you up! Go back to sleep now.”
Jennie held the trembling little girl in her arms, concealing the terror that she herself felt. Uninvited tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Susan’s blonde hair. Oh, if only Papa were here! she wished. He always laughs at storms. Jennie believed that Papa’s booming laugh was louder than thunder and his muscled arms stronger than a fierce wind.
“Shhh …” Jennie whispered. “Be still, Susan.” But the little one, shivering beneath the patchwork quilt, was not easily quieted. Soon her sobs woke Baby Sarah, who began to fuss and whimper.
All the while the storm grew wilder, and the rain beat unceasingly against the canvas. Lightning crackled, brilliant and white, and thunder boomed and echoed across the sky. A cold knot of terror tightened in Jennie’s stomach. She could no longer bring herself to speak to her sisters or to comfort them. Mama had told her to tend the little ones, yet she, herself, was frightened. Oh, what can I do? she wondered pleadingly.
Then Jennie remembered something Papa had told her before they had left their home in Nauvoo. He said that there would be times in her life when she might be lonely or frightened and that during those times she might have to do things that she felt she could not do all by herself. But even though he and Mama might not be close-by, she need never be alone. He explained that Heavenly Father was anxious to help her in times of need. He was eager to comfort her when she was fearful, and happy to be near her when she was lonely. All she needed to do was pray and ask for His help and her prayers would be answered.
Controlling her fear, Jennie sat up and knelt beside her two sisters. Then she prayed with all her heart for Heavenly Father to bless her and Susan and Sarah and be with them during the storm. When she finished praying, she crawled back under the covers.
Soon both Susan and Sarah were sleeping soundly next to her. As she lay beside them, Jennie felt the cold fear go away from her own heart, to be replaced by a warm calm. And weary from listening to the roaring of thunder, she, too, fell into a peaceful sleep.

Alisa’s collar scratched, and her Sunday shoes pinched. She squirmed as her six-year-old hands inched toward her baby brother’s red rattle. Even though it was a baby toy, she grabbed the bright rattle and shook it. The noise lasted only a few seconds, for Mom quickly snatched the toy away and tucked it safely into the diaper bag.
Alisa pretended she’d had nothing to do with the racket. She looked at the bishopric. Bishop Walker was watching Sister Williams, who was giving a talk. He seemed very interested in what she was saying—something about Lehi’s dream.
Then Alisa glanced at the music director, Matthew’s mom. She was also quiet, smiling while holding her hymnbook in her lap.
Alisa sighed. Everyone was being quiet and reverent and was listening to Sister Williams. Except the babies. Wherever Alisa looked, she saw a baby. A curly-haired blond baby tweaked his mommy’s nose, and the mom didn’t even pull his hand away. A bald, blue-eyed baby with a bow pasted on her head drank from a bottle. Her own baby brother happily chewed on his toys and made funny noises.
The babies were having fun. Alisa wished she were. Her mother had told her that she wasn’t a baby any longer, so she couldn’t eat snacks in church or bring her toys to play with. Mom said that she should try to sit quietly and listen to the talks.
Alisa really and truly tried. But it was hard. Before she knew it, her feet were tapping and her eyes were wandering. She slipped under the bench to look at all the shoes.
She loved to study the shoes under the benches. There were high-heeled mom-shoes, scuffed-up boy-shoes, polished dad-shoes, and shiny black little-girl shoes. Two weeks ago she had grabbed Sister Norton’s shoe because it was so pretty and she wanted to see it better. Sister Norton was startled, but smiled when she saw who it was, so maybe she hadn’t minded very much.
But Dad had minded. On the way home from church, he said, “Alisa, you’re getting to be a big girl. It’s time you started behaving in church like Heavenly Father would want you to behave.”
She knew it was true. She was almost six, and she wanted to be reverent and to obey Heavenly Father. The next week she’d tried to be more reverent, but sacrament meeting had lasted such a long time! Halfway through the meeting, she was under the bench again, trying to decide whom each pair of shoes belonged to.
Finally, it was time for Primary. In her class, they acted out stories from the Book of Mormon. She had never quite realized how thrilling the Book of Mormon was. Samuel the Lamanite was so brave! Nephi was stronger than anyone she knew. And Ammon was smart—even smarter than Michael, the smartest boy in first grade!
She loved the stories. And they had given her a wonderful idea! Many of the talks mentioned Book of Mormon people. Maybe that could help her be more reverent in sacrament meeting. She could hardly wait to try out her plan.
The week flew by, and before she knew it, Sunday had come—the day for “The Plan.”
She carefully packed paper, markers, and her Book of Mormon storybook, which had lots of pictures, into her brother’s diaper bag.
Sacrament meeting started in the usual way—announcements, a hymn, a prayer. The bishop talked for a few minutes, everyone sang another hymn, and the sacrament was administered. Then came the talks, the hardest part of the meeting for Alisa.
She took out the Book of Mormon storybook and opened it to pictures of Nephi and his brothers. She wondered why his brothers didn’t like Nephi. She hoped her baby brother would like her when he grew up.
Turning to the story of Samuel the Lamanite in the back of the book, she wondered what it would feel like to stand on a wall and see arrows flying toward you. Was Samuel afraid? He didn’t look scared in the picture. He looked strong and brave. She hoped that she would be as brave the next time she saw Tim at school. He loved to make fun of her—he called her Carrot Top or Freckle Face. She ran whenever she saw him. Maybe next time she would be like Samuel.
While she looked through her book, she heard Brother Pistorius say something about Abinadi and King Noah. It was her favorite Book of Mormon story. She turned to the story in her book and found pictures that showed the things Brother Pistorius was telling about. He thought that King Noah was a bad man, too, and that Abinadi was brave for telling him about the gospel, even when the prophet knew that he would die for it.
Alisa liked listening to what Brother Pistorius said, and before she knew it, sacrament meeting was ending—and she had been reverent the whole time!
After the prayer, Alisa packed her things back in the diaper bag. Mom gave her a hug, and Dad said, “Alisa, we’re proud of the way you acted in church today. You really are a big girl.”
Alisa was happy that her plan had worked. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being a big girl, after all.

A couple of months before my sophomore year in high school, my mom took me shopping for school clothes. While I was trying on a shirt that was probably a couple of sizes too small for me, I decided to model it for my mom and act like I wanted it. When I opened the dressing room door, my mom’s reaction was not what I had imagined.
“What’s that hump on your back?”
“What hump? It’s just a shirt.”
My mom studied my back then immediately called and scheduled an appointment for me to see a specialist. The look of concern on her face scared me.
Days later, in the specialist’s office, we learned that I had a severe case of scoliosis, extreme curvature of the spine. There are four levels of scoliosis, and mine was a level three. If I could decrease the curve to level two, then I wouldn’t need surgery. We began doing everything we could, but the curve of my spine was increasing. The next step was to try a back brace. My first day of school was the day I was fitted.
The brace was very uncomfortable. I had to wear a layer underneath, or the brace would leave a nasty rash. I also wore a layer over the brace so it wouldn’t rub holes in my nice school shirts. Wearing that many layers in Arizona wasn’t the easiest thing to do. There were days I left school early because of heat exhaustion. Other days I came home feeling hideous and gross. At times I would lie on the floor for hours because it hurt to move. I tried to be brave, but I often cried myself to sleep. It all seemed too much for me to handle.
Classes were hard. I remember days I would pray the seminary hymn was one I knew, since I was unable to reach the hymnbook from under my desk. In traffic safety class, my brace kept me from driving in reverse because I couldn’t turn around. I dropped my pencil during tests and couldn’t pick it up. Dance used to be my favorite class, but it became my hardest. My mom helped me dress every morning. She even tied my shoes for me.
Through all this I persisted in studying my scriptures. Every night I prayed with a fervent heart for a miracle. In my journal I described days where the pain was unbearable, but I always, on every page, reminded myself of my Savior. “I know He’ll help me get through this,” I would write. “Someday He’ll give me my miracle.”
Halfway through the year, things began looking up. I was preparing to receive my patriarchal blessing, and I had a strong feeling that somehow this blessing could be my miracle. I attentively listened as the patriarch said, “Remember, Nicole, faith works miracles.” An overwhelming sensation burned inside of me. I had been praying for a miracle since day one. I thought for sure my miracle was coming.
For once, I couldn’t wait for my next doctor’s appointment. I just knew that the X-rays would be good. But when the day arrived and the doctor walked in and posted my X-rays, I felt complete shock. The curvature of my spine was worse than ever. I didn’t understand. I was praying, reading my scriptures, keeping a journal, and fasting. I was doing everything to keep my faith and my testimony strong. What was I doing wrong?
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out all my thoughts and feelings to my Father in Heaven. I told Him of the pain I was in and how confused I was. I asked to have the faith I needed for a miracle to take place in my life.
After many prayers, we found a different doctor. The X-rays in his office were, unfortunately, the same. His first words to me were, “So, I bet you were expecting a miracle.”
I just nodded my head.
The doctor began explaining his procedure for surgery, then he said exactly what I needed to hear. “Surgery,” he said, “is the miracle.” That overwhelming sensation began to burn inside me once more.
I accepted the option of surgery. Of course, there were still challenges, but I recovered faster than any of my doctor’s other patients. I knew my Father in Heaven blessed me and answered my prayers. Surgery may not have been the miracle I was expecting, or even hoping for, but it was the one I needed. It was the one I learned the most from.
Words can’t explain in full detail all this experience brought me. Words can’t describe the pain, the heartache, or the daily challenges. Most of all, words can’t describe the closeness I felt to my Savior.
It doesn’t matter how many things you’re doing right; adversity will still come. Just think of everything our Savior went through, and He was absolutely perfect. Thinking of my Savior is what got me through my hardship. It was the most painful time in my life, but because of Him, I was happy.

Sister Oaks: Women’s educational paths and experiences are often very different from men’s. I grew up in a time when women seemed to have only two options to support themselves—teaching and nursing. My “problem” was that I never considered either one of them. Supporting myself financially was something I did not consider possible or necessary. I loved to learn, and I knew how to work; in fact, I loved to work. I had many summer jobs, and I did well in school. When I awoke to the fact that I needed to support myself fully, I was afraid, almost paralyzed, by the unforeseen challenges that seemed to loom ahead for me. I had no real job skills. My studies in liberal arts had fed my soul, but now I needed to feed my pocketbook.
I attended graduate school to learn skills to support myself. I loved every minute of learning and encountered not only new ideas but discovered my own capabilities. Where I had felt shy and somewhat vulnerable, I now felt capable and competent to face life on my own.

Some years after this tragedy, two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our farm. They began teaching the truths found in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. These truths include the assurance that Ann now lives in the spirit world. Because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, she too will be resurrected. They taught that the Church of Jesus Christ has once again been restored on earth with a living prophet and twelve Apostles. And they taught the unique and remarkable doctrine that families can be bound together forever by the same priesthood authority Jesus Christ gave His chief Apostle, Peter.
Mum instantly recognized truth and received a witness of the Spirit. Dad, however, wrestled for the next year between doubts and spiritual nudges. Also, he was reluctant to change his way of life. One morning following a sleepless night, while pacing the floor, he turned to Mum and said, “I will be baptized today or never.”
Mum told the missionaries what had happened, and they immediately recognized the flicker of faith in my father that would now be either lit or extinguished.
That very morning our family traveled to the nearest beach. Unaware of what was happening, we children had a picnic on the sand dunes while Elders Boyd Green and Gary Sheffield led my parents into the ocean and baptized them. In a further act of faith, Dad privately committed to the Lord that come what may, he would be true all his life to the promises he was making.

When he was a boy, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf loved watching airplanes. He imagined flying one of those big airplanes.
Someday, I want to be a pilot.
But Dieter’s family didn’t have much money. They had been refugees and had to leave their home twice to go to a new country.
While other children played, Dieter worked as a delivery boy to help his family.
Sometimes he felt like his dream was impossible!
But as he grew up, Dieter worked very hard to reach his dreams. He had faith that Heavenly Father would help him.
He joined the air force and trained to be the best pilot he could be.
Finally he reached his dream. He flew big airplanes for many years!

1834–1914
“God was with me.”
As a girl, she had a dream about missionaries teaching her family in Italy.
When she was a teenager, missionaries taught her family and baptized them.
One day when the missionaries were there, an angry mob came. Marie bravely held up her Bible and told them to leave. And they did!
She and her family sailed across the ocean and crossed the plains to be with the Saints.
Marie C. Guild autobiography, p. 15, Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah.

“I will NEVER forget when I first saw this. I am autistic and have struggled with chronic depression and suicide ideation. The last few weeks before that concert were pure torture for me, and I was completely lost in what to do anymore. A few days before this song was performed, I asked a few friends of mine in the Choir for some support which they gave and when I first heard this song, I was drowning in tears. Truly the light will always come at the end of the tunnel. Thank you, Tabernacle Choir, my dear friends, for being such heroes in my life and such wonderful friends! I love you all forever!”

Sally was a relatively new member at the time of the martyrdom. She and her husband and their two sons had joined the Church near Buffalo, New York, and migrated to Nauvoo in 1843. Here they found many Saints sick with fevers, malaria, and measles. Writing to her family in the eastern United States, she said, “It is very sickly here at present … , and a great many children die” from the diseases.
Sally’s oldest son, 14-year-old George, soon got sick and died about three weeks later. With “a heart full of grief and sorrow” from her son’s death, she received word eight months later of the Prophet’s martyrdom. In this state of grief, she wrote her family to detail the events, share her emotions, and give perspective to events of the time.

One experience in particular strengthened Tina’s testimony of prayer. One day Tina and her younger siblings were playing in the church garden when they accidentally locked themselves inside. “We were just playing, and then we realized the door was locked, and we couldn’t get out. We started panicking because no one was inside the church to hear us,” Tina recalls. Her younger brother, knowing that they needed divine help, decided to pray. “He just said, ‘Heavenly Father, please help someone hear us and open the door.’ And then, not long after, the bishop just walked by and heard us!” she says. The bishop quickly unlocked the door, and they were freed. “That experience made me realize that Heavenly Father listens to us,” Tina reflects.
This experience deepened Tina’s understanding of the power of prayer. She realized that just as Heavenly Father helped them in that moment, He is always ready to provide guidance and comfort when she turns to Him. “That day, I learned that prayer isn’t just for big things. It’s for everything, even the small stuff. Heavenly Father listens,” she shares. Since then she has made prayer a more consistent part of her life, knowing that it is one of the greatest privileges of being a child of God.
Tina’s relationship with her younger brother also grew stronger through this experience. She saw his faith in action, and it inspired her to trust in God even more. “Seeing my brother pray with so much faith reminded me that we don’t have to go through challenges alone. We can always turn to the Lord,” she says. Their mutual encouragement has continued, especially in their efforts to stay active in the gospel. When one of them feels unmotivated to attend church or seminary, the other steps in to encourage and uplift. “If I don’t feel like going, my brother’s like, ‘Come on, let’s go.’ And if he doesn’t want to, I tell him the same thing,” she adds.

This sacred Easter morning, I’d like to share an experience that helped me understand how much we need Jesus Christ to guide us in our lives. I pray that the Holy Ghost will bear witness to you of the resurrected Christ and that our desire to follow Him will grow.
Several years ago, as a young lawyer, I was involved in resolving a border dispute between countries that had been at war. The work required me to travel on foot through remote areas that were part of the recent war zone. Thousands of land mines had been laid during the war. Expert deminers were there, working to deactivate the mines; however, to my surprise, not all locations of the mines were known. Consequently, on occasion people would accidentally step on them and be injured or killed.
To help me complete my work, I’d been provided a special guide named Winta. Winta was well known in the area. He was from a border town that had been attacked. He escaped and then volunteered to stay in the region throughout the war to observe the activities of the opposing army. He knew the terrain and what occurred during the war.
Because it was possible that some places I would travel had undetected mines, I was given the following instructions: Carefully follow your guide. Winta knows this border area from personal experience. Walk in his footsteps a few paces behind him. Where he goes, you go. Where he steps, you step. I was literally to follow in Winta’s footsteps.
For several days I followed Winta through many areas in the border region. At first I felt uncertain and apprehensive, hiking at times in abandoned trenches, destroyed villages, and other areas where the armies had been. The more we walked together and I remained safe, the more my confidence grew. Thanks to Winta, I completed my work without harm and safely returned home. As I followed in his footsteps, walking with my guide, I developed great trust and gratitude for him.

An event occurred in my life about a month ago which impressed upon me the blessings that accrue to one over the years from good, early childhood training. I was delivered a note as I arrived at the airport that one of my very best friends had passed away and her funeral was in just an hour and a half in a community fifty miles from the airport. I made a quick change from air to surface transportation and started the drive to the funeral.
This great soul who had just passed away had been my Primary teacher for three years during my days as a Trail Builder when I was eight, nine, and ten years old. As I drove to Sister Call’s funeral that morning, my mind was flooded with pleasant memories of my early childhood.
I especially remembered the powerful example of early childhood training—goodly parents who were always there to teach, inspire, love, and give strong encouragement to help me chart the right course in my life. I remembered a kind aunt who lived next door, who fortified and provided a second witness to the teachings of my parents.
Then I remembered dear Sister Call, a Primary teacher who extended herself much beyond her classroom call. Her lessons included many field trips to teach us of life, labor, and the joy of association. Her special way of weaving her lessons into our lives gave us an understanding of our personal worth.
As I drove along the highway, my heart was filled with overwhelming gratitude for parents, extended family, and Church leaders who had the patience, love, and concern to build a foundation in the life of a child during those very critical years.

David O. McKay loved to play baseball. Once, when he was at bat, the umpire called, “Strike two.” The pitcher thought that it was strike three and became angry, threatening to crack the bat over David’s head. Calmly David replied, “The umpire called only two strikes. Go back to the pitcher’s mound and try to get me out. You have one more chance.” On the next pitch, David got a two-base hit and then scored the winning run! Everyone cheered for him. They were glad that he had stood up to the bully when he knew that he was in the right.

Flora and Ezra were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on September 10, 1926. Despite Ezra’s innate goodness and his success in school, “some people continued to question Flora’s judgment. They did not understand why someone so accomplished, wealthy, and popular would settle for a farm boy. But she continued to say that she had ‘always wanted to marry a farmer.’ Ezra ‘was practical, sensible and solid,’ she said. And, she observed, ‘He was sweet to his parents, and I knew if he respected them, he’d respect me.’ She recognized that he was ‘a diamond in the rough,’ and she said, ‘I am going to do all within my power to help him be known and felt for good, not only in this little community but for the entire world to know him.’”8
With this vision of her husband’s potential, Flora happily went wherever they needed to go to provide for their children and serve the Church, their community, and their nation. This sometimes required her to live a simpler life than she had been accustomed to, but she embraced the challenge.
For example, on their wedding day, “the only festivity … was a breakfast for family and friends. After the breakfast, the new couple left immediately in their Model T Ford pickup truck for Ames, Iowa,” where Ezra would pursue a master’s degree in agricultural economics. “Along the way, they spent eight nights in a leaky tent. When they arrived in Ames, they rented an apartment one block from the college campus. The apartment was small, and the Bensons shared the space with a large family of cockroaches, but Ezra said that ‘it soon looked like the coziest little cottage one could ever imagine.’”9

“Face the music, even when you can’t call the tune,” says a brother forced to take disability leave as his wife returns to the workforce to support their family. He believes that too often we put on a happy face that prevents us from processing our feelings or improving our outlook. “Instead of moving forward with faith, we stagnate as we wait for a miracle or murmur when one doesn’t come,” he says. He copes by listening to scriptures and general conference talks and by visiting with friends and family on the phone.

Melody scratched her puppy behind the ears. He wagged his tail. “Just wait, Buddy,” Melody said. “Soon you’re going to know how to do tricks!”
“Time to go,” Mom said. Melody gave Buddy a quick hug goodbye and ran to their family’s van. With her favorite outfit on, Melody was ready for her second 4-H meeting. She couldn’t wait to learn all about growing a garden, painting ceramics, and sewing. But most of all, she was excited about the dog-training project.
For as long as she could remember, Melody had loved animals. She imagined for the hundredth time how great it would be to take Buddy on the dog course and teach him all sorts of tricks.
They arrived at the fire station where the meeting would be held. Melody listened closely to the announcements.
“Sewing will be this Saturday at my house,” the group leader explained. “Ceramics will be next Monday after school, and the dog project is this Sunday at 2:00 at my house.”
Melody’s heart sank. Sunday! Sundays were special days for church and family. It wasn’t a day for shopping or going to the movies. But what about dog training?
All the way home she stared silently out the window. At home she went straight to the backyard and began brushing Buddy’s fur. She didn’t want to talk with anybody.
Later that night Melody sat on the couch with tears filling her eyes. Why did the dog project have to be on Sunday? It wasn’t fair!
Mom sat down next to Melody on the couch and held her hand. “What do you want to do about the dog project?” Mom asked. Her parents had talked it over and decided to let Melody make her own choice.
Melody didn’t answer at first. She’d thought about the problem all day long. She kept trying to tell herself it would be OK to do the dog project. After all, it was scheduled after church. But every time she thought this, she felt kind of squirmy inside.
“I don’t know,” Melody said. “I know I want to train Buddy. But I also want to do what’s right.”
“Keep praying,” Mom said. “You’ll know what to decide.”
Mom gave her a kiss on the forehead and left the room.
Melody went to the backyard to brush Buddy’s fur some more. She said a silent prayer for help.
She looked into Buddy’s eyes. He would be so good at learning tricks—she just knew it! But she also knew that she didn’t feel happy inside about attending the project on Sunday. She knew how peaceful the Holy Ghost felt, and that wasn’t how she felt when she thought of doing the project.
Melody realized that was her answer. If she didn’t feel good about it, she wouldn’t do the dog project.
A warm feeling grew in Melody’s heart as she made her decision. Then she had an idea. She could probably find a book about dog training at the library! Probably a couple of books. Maybe they could even learn together as a family.
“Guess what, Buddy? You’re going to learn tricks after all!” Melody tossed a stick for him to fetch. He just looked at her with a goofy grin. He didn’t run after the stick even a little bit.
She grinned. “Don’t worry, Buddy. We’ll learn together.”

It seemed like ever since we left Sugar Creek, the plains had been fighting us with wind, rain, and bad trails. Father said, “We have done well to cover seven miles today, but our wagons are in bad shape and we’ll be spending the next few days repairing them. Besides, if there is a storm tonight—and the sky gives every appearance of delivering one—the ground will be too muddy tomorrow for the few tired teams we have to move the wagons.”
Just as we finished setting up camp, another storm set in. But in spite of the rain, the Jacksons came over to our tent and ate their dinner with us as was their custom. After dinner we sang a few songs, to the accompaniment of the wild wind and thunder. When the Jacksons left, we fetched our bedrolls and had prayer. Then father put out the lantern.
The dark tent suddenly seemed less homey. The wind shivered its sides and the icy rain drove right through the canvas. I felt sad thinking about our comfortable home we had abandoned in Nauvoo. But I was too tired to be bothered for long and was soon sleeping soundly.
It seemed like I had only been asleep for about five minutes when I awoke to find Father clutching my shoulder, trying to rouse me. “What’s the matter?” I grumbled.
“The storm frightened off some of the horses last night. All of the boys and men in camp are going out to round them up.” Father handed me my boots and added, “I don’t know about the rest of the families, but we’ll never get anywhere without all of our animals.”
I sure will be glad when we catch up with the other Saints, I thought. I missed my friends who had gone ahead and hated the idea of our family being stranded out on the plains alone for even a week waiting for another horse. I pulled on my boots and tucked in my shirt. Just then my stomach growled noisily. Father laughed. “Come on. Sister Jackson’s fixing some breakfast for us, then we’ll have prayer and start out.”
If there was anyone whose breakfast could make me get out of bed, it was Sister Jackson’s. She made the best biscuits I’ve ever eaten. On the way over to the Jackson’s tent, I noticed that the wind was still blowing, but it wasn’t as vicious as the night before. The sky was cloudless. We might be cold while we search, I thought. But at least we won’t get rained on.
After everyone finished breakfast, we had a prayer and then all the boys and men in camp divided up into pairs. I was to go with Brother Jackson. We headed out on foot toward the southeast, with some leftover breakfast biscuits in our pockets and two canteens of water. We searched for a good four hours and found nothing but a few blurred tracks on the muddy plains.
Brother Jackson and I finally stopped to rest and eat the biscuits we’d brought. We were discussing whether we should head back to camp when I heard it. At first I thought the sound was just the whimpering wind. But it kept coming, mournful and low, even when the wind dropped for a minute.
“Do you hear that, Brother Jackson?” I asked.
He cocked his ear forward as though he thought it would sharpen his hearing. “Don’t hear a thing, Jonathan,” he answered.
“Sounds like it’s coming from over there.” I pointed toward a patch of scrub not far off.
Brother Jackson plugged his canteen and pushed himself to his feet with a groan. “We better go and see,” he said.
About a quarter mile away we found our family’s horse, Josy, lying between two large bushes.
“She’s been bit by a rattler,” muttered Brother Jackson.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Just look at that leg! Sore as can be. And her nose is all swelled up too. It was a rattler, all right, no doubt about it.”
“What can we do?”
“Not much.” Brother Jackson’s eyes looked a little misty.
“We can’t just leave her here to die!” I shouted. “We need her too much.” I was almost in tears.
Brother Jackson put his hand on my shoulder. “I know how you feel, son.” He paused and then added. “She might make it on her own if she keeps still and has water. Then again, maybe there’s time to get back to camp for some snake-master root for her. Anyway we won’t give up.”
“Let’s head back to camp then,” I said, ready to run all the way back if necessary in order to save Josy.
“Hold on, Jonathan!” Brother Jackson grabbed both my shoulders and looked straight at me. “You need to stay here to keep Josy calm and give her some water every now and then.” My face must have shown how much I didn’t want to be left alone. Brother Jackson gently added, “It may save her life.”
I looked around at the empty surroundings. Then I looked at Josy. She might die if I didn’t stay. All I could say was, “All right.”
“Good,” said Brother Jackson. He helped me build a fire and then took one last drink from his canteen and handed it to me. “Keep these canteens warm by the fire and try to get Josy to drink a bit. But mind you save some water for yourself, and don’t go getting yourself bit by no rattler either.” He gave me an encouraging slap on the back and then strode off toward camp.
I sat on a rock and put my head in my hands to pray, but mostly I just shed a few tears. A moan from Josy brought me around. I took off my neckerchief and wet it with the warmed water.
“There, girl, everything will be all right,” I murmured as I wiped the horse’s forehead. I wondered if she could tell how frightened I was. “Just relax.” I put a little water in my cupped hand for her to drink, and she was able to take some.
I reckon I nursed Josy off and on for about three hours. Between times I just lay next to her and tried not to think of the lonely plains. But every time the wind stirred a bush, my heart jumped, and I thought it might be another rattlesnake.
Finally the wind died down and it was warmer. I guess the sun made me drowsy because I fell asleep. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember where I was for a minute. It was getting dark and a mist was coming up. Then Josy made a noise. She was not lying by my side anymore, but was standing up! The swelling of her nose had gone down some, and her leg didn’t look too bad either.
Brother Jackson wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I thought he should have returned by now, so I called, “Hal-loo!” hoping that he would be close by searching for us. The mist made my voice sound like I was in an empty room. There was no answer.
The fog increased, and the little light there was began to fade. I decided to head back to camp. “Come on, girl,” I said, “let’s go home.” Josy seemed to understand and quietly followed behind me as I started back in the direction we had come.
The farther we walked the darker it got. The fog was setting in good and thick. At first I kept calling out, “Brother Jackson!” every few minutes. But after a while I quit. Josy seemed to be doing well. I thought she’d be fine if I could get her back to camp and let her rest.
We walked on and on. I wasn’t certain any longer in which direction we were going. All the time we walked I kept praying that we’d get back to camp and that Josy would live. I prayed for Brother Jackson, too, wherever he was. I had almost decided we should stop for the night when I heard a wisp of music. This is it, I thought. I just knew I was done for and that it was angels singing their choruses while coming to get me.
Then I recognized the song. It was “Gentle Annie!” And our camp band was playing it!
It was hard to tell exactly which way the music was coming from, because the fog did strange things to sound. But the music was getting louder, so I knew we must be headed in the right direction. I think Josy heard the music, too, for her spirits seemed to pick up just as mine had.
Before long I could see the glow of a campfire through the fog, and gradually the outline of the wagons appeared.
“Jonathan, is that you?” my father called as he ran out to greet me. He grabbed me and swooped me up off the ground. “I’m sure glad to see you. The band’s been playing for two hours, hoping you’d hear it—ever since we found Brother Jackson.”
“Brother Jackson?”
“Yes. Brother Edwards and I found him as we were coming back from searching for the horses. Seems he fell and hit his head and knocked himself out. We couldn’t figure out what he was saying about you.”
I explained about finding Josy and the snakebite as we entered camp.
“We organized a search party for you, but the fog became too thick and we all had to come back.” Father looked at Josy’s leg and shook his head unbelievingly. “And to think that you made it back—and with Josy too.”
I smiled. “Will Brother Jackson be all right?” I asked.
“Yes, but he needs to rest for a few days. By the time we get the wagons repaired I hope both he and Josy will be ready to travel.”
I was happier at that moment than I had been for a long time. Josy was going to be fine. And I had learned that it didn’t matter where I was as long as I was with my family, for that’s where home really is!

On an afternoon a few months ago, Susan and I inventoried our food storage and emergency supplies. At the time, COVID-19 was spreading rapidly, and a series of earthquakes had jolted our home in Utah. We have worked since the earliest days of our marriage to follow prophetic counsel about preparing for unforeseen challenges, so “examining” our state of readiness in the midst of the virus and earthquakes seemed like a good and timely thing to do. We wanted to find out our grades on these unannounced tests.
We learned a great deal. In many areas, our preparatory work was just right. In some other areas, however, improvement was necessary because we had not recognized and addressed particular needs in timely ways.
We also laughed a lot. We discovered, for example, items in a remote closet that had been in our food storage for decades. Frankly, we were afraid to open and inspect some of the containers for fear of unleashing another global pandemic! But you should be happy to know that we properly disposed of the hazardous materials and that health risk to the world was eliminated.

At the end of 2014, I read Doctrine and Covenants 31:2–3 that states. “I will bless you and your family . . . and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in my church.
“Lift up your heart and rejoice, for the hour of your mission is come; and your tongue shall be loosed, and you shall declare glad tidings of great joy unto this generation.”
I knew that I had to fulfill the priesthood duty by serving a full-time mission. I informed my siblings and my mother of my desire to serve. My mother initially opposed the idea and threatened to disown me if I left. Through prayer and fasting, she eventually relented. I was called to serve in the Accra Ghana Mission, and the promise of seeing my father again became a reality after he was baptized by proxy in the Accra Ghana Temple.