Gospel Story Finder

In 1872, a baby boy was born to a Shoshone family on the Fort Washakie Reservation in Wyoming. His father, Onda-Bow-Low-See, was a scout for the United States Cavalry, which meant his family often traveled by stagecoach.
One day, while on a bumpy stagecoach, the young boy lost his balance. He fell under a wheel and his leg was severely crushed, causing a deep injury. Knowing his son needed serious attention, Onda-Bow-Low-See turned to his parents: Anka-dewy-itse and his wife, Tza-gah.
The boy and his grandparents set off traveling west through a snowy pass. The boy lay on a horse-pulled sled made of deer hide. As they traveled, his leg swelled and became infected. After a long journey, they arrived at their sacred healing place, Baa-da-see (now Cache Valley, Utah) on the Shoshone “Holy Hill.” The boy was exhausted, and his grandparents set up camp under a teepee, staying by his side and praying for him for several days. Each morning, they awoke hoping the boy would recover.
Then one morning, at dawn, the boy heard a voice calling him: “Arise!” To his amazement, he stood and walked. The pain in his leg was gone. When his grandfather Anka-dewy-itse saw the boy standing alive and well, he gratefully proclaimed, “Our Damma Appa [Heavenly Father] has healed you!” Although healed, the boy had a slight limp and was renamed “Nee-a-ma-ah,” meaning “leaning to one side.”

In the late 1980s, Elder Carlos A. Godoy had just been released as bishop. He had also graduated from college, was working for a successful company, and thought life couldn’t get better—until an old friend came to visit.
That friend congratulated him but then asked a question that left him unsettled: “If you continue to live as you are living, will the blessings promised in your patriarchal blessing be fulfilled?”
Elder Godoy realized that he needed to make changes if he wanted to receive all his promised blessings. Despite his contentment, he decided to pursue a master’s degree. He quit his job, sold everything he owned, and, with his family, left the familiarity of Brazil to attend school in the United States.
Elder Godoy, named to the Presidency of the Seventy on March 31, 2018, said this experience taught him a lot about trusting in the Lord’s plan and being willing to leave his comfort zone.
“I know that the Lord has a plan for us in this life,” he testified in the October 2014 general conference. “He knows us. He knows what is best for us. Just because things are going well does not mean that we should not from time to time consider whether there might be something better.”

It’s easy to say, “The time isn’t right.” But there is danger in procrastination. Years ago I worked for a man in California. He hired me; he was kind to me; he seemed to regard me highly. I may have been the only Latter-day Saint he ever knew well. I don’t know all the reasons I found to wait for a better moment to talk with him about the gospel. I just remember my feeling of sorrow when I learned, after he had retired and I lived far away, that he and his wife had been killed in a late-night drive to their home in Carmel, California. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He had loved his parents. He loved his grandchildren, and he will love their children and will want to be with them forever.

Now, I don’t know how the crowds will be handled in the world to come. But I suppose that I will meet him, that he will look into my eyes, and that I will see in them the question: “Hal, you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A letter which I received from a proud father tells of an experience with his then five-year-old son and the boy’s love for the President of the Church and desire to emulate the President’s example. The father wrote:
“When Christopher was five years old, he would get ready for church on Sundays mostly by himself. On one particular Sunday, he decided that he wanted to wear a suit and tie, which to that point he had never done. He scoured the closet on his own for a hand-me-down tie and produced a rather used clip-on one that he didn’t need to create a knot for. He attached the tie to his white shirt, then capped it off with the small navy jacket that had hung for years in the boys’ closet.
“On his own, he went into the bathroom and painstakingly combed his blonde hair to perfection. About that time, I came into the bathroom to finish getting ready myself. I found Christopher beaming at himself in the mirror. Without taking his eyes off his reflection, he proclaimed proudly, ‘Look, Papa—Christopher B. Hinckley!’” And Father realized that a boy had been watching the prophet of the Lord.

One Sunday I learned about fasting and prayer in my Primary class. That night we found out that my little brother, Adam, had the chicken pox. He was only five months old, and we were worried that he would get very sick. I asked my mom if I could fast and pray for him. Mom and I decided to fast and pray together. Even though Adam was sick all week and got covered with chicken pox, he always acted happy.
I’m glad that I learned about fasting and prayer so that we could ask Heavenly Father for extra help. I know that Heavenly Father heard our prayers.Katie P., age 8, California

Illustrations by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
One day, just after it had rained in beautiful Nauvoo, Margarette McIntire and her older brother Wallace were walking to school.
Hurry up, Wallace, or we’ll be late.
I’m coming.
My boots are stuck, Margarette!
Mine are too. There’s too much mud.
The children found they couldn’t get out, so they started to cry, thinking they would have to stay there.
What’s this?
Brother Joseph!
We’re stuck.
Joseph pulled the two children out of the mud.
He cleaned the mud off their boots.
You look very pretty today, Margarette. Don’t worry about the mud—it will come off.
He dried their tears.
Cheer up, young man. You’re a very good older brother. Keep taking good care of your sister.
Margarette later recalled the experience: “Was it any wonder that I loved that great, good, and noble man of God?”
Off to school, now.
Thank you, Brother Joseph.
Good-bye!

Denver says service is not the only opportunity weight lifting has given him: “Anywhere you excel, people are going to notice, and that will give you missionary opportunities.” Recently at a national meet, a world-class power lifter asked Denver why he wasn’t coming to the next meet. Denver told him about his mission, and the power lifter surprised him by encouraging him to put God first. Denver later told his mother, Tammy, “I could be known as Denver the weight lifter, but I’d rather be known as Elder Brown in Mexico.”

I saw a man do that once. It changed my life. A member of the General Authorities came to speak to a conference where I was sitting on the stand. I was in the local priesthood presidency. I knew personally the struggles of the local families and the members. He, the General Authority, had just flown in from a long assignment in Europe. He was obviously tired. He stood to speak in the meeting. It seemed to me that he rambled from one subject to another. At first I felt sorry for him. I thought he was failing to give a polished sermon of the kind I knew he had delivered many times.

After a while I was thrilled to recognize that as he moved from one apparently unrelated topic to another, he was touching the need of every poor struggling member and family we were trying to help. He did not know them and their needs. But God did.

How grateful I am that his motive was not to give a great sermon or to be seen as a powerful prophet. He must have done what I hope you and I will always do. He must have prayed something like this: “Father, I need Thy help. I am tired. Please guide me with the Holy Ghost. Bless these people. I love them. I ask only that I can do Thy will to help them.”

The Holy Ghost came that night. And the Lord’s will was done. The General Authority had spent a lifetime feeding himself and others on the good word of God. He had served the Master faithfully. He was a special witness of Jesus Christ because he had paid the price to be one. All of that came from keeping his motives as closely tied as he could to what the Lord wanted. That made it possible for the Lord to send the whisperings of the Holy Ghost to His servant and so bless the people.

Mark Hansen shut his car door and looked in through the glass entryway. Kelly wasn’t there. He looked down at his watch. She had told him to pick her up at eight, and it was a quarter after now. He kicked at the step, looked up through the door again, and bit his lower lip.
She knows I don’t like places like this, he thought. I ought to leave, and then she’d have to walk home. He smiled picturing her walking the ten miles to their house. He softened—no that wouldn’t be too good. Besides, he thought, Mom would be furious.
He leaned against the glass door. It swung open. He stepped inside. The air was warm and stank of antiseptic and pine deodorant that only partially covered other smells.
He remembered the smells from when he was younger. His mother pushing him forward, he saw his grandmother’s sunken face and felt her cold skin. There had been a strong smell in her room mixed with the odors of wilting flowers and stale perfume.
He was ten then, and now he was seventeen. He pushed the memory back.
How can she stand to work here? he thought.
“Kelly,” his voice echoed in the empty halls.
“Hi, Mark,” Kelly leaned out from a door, her dark hair hanging back over her white uniform.
“You’re late.” Mark furrowed his brows and turned the corners of his mouth down, trying to look angry.
“Sorry,” she said and smiled. “How did your track meet go?” She was still leaning out of the doorway. Mark kicked at the polished floor with the toe of his shoe.
“I’m going to state.”
“That’s great. What place did you take today?”
Mark smiled. “First in the mile.”
“Not bad for a kid.” She smiled again. “Mark, I’m going to be a few more minutes. Is that okay?”
Mark took a deep breath.
“I guess,” he turned and walked toward the doors. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Mark, why don’t you go into the lounge and talk to Jackson. I think you’ll like him. He doesn’t get many visitors.”
“All right,” Mark mumbled. He pushed open the lounge doors and walked in. The room was quiet. A window was open, and fresh cool air blew in, waving the curtains.
Mark looked around the room. He felt his throat tighten. In the far corner, near the open window, half in the light and half in the dark was a thin figure in a wheelchair. Mark had expected Jackson to be an older man, but the figure in the chair looked young. Mark moved closer.
“Hi,” he said. His throat was dry. He felt a small aching pain somewhere deep inside his chest.
Jackson reminded Mark of a string puppet that had had the strings cut. He was sitting limp in the chair, his head bowed down with his chin resting on his chest. His arms, wax-white skin stretched loose over bones, were resting on his legs. There was a lifeless quality about the form. Jackson’s hands moved slightly, shaking. Then his head moved up slowly and stopped, his eyes looking directly at Mark. His eyes were warm and brown. A smile curled on Jackson’s face.
“Hi,” the voice was weak but pleasant.
“I’m Kelly’s brother.” Mark tried to smile.
“You’re Mark, aren’t you? Kelly talks about you a lot.”
Mark nodded.
“Yeah,” he couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt empty inside. He was back again in his grandmother’s room. The smell and the sound and the sight of her dying came rushing up at him. The aching pain in his chest grew and spread to his stomach. He felt weak.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I just wanted to say hello.”
Jackson leaned back, resting his head against the back of his chair.
“It’s nice in here at night when the windows are open and the outside air blows in. It smells like rain tonight, like a slice of watermelon. The others, they don’t like to have the windows open when the cool air blows in. They say it’s too cold.”
Jackson closed his eyes. His chest moved up and down with his breathing.
“It’s not that I don’t like them. I do. They’re fine people, but they make me feel so old. I don’t want to feel old. Come and see me again, Mark.”
Mark nodded.
“Sure.” He looked up. “I’ve got to go now. See you.” He waved and left.
Mark stood next to his car. The air was cool. A few drops of rain fell. Mark breathed in deeply and smiled.
“It does smell like watermelon.”
“What does?” Kelly stood smiling on the steps. “I’m finished. Are you ready to go?”
Mark got into the car.
“Did you talk to Jackson?” Kelly asked.
Mark nodded.
“What’s wrong with him? He looks like a skeleton.”
“Well, it’s a muscle disease. I don’t know much about it. I guess no one does.
He’s had it all of his life. There’s no cure, and they don’t expect him to live much past 20. He’s 17 now.”
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Mark said.
“It is, but you know he doesn’t look at it that way. He just does the best he can with what he has. He’s been places inside of himself that most people will never come close to.”
She turned her head and looked forward. Rain fell lightly on the windshield and sparkled like diamonds and rubies in the light from neon signs and street lights. She smiled again and turned back toward Mark.
“What smells like a watermelon?”
Nearly a month passed. Mark stood on the steps looking through the glass doors. He felt his heart beating hard with excitement. He felt the smooth surface of the medallion deep in the pocket of his letterman’s jacket. Gold, he thought. First place in the mile. He remembered standing highest on the three-tiered platform, the red-and-blue ribbon with the gold medallion being hung around his neck, raising his arms up in victory, the sound of the crowd cheering and the handshakes and smiles and slaps on the back.
He couldn’t wait to tell Kelly. He looked through the doors. As usual she wasn’t waiting for him. He opened the door and went in.
“Kelly.” There was no answer.
She must be in the back somewhere, he thought. I’ll go say hello to Jackson. For the past month, whenever he had gone in to get Kelly, he had stopped and waved his hand up and said hello to Jackson.
Mark pushed the door open and stepped into the lounge. Always before he had found Jackson alone. Now there were about ten people in the room, most of them old. They were all smiling. Kelly was standing next to Jackson. They were all looking at Mark, then turned and looked at Jackson.
The room was silent. Mark noticed a table with paper cups filled with punch, and there was a large cake that had “State Champion” written on it in gold letters.
Jackson was looking directly into Mark’s eyes. He smiled slightly. His claw-like hands shook and began to rise slowly. The smile faded, and Jackson’s hand rose another inch. It came halfway up to his face and dropped slightly. Mark felt the muscles in his arm twitching with the effort. He remembered running the mile that day, the sound of feet hitting the track and the sound of his own heart.
He remembered the pain in his lungs and in his legs and calves. He remembered reaching inside of himself trying to find the strength to push on the last lap. He saw and felt that reaching in Jackson’s whole effort. The arm rose above Jackson’s head. Mark knew what he was seeing was incredible. Kelly had told him Jackson couldn’t move his arms more than a couple of inches. The hand dropped suddenly. Mark felt his lungs gasp for air. The hand stopped halfway down and slowly started up again.
“Come on, Jackson,” Mark whispered.
The hand was above Jackson’s head. The arm straightened. There was sweat on Jackson’s forehead. He took a deep breath. A smile spread wide and warm on his face. His eyes sparkled.
“Hi, Mark, congratulations.” The hand fell.
There was a loud cheer. The old people were shouting and clapping. Mark’s eyes were moist. He felt the medallion in his pocket. He remembered meeting another man who had done what others said was impossible.
The man was an Olympic gold medal winner and had broken the record for the mile. Mark saw the same look of inner strength in Jackson’s eyes that he had seen in the eyes of the athlete.
Mark stood in front of Jackson. The room was silent again. Mark tried to talk and choked. He cleared his throat. He took out the gold medallion and hung the ribbon around Jackson’s neck.
“I want you to wear this,” he said.

Christmas was a very exciting time for my brothers and me! Our parents would take us to see the decorative lights in Cape Town, which were always very impressive; there was always a Primary party celebrating Christmas and the birth of the Saviour—and our schools closed over the “Festive Season,” YEAH!
For weeks we would construct a letter to Father Christmas. We would write and rewrite the letter every time we saw something in the shops that we wanted. We would each state that we had been good boys and really needed the item we had put down for him to bring. We would give Dad the letter to mail, addressed to “Father Christmas, North Pole.” My dad worked in the post office, so we thought that if he posted it, it would get there much sooner.
We were chased to bed early on Christmas Eve as ‘Father Christmas will not visit us with presents,’ Mom said, if we were still awake. But first, we had to put out something for him to drink and eat. It was amazing to me how there were no presents under the tree when we went to bed but when we awoke, the presents had magically appeared and of course, Mom and Dad knew nothing about it.

Jane Allgood Bailey wasn’t about to give up the light of her new religion. She would not be defeated by the cold, starvation, and sickness on the plains of Wyoming. She grasped hands with other women to wade through icy streams. They came out on the other side with their clothes frozen to them, but they carried on. On the trek, her 18-year-old son, Langley, became ill and was so weak that he had to be pushed on the handcart much of the way. One morning he rose from his bed on the cart, which had frozen canvas for bedding, and he went ahead of the company and lay down under a sagebrush to die, feeling that he was too much of a burden. When his faithful mother found him, she scolded him and told him: “Get on the cart. I’ll help you, but you’re not giving up!” Then the family moved on with what was left of the Martin-Willey Handcart Company.

Upon arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, Langley was still alive! He was 18 years old and he weighed only 60 pounds. That 18-year-old boy was my great-grandfather. I’m grateful for the preservation of his young life and for the fortitude and stamina of his noble, courageous mother, who was a light to her family and kept her son going in spite of deathly odds.

When I was 17 years old I was struggling in life. I was not happy and I did not know which way to go. Going to church was not a big priority in my life; therefore it was not often that I attended—despite pleadings from my parents.
One day I was waiting for my friend to come pick me up so we could go to the mall. While waiting, I saw the New Era sitting on our desk in the living room. The New Era had been in our home as long as I could remember, but never before had I actually picked it up and read it. Because I had nothing else to do besides wait for my friend, which is not very fun, I picked it up and started to read.
It was the March 1991 issue. I found the shortest article I could, an article titled “Tell Him,” by Ken Barker. It was about a time when he was riding on a ski lift and noticed how beautiful the world is and how much Heavenly Father has given to us. He also wrote about how thankful he was for everything and how we need to thank God always for everything we have been given.
At that time in my life I was not even sure that God existed. This article really got me thinking: “Is there really a God? Where did everything come from? If there really is a God, why has he put us here on this earth?” This led to a deep personal study to find answers to these questions. I am happy to say that I was able to find the answers by studying the scriptures and attending church. I have now served a mission and was recently married and sealed in the temple to the most wonderful young lady, Rebecca.

Stacy’s seventh Christmas was one her family would never forget. It was unforgettable because it was almost so very, very awful.
One autumn day, Stacy’s family had gone for a drive to see the colorful trees. When a truck suddenly came into their lane, Dad swerved to miss it and hit a tree instead. Dad and Mom were fine, and so were Adam and Will. But Stacy was hurt. Dad called for an ambulance to take her to the hospital.
Stacy woke up in the hospital with a bandage on her head and her leg in a cast. She would need to stay in the hospital for a while until she got better.
Stacy shared a room with three girls named Jenny, Tamika, and Kelly. Kelly could get out of bed, so she played games and read stories with the other girls. Stacy was glad to meet new friends in the hospital.
Every day the doctor checked on Stacy. Her leg was healing well, and soon the nurses removed the bandage from her head.
One day Kelly went home. The girls hugged and said good-bye.
“I’m glad you’re well, Kelly,” Stacy said.
“Thanks. Now you and Jenny and Tamika get better too,” Kelly said.
Eventually Stacy was allowed to get out of bed. Walking with crutches was hard, but once she learned to get around on her own she made friends with children in other rooms. There were many children in the hospital, all with different injuries and illnesses. Some were there only a short time, while others had to stay for many months.
In December, Stacy was finally able to go home. “I’m glad I get to go home, but I’m going to miss everyone so much,” Stacy told her parents.
As Christmas drew near, Stacy’s cast was removed, and she worked hard to walk without limping. One night Mom and Dad asked Stacy what she wanted for Christmas.
“There’s really only one thing I want,” Stacy said. “I want to take presents to the children in the hospital who don’t get to go home for Christmas.”
Mom hugged Stacy. “Is that really what you want? You don’t want anything for yourself?”
“That’s really what I want,” Stacy said.
Mom and Dad explained the plan to Will and Adam and added that there wouldn’t be much money left over for family presents.
“That’s OK,” Will said. “I think it’s a good idea.”
The family went shopping and picked out toys, games, and books. Then they wrapped the gifts and piled them in the car.
On Christmas morning, Stacy and her family drove to the hospital. Stacy grinned as she passed out the gifts. Some of her friends had gone home, and now other children were in their beds. Stacy had a gift for each one. Seeing their excitement when they opened their gifts filled Stacy’s heart with joy.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked as they left the children’s wing.
Stacy hugged her. “This might sound funny, but I loved Christmas at the hospital!”

We usually judge others when they are at their best and ourselves when we are at our worst. Bill was quite surprised when he stopped by the Beckstead home and saw Tom dressed in mechanic’s coveralls and covered with grease. The Beckstead’s three-year-old was crying and the teenager had the television on loud. The house was slightly cluttered, and Sister Beckstead had curlers in her hair.

Without criticizing or judging, Bill learned an important lesson about comparing. “I had seen Tom only in church settings,” he reflected, “and because he always looked immaculately groomed and very well-dressed, somehow I pictured his life to be perfectly controlled and void of everyday human problems. Seeing him in a home setting was somehow comforting. I still admire him a great deal—he certainly hasn’t diminished any in my admiration. But it’s nice to know we are more alike than I had thought we were. Now I wonder how others at church perceive me?”

“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to a place in Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put her aboard the train that would take her to Ephraim, Utah. What an experience for an eight-year-old child! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”

In 1926, LeGrand responded to a call from President Heber J. Grant for short-term missionaries. Elder Richards left his business and family to serve six months in another part of the country. In 1929 he responded again, when President Grant asked him to sell his home and business and move to California, where he served first as a bishop of the Glendale Ward and then as president of the Hollywood Stake. Such a call was quite unusual by this point in Church history, but Elder Richards said when the call was delivered to him by a messenger: “Tell the President that I think enough of the Lord, the Church, and him that if this is what he wants, I will go.”

Anthony peered out the window of his pretend time machine. It was actually a cardboard box that he had decorated with markers, foil, and other things. For several days he had had lots of fun playing in it. Now he was imagining a strange-looking object in front of him. It was like a car, but it had wings. It was big enough for him to take a ride in, and that was what he wanted to do. But as he began to climb out of the time machine to do that, a real-life voice spoke to him: “Time to get ready for bed, Anthony.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, flopping down on the floor in disappointment. “I was just going to take a ride in a flying car.”
“Well, you’ll have to do that tomorrow,” Mom replied. “Right now you need to get ready for Book of Mormon time and bed.”
Anthony reluctantly dragged the box into the corner where they kept the toys, then went off to his room. In a few minutes everyone was sitting in the living room with a Book of Mormon in hand.
Dad said, “Tonight we’ve come to the part where Nephi tells us about the words of a prophet named Isaiah. He’s the same prophet Isaiah who’s in the Bible.” Father showed them where the book of Isaiah was in the Bible, then where Isaiah was quoted in the Book of Mormon. He began to read what Isaiah had said.
Anthony found the right page and tried to follow along, but after a few minutes his eyes started to close. The next thing he knew, his mother was waking him up, telling him that it was time for bed.
The following night Anthony had taken another imaginary ride to the future. When his mother called, he was pretending to talk to some creatures from Pluto who had come to earth to live. Slowly he climbed out of the box, went to his room, got ready for bed, then sat down for scripture time.
But he didn’t understand what Dad was reading, and he kept wriggling and squirming. That made his brother and sister wriggle and squirm, too. When Anthony’s mother reminded them all to sit still and listen, Anthony tried to, but the words all sounded strange. “Isaiah is too hard,” he said when Dad finished for that night.
“Yes, his words are difficult to understand,” Dad agreed. “But if we read slowly and you listen carefully, you might be able to understand.”
“And,” Mom added, “we can ask Heavenly Father to help us understand.” As she offered the prayer that evening, she asked for help in understanding Isaiah.
The next night, Anthony was dragging his box to the corner again when Dad stopped him. “Wait, Anthony. Leave your box there for now. I want to do something different for our scripture reading tonight.”
When everyone was settled, Father began, “Tonight I thought that we should learn more about Isaiah and his teachings. That way we might be able to understand a little better when we read his words.
“Isaiah was a prophet who lived a long time ago, even a long time before Jesus was born. But he prophesied, or told about, things that would happen many years later. When we read his words, it’s like listening to someone who had traveled in a time machine.”
Anthony sat up tall. “Did he travel to the future?”
“No,” Dad answered. “But with Heavenly Father’s help, he saw visions of things that would happen in the future, and he told about those things.”
Dad had the three children climb into Anthony’s time machine. “When we read Isaiah,” Dad said, “it’s like we are traveling in a time machine with him. We can listen to his words and imagine that we are there, seeing the things that he saw.”
Anthony and his brother and sister were excited. They wanted to ride in the time machine with Isaiah.
Father went on. “In the Bible, we learn about things that happened while he was actually alive. One of those stories is about a king named Hezekiah. One time King Hezekiah was very sick and was about to die. He prayed and asked the Lord to let him live longer. The Lord told Isaiah what Hezekiah should do to get better, and He told Isaiah to tell Hezekiah that he could live for 15 more years. As a sign to Hezekiah, the Lord turned the sun back 10 degrees. Another time Isaiah helped King Hezekiah win a battle and save Jerusalem.”
The next night they read about things that Isaiah saw would happen in the future. They climbed in the time machine and pretended that they were with Isaiah when he saw a vision showing Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. They listened to the prophet’s beautiful words: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”
The children next listened to Isaiah’s words about the sad time when Jesus died: “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.”
Then they pretended to travel ahead many more years and listened to Isaiah telling about the coming of the Book of Mormon: “Thy voice shall be, as of one that hath a familiar spirit, out of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper out of the dust.”
Each night that week at Book of Mormon time, they climbed into the time machine and pretended to travel with Isaiah. One night Anthony asked, “Has everything that Isaiah saw already happened?”
“No,” Dad answered, “not everything. Isaiah saw things that would happen in our very own day, and he saw things that are still in the future, in a time called the Millennium, when Jesus will come and live on earth again.”
“Isaiah was so lucky,” Anthony’s little sister said. “He saw so many things.”
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed as he climbed back into the time machine. “But we’re lucky, too—we can go with him and see them, too, when we read the scriptures.”*

From Jean Lackey:
"When I was five years old, my mother divorced my father to protect me and my siblings from my father. He was mentally unstable. . . It was very difficult to be a single mother of five children in 1960. She struggled to pay the mortgage, childcare, and to keep food on the table. My brother was also medically fragile and one of my sisters had special needs. Mom never remarried, and I know she was very lonely. Once when in my forties, she tried to apologize to my sister and me for working all the time and not being there for us. We quickly informed her that we knew she did it because she loved us, not out of a need to have a career or socialize. I was blessed to have a loving home to grow up in where good morals and a love of our Savior was always present. We were taught the love of family, a strong work ethic, and to serve others."

When Elder Dallin Ashley opened his mission call at his home in Fruit Heights, Utah, and read the words “Australia Melbourne Mission,” he immediately began thinking of the things he knew about Australia, which, admittedly, wasn’t much.
He thought about living in a different hemisphere. He thought of how it would be summer in Melbourne when it was winter in his Utah home. He even thought about kangaroos.
One thing he didn’t think about was a traffic jam in Provo, Utah.
Yet there is Elder Ashley on August 11 of last year, sitting in a car on 900 East with his mother and grandparents. This is how his mission is beginning—waiting behind a long line of cars all going to the same place: the Missionary Training Center.
Joining the masses
Each Wednesday, between 400 and 800 young men and women come to the Provo MTC to begin their missions and receive instruction about how to become effective missionaries. Most of those learning a language will be there for approximately eight weeks. For those like Elder Ashley who require no language instruction, their stays are between two and three weeks.
On this day, Elder Ashley is one of 488 missionaries entering the MTC.
Many of the 488 are milling around, waiting for the orientation session to begin. “I’m ready,” he says to his mom. “This is going to be great.”
Each week there are usually five or six orientations, depending on the number of missionaries scheduled to enter the MTC. The 12:30 orientation, the one Elder Ashley is attending, is the first of the day, with missionaries, along with family, spending their last moments together. By 3:30, the final orientation will have begun, and the lobby will be silent.
But now it’s a cacophony of noise and wall-to-wall people. Three things are a given in the lobby area of the MTC in the early afternoon on Wednesdays: lots of young men in dark suits, lots of picture-taking, and teary-eyed moms and dads—not necessarily in that order.
Elder Ashley is three for three in that department. His grandpa has already snapped a lot of photos, and Elder Ashley’s mom’s eyes are glistening. Dressed in his new suit and crisp, white shirt, Elder Ashley puts his arm around Mom for another picture, looking very much the part of a missionary.
Before long, Elder Ashley and his family walk into a large room where Homefront commercials are playing on several TV screens. The Church-produced spots about the importance of families make everybody feel good and seem to momentarily take their minds off what will happen in about 30 minutes. The room quickly fills up, with Elder Ashley seated on the fourth row. The meeting begins with the congregation singing “Called to Serve.” A sister missionary offers the opening prayer, and then Sister Kay Edman, wife of Missionary Training Center President W. Brent Edman, spends a few moments talking about what the missionaries can expect during their stay. She emphasizes that every minute of every day is accounted for and that the MTC is a great place to learn. “You’ll be amazed at how busy you’ll be in class. But you will get breaks in your day by going to lots of meetings,” she says with a smile.
The “lots of meetings” line is followed by lots of laughter.
She finishes by talking about service opportunities on the MTC campus, weekly devotionals with General Authorities, and trips to the nearby Provo Utah Temple to go along with the hours and hours of class time. Elder Ashley turns and smiles at his grandparents. So far so good.
President Edman then seconds much of what his wife has said. “Many of you have heard about the rigorous demands of the MTC, and many of you may be worried about that. Those are the very things that will be a blessing in your lives,” he says. “The MTC experience is a time of preparation. Blessings come while you’re here, but your experience will sometimes be very taxing.”
Elder Ashley thinks back to earlier in the day when he carried his two stuffed-full suitcases in from the car. His shoulders ache, and he doesn’t disagree with his mission president’s last statement.
Time to say good-bye
Once the meeting ends, missionaries are instructed to go out one door, while family members are escorted through another. Maybe everything else is new to Elder Ashley. This moment, however, he’s prepared for. He knows he’s going to leave his family for two years, and this is where it starts. After several hugs and a few more tears, Elder Ashley walks out the door. His mission is underway.
Even though he was set apart as a missionary the night before, he figures it became official when he signed in and received his name tag. “Elder Ashley,” he says, reading his badge. “Looks pretty good.”
As the new missionaries stand in a line, the “Hi, how are you?” salutation is replaced with “Where are you going, Elder?”
The answers—“Chicago; Osaka, Japan; and Lima, Peru”—are varied, which isn’t surprising. After all, this is the MTC.
Settling in
Elder Ashley sits down and fills out a personal information sheet and looks through a packet of papers that include his mailbox number, his branch president’s name, and his dorm assignment.
With that safely in hand, Elder Ashley follows one of the MTC’s many volunteer guides, who directs him down the hall to another room. There he notices the other missionaries have removed their suit jackets. He then spots two nurses standing in the middle of the room.
“Shots,” he says.
Actually, just one. A hepatitis-B booster. If it hurt, nobody could tell. Although his gritted-teeth smile suggests it probably did.
“Glad that’s over,” he adds while rebuttoning his shirt sleeve.
After he picks up his books and other materials from the bookstore, he heads to his dorm in the Rey L. Pratt building, room 337.
There to greet him is Elder Michael Harker from Magrath, Alberta, Canada. Elder Harker is already unpacking. Elder Ashley won’t meet his companion, Elder Michael Tanner, and another roommate, Elder Michael Stowell, until a couple of hours later. Fortunately, all four are known as “Elder” because with three Michaels, “Dallin” doesn’t quite fit.
Once he retrieves his luggage from the lobby area, he goes back to his dorm to unpack. Dinner is at five o’clock, and another orientation meeting with his branch president follows. Elder Ashley quickly learns that Sister Edman was right.
The first day of his mission is over. It was long and tiring but very rewarding. “I’m finally a missionary. It’s hard to believe,” he says.
So much happened that it’s difficult for him to remember everything. But there’s not much time to think about that. Lights must be out by 10:30, and Elder Ashley isn’t complaining.

I remember a couple who promised themselves that when they were married they would get their lives in order and go to the temple and have their marriage eternalized. They loved each other very much, and they had some faith in the strength of the marriage covenant made under the binding power of the priesthood. But there were some reasons, they felt, why they could not attend diligently to these matters.

Time passed. Children came. The couple became active in community affairs. The man loved his family. The wife, Jennie, grew more lovely. Motherhood made her beautiful. Family cares expanded her vision and enlarged her soul, and she appealed to her husband many times, saying, “Let’s go to the bishop and receive a recommend for the temple.” But he declined.

As time passed, there came a conflict between her Sabbath services and his Sabbath interests. Finally, she felt that it was more peaceful to be with her husband on Sunday. Thus, they did little church work, and as their children entered the teenage years, they also began to enjoy the carefree and leisurely activities of their parents.

One sad day it all came to an end. The family was off on a Sunday picnic and activity. There was an automobile accident and Jennie and one of the couple’s children died.

After the funeral, this man found life limited and lonely. The house seemed empty without his wife. His days were barren and life seemed desolate. Although he devoted himself to his work and to his remaining children, his suffering did not cease. His thoughts were constantly of Jennie, his companion. Neither comfort nor peace came upon him, and he remembered that he had obtained no priesthood sealing that could hold him to Jennie and Jennie to him throughout eternity. His tears and deep pain and anxiety went unrelieved.

Then one night, there came a dream. But unlike other dreams which faded into oblivion, this one stayed with him powerfully all day. It seemed to him that he was in a different locality looking through a wide, open gate, where the central figures were a woman and a young girl.

Suddenly, he became conscious of their identity and he felt a warm glow. Jennie was even more lovely that before. Then to his great joy, his loved ones saw him. They beckoned him to come through the gate. They seemed so anxious to be with him. But it was clear to him that it was his effort that was needed. He tried to move in his dream, but he seemed to have no power. Then, as he struggled even harder, the great gates began to close.

Both he and Jennie knew that he must urgently act. He looked again at Jennie, a final glimpse. He saw the terror in her face as she realized that the gates might close without her dear husband inside.

It was then that he awakened. He felt that he would give his life, give anything he possessed if he could be with his wife and with his dear children, if he could have the full blessings of those who receive eternal life and all that it means.

Was it only a dream? Had he missed one of life’s greatest opportunities—or was there still time if he acted quickly before the cares and tares of the world again crowded in and choked out his righteous desires?

Jennie’s husband had come to recognize deeply the meaning of these parables. He would have sold everything he had for the peaceful assurance that he and Jennie would be together forever. Happily, he knew exactly what he needed to do and how he needed to live thereafter in order to bring it about. However, there are others of our brothers and sisters in need of these temple and other Church blessings who need our assistance to obtain the promises of the Lord.