Gospel Story Finder

Agnes Caldwell thought that she had the smartest, thriftiest mother alive. Agnes knew that it was no easy task for her widowed mother, Margaret, to raise three boys and two girls by herself.
Just before Agnes was born, her father, William Caldwell, was lost at sea. A few years later, her mother had the enormous job of getting her family safely from Scotland to America and then to Salt Lake Valley.
In 1856, when Agnes was nine years old, she and her family boarded the ship Thornton and arrived in America seven weeks later. In Iowa, they joined the James G. Willie Handcart Company. Their company suffered greatly on their way to the Valley as they pushed and pulled their heavily-laden handcarts through terrible snowstorms and freezing temperatures. Agnes knew that her mother’s hard work and careful planning saved their lives many times.
One day when they had very little to eat, Agnes’s mother sold a quilt and a bedspread and used the money to buy food. She often traded trinkets and gifts to the Indians for dried meat, which proved to be a great help, especially when the cold wind was blowing and they couldn’t build a fire. On such days, she would give each of her children a piece of dried meat and some bread. Sometimes she took a small piece of meat and made a stew, thickening it with a little flour and some salt. It tasted so good on a cold night!
Agnes marveled as she watched her mother find a way to bake food out on the prairie. Mother dug a hole in the ground, placed the food in a heavy iron kettle with a tight lid, then set it in the hole and covered it with burning buffalo chips or small pieces of wood. She prepared many tasty meals in this way.
One day, while stopped in Laramie, Wyoming, she and others in the company visited an officer at a command post. She wanted to trade some jewelry and silver spoons for flour and meat. The officer said that he could not use any of these items but told her where she could make the trade. After Mother left, he told the others they were foolish to make this dangerous journey. He tried to persuade some of them to stay with him in Wyoming, but they insisted that they wanted to be with the other Latter-day Saints in the Rocky Mountains. When Mother returned, he gave them a large cured ham and wished them well in their adventure to Utah.
Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry “Heber” Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’
“At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

One morning during the conference, nearby Seabrook Beach was covered with wave after wave of teens in yellow shirts. They were youth conference participants dressed in Beacon-in-the-Night T-shirts who spent the morning collecting trash.
“People would approach us and ask if we were at some sort of a summer camp,” says Alex Morales. “It was great to be able to tell them that we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was cool to be with other youth from the Church, showing people that service is an important part of what we’re all about.”
“I remember looking down the beach and seeing all those yellow shirts,” says Bethany Klick. “We were excited to be there, and I noticed that our attitude rubbed off on other people, too. When they saw what we were doing, they smiled and seemed to enjoy the day just a little bit more.”
Following the cleanup, youth and leaders ended the day at the beach with a sandcastle building competition.

I grew up in a home where my mother gave me a list of all the household chores I needed to do. One day, not long after we were married, I told Sue that if she would give me a list of chores I would do anything she wanted me to do. I thought this was pretty generous, but she got upset with me! She stamped her foot and said, "I am not giving you a list. This house is just as much your responsibility as it is mine. If you see something needs to be done, just do it."
That was a new thought for me. I had to learn a whole new way of thinking about the house. I had to take responsibility for seeing what needed to be done and doing it without a list. I started from that day to try to do that. But it was hard to change old habits and attitudes. I tried, and Sue had to learn to be patient with me. We both learned--with a lot of help from heaven. We had to humble ourselves before the Lord and seek His help. We learned there is a great unifying power in hard work and humility in marriage.

A young Guatemalan man’s leg was swollen. He wanted to know if he could borrow a wheelchair to get him around so that he could come up with the money to have his leg taken off. It had gangrene, and he had 30 days to have it removed. The doctor wanted $100 to cut the leg off and another $25 to put him to sleep. I gave him the $125. He counted it out, and he handed me $25 back. He said, “That’s okay. I don’t need to be put to sleep.” I gave the money back to him.
Three days later I got a call from down there. He had had his leg off and was getting around in a wheelchair. His wife had found a job, he was in the house taking care of the children, and they were going to be a very happy family.

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

The McKay family loved music and learned to play instruments. President McKay’s son Lawrence played the violin beautifully.
President McKay: What a beautiful song.
Years later, when Lawrence became a husband and a father, he sold the violin to help make ends meet.
Lawrence: Mildred and I need the money, Father, but how I hated to give up my violin! Playing it often comforted me when I was far from home.
President McKay didn’t hesitate to solve the problem.
President McKay: I understand my son recently sold you this violin. I’m here to buy it back—I prize it too greatly to let it leave our family.
President McKay composed a poem about how much he valued his son’s musical talent and the memories they had made playing music together. A few months later, he put the violin and poem in the mail.
Lawrence: Look, Mildred, a package from my father. What do you think it is?
When Lawrence recognized his beloved violin, tears streamed down his face. He played all of his favorite songs late into the night and vowed never to part with his father’s precious gift again.

One of Willis’s naval assignments was aboard a minesweeper operating off the east coast of the United States. As far as he knew, there were no other Church members among the crew.

When the ship put into port at New Bern, North Carolina, for repairs, Willis looked up the address of the local branch and attended services. He found out that the next Saturday there would be a Gold and Green Ball. Excited at the prospect of going to a dance, Willis asked two of his shipmates, Kenneth Kinzel and John Archer, to go with him. The two liked the idea of going to a social function where there would be some single girls, so they accepted the invitation.

They attended the dance and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Ken was particularly impressed that they had such an enjoyable time without drinking and without the other activities usually associated with “hitting the beach.” He wanted to know more about a church that would sponsor that kind of activity and asked Willis how he could learn more. Willis contacted the missionaries. They taught Ken and John, and in a few weeks both were baptized. Soon afterward, their ship left port for Charleston, South Carolina.

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark.

A few years ago I had another experience with finishing in another Spanish church. I was admiring a display of medieval Bibles at the cathedral in Burgos. One copy—as old as San Justo—stood out. Like most of the other artifacts on display, this Bible was a stunning example of artful calligraphy and brilliant illustrations. What caught my eye was the Bible’s final leaf, on which the copyist and the illustrator had drawn self-portraits. Their backs were curved and their hands withered from arthritis. The drawings told us that finishing this volume of scripture literally cost them their lives. Their “waiting” transformed imperfect bodies into this perfect book—their flesh made Word. They had lived out Paul’s promise: “Ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ . . . , written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart” (2 Corinthians 3:3; emphasis added). I think often of my medieval brothers. Their devotion inspires me. The perfection of their offering stands in contrast to the unfinished panel at San Justo—a reminder that, left alone, even my best efforts will always be incomplete.

A young woman found that she had developed a spirit of criticism. She felt that this was hampering her spiritual growth. As she partook of the sacrament, she promised the Lord that she would not criticize anyone in her family for one week.

Each week she renewed her effort and asked for the Spirit to be with her. She overcame this weakness, though it was not easy and progress was slow. Her friends now use her as an example of one who never speaks unkindly of others.

Topsy Turvey Turtle was crawling slowly down the path. He looked at the big black pot over the fire. “Whose stew?” he asked.
“Mine,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I wouldn’t call it stew yet, though. So far it’s only water.”
“I have some potatoes we could add to it,” offered Topsy Turvey Turtle.
“Thank you.”
Topsy Turvey Turtle and Rimsey Rabbit chopped up the potatoes and added them to the boiling water. As they sat down to wait for the potatoes to cook, Missy Mouse scurried towards them.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, and Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes.”
“Well, I have been to the market to buy these lovely white gloves, and while I was there, I bought some fresh, crisp carrots. Shall I add them to your stew?”
“Oh, yes, please!” said Rimsey Rabbit. “I love carrots.”
After Missy Mouse added the carrots to the stew pot, the three sat down to visit. While they were chatting, Sweetie Skunk waddled down the path.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, and Missy Mouse donated the carrots.”
“Oh, but you need some seasoning.” Sweetie Skunk took a packet of salt and a packet of pepper out of her pretty sequin purse and added them to the stew. As she was putting the lid back on the pot, Belushy Bear lumbered out of the woods.
“Whose stew?” he asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, and Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper.”
“You need an onion for stew,” Belushy Bear boomed in his deep voice. “May I add an onion to your stew?”
“Of course,” replied Rimsey Rabbit.
So Belushy Bear pulled an onion out of his backpack and added it to the stew. Not long afterward, Polly Pig sniffed and snuffled her way into the clearing.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper, and Belushy Bear brought the onion.”
“Sounds very tasty, but you need some green beans and peas for your stew. I have some that I could add, if I may,” suggested Polly Pig.
“Beans and peas are very tasty,” said Topsy Turvey Turtle.
“Yes,” everyone agreed. “Please add them to the stew.”
Polly Pig carefully flung her feather boa (scarf) over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get into the stew, then tossed the beans and peas into the pot.
By this time there was such a gathering that it had become a party. Topsy Turvey Turtle played his flute, and they all began to dance. Everyone was laughing and talking so loudly that Hilary Hen had to shout to get anyone to notice her.
“Whose stew?” she hollered.
“Ours!” everyone shouted over the music. Topsy Turvey Turtle stopped playing so that Rimsey Rabbit could explain who had brought what. When he finished, Hilary Hen looked into the pot.
“Would you like some flour to thicken your stew?” she asked. “I have some that I would be happy to donate.”
“Yes, please,” everyone else agreed.
Hilary Hen added the flour to the stew very carefully so that she wouldn’t get her newly polished shoes all dusty.
“I think it’s finally stew,” said Rimsey Rabbit, peering into the pot.
Everyone crowded around. The clearing filled with hungry murmurs of “It certainly looks like stew” and “It smells like stew.”
Rimsey Rabbit dished up steaming bowls of it for everyone, they sat down at the table, and he said a blessing. Then, just as they were about to start eating, they noticed Ragamuffin Raccoon watching them from the edge of the clearing. His clothes were torn and worn but very clean. He looked hungry. “Whose stew?” he asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper, Belushy Bear brought the onion, Polly Pig added the green beans and peas, and Hilary Hen donated the flour to thicken it.”
“Oh,” said Ragamuffin Raccoon sadly. “I don’t have anything for your stew.” He started back into the forest.
“Wait!” cried Rimsey Rabbit.
“Yes, wait!” shouted Hilary Hen.
“We don’t have a guest,” suggested Belushy Bear.
“And we need a guest,” agreed Sweetie Skunk.
“Will you be our guest?” asked Polly Pig.
“You can sit between us,” invited Topsy Turvey Turtle and Missy Mouse, making room for him.
Rimsey Rabbit served up a delicious bowl of the savory stew for Ragamuffin Raccoon, and he joined them at the table. The stew and the company were so good that everyone had second helpings.

I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

In 1974, when I was just 17 years old I was called as the seminary teacher in the Maipú Branch in Santiago, Chile. In the beginning, I had 16 students.
The branch boundaries covered a lot of territory in those days, and some of the students had to travel long distances to come to seminary. I had to walk 25 blocks to get to the old, unheated house where we met. But I was very excited about my calling, and that old house seemed to me the most beautiful place in the world. As we started our course in Church history, everything seemed to be going smoothly and enthusiasm was high.
Then autumn came. As the temperature dropped, participation dropped, too. A reactivation campaign was set up to motivate the students to keep coming. The effort succeeded for a time. But as winter followed fall and it became increasingly colder and more difficult for the students to attend, fewer and fewer attended regularly.
After a time, there were only three. It was a disappointment. I did lack teaching experience, but I had faith and a testimony, and I continued to prepare for each lesson with zeal and dedication. As I walked to class each day, I prayed almost every step of the way, feeling very close to my Father in Heaven. By the time I arrived at the classroom, I was filled with the Spirit and felt as happy as if many students were there.
At other times, I lacked confidence and wondered if I should go on. One such occasion was during a district meeting when a roll call of seminary students was taken for each branch. When the name of the Maipú Branch was called, only two of us reported present: one student and myself. Everyone laughed! It felt like a slap in the face, and I wanted to ask our leaders to let us stop holding the class. However, the sweet influence of the Spirit soon came over me and urged me to continue. I determined to endure to the end.
When seminary graduation ceremonies were held, three participants from the Maipú Branch were awarded certificates of achievement. Only one of them, Pedro Baillón, was in attendance to receive his certificate. But it didn’t matter. By then I understood that there was a deeper purpose in my service, and I knew that the year held great meaning for me, as it did for Pedro.
I have never forgotten Pedro Baillón. Nor have I ever forgotten one of the most spiritual periods of my life.

I believe our Heavenly Father has provided a simply beautiful plan for finding both joy and peace and He has always shared this with His children who seek Him. One of my favorite examples of this is the hall-of-fame pro football player Gale Sayers.

Gale played for the University of Kansas, where he earned the nickname the “Kansas Comet.” He gained over 4,000 yards and was a two-time All-American. He was drafted by the Chicago Bears in 1965, and in his rookie year, he scored an NFL record 22 touchdowns and gained 2,272 all-purpose yards. Sadly, in 1968 he suffered a serious knee injury that cost him the final five games of the season. Helping him through this challenge was his fellow running back, Brian Piccolo.

Brian’s path to the NFL was much different than Gale’s. Brian played at Wake Forest, and at that time there was only one African-American player in the ACC—Darryl Hill, who played for Maryland. In 1963 when Maryland visited Wake Forest, the home-team student section began to taunt Darryl Hill. Noticing this, Brian Piccolo went over to the Maryland bench and approached Darryl and said, “I want to apologize for the behavior of my fans. . . . Then, draping his arm over Hill’s shoulder, he began walking him toward the Wake Forest side of the field, where the jeering was at its worst. By the time the two of them reached the middle of the field, the . . . screaming dropped to near silence.” [4] Two years later, Brian signed with the Chicago Bears as an undrafted free agent and made the practice squad.

Gale and Brian were the first interracial roommates in the NFL. While Gale was injured, Brian saw more playing time. Once Sayers returned, they played together as the starting tailback and fullback. After scoring a touchdown against the Atlanta Falcons, Brian pulled himself out of the game, complaining of shortness of breath. A medical examination revealed that he had an aggressive form of cancer that, in spite of surgery and treatment, would spread throughout his body. It was now Gale’s turn to help and serve his friend.

The month before Piccolo's death at the age of 26, Gale Sayers was accepting the George S. Halas Courage Award and told the crowd that they had selected the wrong person. He said, "I love Brian Piccolo and I'd like all of you to love him too. When you hit your knees to pray tonight please ask God to love him too." [5] Brian left behind a wife and three daughters.

Inspired by his friend, Gale wrote his autobiography titled I Am Third, which stands for “God is first, others are second, and I am third.”

This book was the inspiration for the 1971 movie Brian’s Song.

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and her mom decided to visit her dad at work. It would be a long trip. Her dad worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

The enthusiastic young people of the Cleveland First Ward, Huntington Utah Stake treated the senior citizens in their ward to a Red Carpet Honor Night. The Young Men, dressed in suits and ties, first delivered an invitation to each home. Then on the night of the activity, they served as chauffeurs and escorts; they drove to each home, rolled out the red carpet, and escorted their guests to the meetinghouse. There they seated the elderly members of their ward and served them a delicious meal prepared by the Young Women.
After dinner, the senior ward members were seated in a semicircle at the front of the auditorium. They were each given an opportunity to tell how they arrived in the community, what life was like when they were growing up, and how they met their companions. They also answered questions from the audience, offered several good words of advice to the youth, and thanked them for a wonderful evening.

Sister Yaeko Seki experienced part of this precious promise. She writes:
“My family and I were spending a day at the Japan Alps National Park. … I was pregnant with our fourth child and was feeling rather tired, so I lay down under the trees. … I began thinking about our financial problems. My heart became overwhelmed, and I burst into tears. ‘Lord, we are full-tithe payers. We have sacrificed so much. When will the windows of heaven open unto us and our burdens be lightened?’
“I prayed with all my heart. Then I turned to watch my husband and children playing and laughing together. … Suddenly, the Spirit testified to me that my blessings were abundant and that my family was the greatest blessing Heavenly Father could give me.”

I must have recited the Young Women theme more than five million times before I had an experience that helped me learn to appreciate its importance.
Usually in Young Women opening exercises, we all recited the 90-word theme without really thinking about what we were saying. But one particular day, during my junior year, those inspired words rang through my mind as I faced an important decision.
In my speech class, my teacher assigned group projects. Each group picked a scene from a play to perform for the class. As we spent the next four days preparing for our performance, rumors started that one group of boys had chosen a risque play dealing with morality issues. A lot of us were surprised when our teacher allowed them to keep their selection. He argued that it was a well-known play, and “for art’s sake,” he must allow them to perform it.
On the day of the performances, our teacher again discussed the controversial play. He agreed it may be offensive. Then he added, “Those of you who feel uncomfortable have my permission to leave the room.” Jokingly, half the class stood up and pretended to walk out. Who wouldn’t take advantage of going out to lunch an hour early?
I began feeling a little nervous as the boys started their performance. At first, several of my classmates blushed and giggled uneasily, but as the piece went on, people began to relax. I was shocked that no one was leaving the room. I looked over at a few of my LDS friends, watching for one of them to give the signal for all of us to walk out together. However, none of them seemed to be preparing for departure. I remained at my desk, holding my head down so no one could see my crimson cheeks. I felt very uncomfortable in the situation, but I was also afraid to leave. After all, it was art, right?
At this moment, the Young Women theme came into my mind: “We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places’” (Mosiah 18:9). Immediately, I knew what I should do. “All places” meant everywhere, even in a classroom with my friends.
Quietly, I got up and left the room. That was it. No one got up and followed me. No one applauded my valiant act. No one was converted by my example. But inside I knew I had done the right thing, even though people teased me for the next two weeks. I felt good about standing up for my beliefs “at all times, and in all things, and in all places.”

As students at the University of Chicago, historian Marvin S. Hill and I were intrigued with the little-known fact that five men went to trial in Illinois for the murder of Joseph Smith. For over 10 years we scoured libraries and archives across the nation to find every scrap of information about this 1845 trial and those involved in it. Our book reviewed the words and actions of Illinois citizens who knew Joseph Smith personally—some who loved him and risked their lives for him, and others who hated him and plotted to kill him. Nothing in our discoveries in the original court records or in the testimony at the lengthy trial disclosed anything that reflected dishonor on the man who was murdered.14

Teach them to love others by serving others. That brings the Spirit. The Prophet Joseph taught that, and he lived it. Of the many examples recorded of his loving nature, the one which most touches me occurred in Carthage Jail the night before his death. One of the men who went there with him was Dan Jones. The Prophet sensed the danger from the mob. He had reason to turn inward, to think of himself and his own peril. Instead his heart turned outward to comfort someone else.
“When all were apparently fast asleep, Joseph whispered to Dan Jones, ‘are you afraid to die?’ Dan [answered], ‘Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.’ Joseph replied, ‘You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.’”
Dan Jones survived to serve missions in Wales. Thousands of Welsh converts came to Zion. Some were gifted singers. They were among the first members of what became the Tabernacle Choir. When we hear the choir sing, I hope we remember Dan Jones, the faithful friend of the Prophet Joseph. Teach those you love to remember Joseph’s comfort given when he needed comfort. When we comfort others, out of our faith in the Lord, He sends the Comforter to us. And the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, gave Joseph the power to give prophetic and loving encouragement.