Gospel Story Finder

Nathan and his mother were driving home from the store when something scary happened. They had been waiting at a red light, and when it turned green, they started into the intersection. Nathan looked past his mother and saw a car speeding toward them from the left. There was nothing they could do. The other car crashed into them with the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass.
Suddenly everything was quiet. He looked at his mother and saw that her arm was hurt. “Don’t worry, Nathan,” she said, “I’m OK. Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
They watched as the man from the other car angrily walked around the car and opened Nathan’s door. “Lady, you ran that red light! Look what you’ve done to my car! I’m going to sue you.” Just then a police car arrived, and the man went to talk to the policeman.
Some people who had been watching came over and helped Nathan and his mother out of the car. Nathan’s mother looked around at the group. “Did any of you see what happened?”
One lady stepped forward and said, “I saw you waiting at the red light. You didn’t go until it had turned green. That was when he hit you.”
Other people said that they had seen the accident, and Mother asked, “Would you testify in court about what you saw?” When several of them said that they would, she asked them to write their names and addresses and phone numbers down and give them to the policeman.
Two other police cars and an ambulance had pulled up, and one of the officers started talking to Mother. He noticed her hurt arm and had her and Nathan taken to the hospital.
Later that evening, as Nathan nestled into his comfortable bed, his parents came in to kiss him good night. Mother’s arm was in a white cast and was supported by a sling around her neck. Father swept Nathan up into his arms and said, “I’m so thankful to Heavenly Father that neither of you was seriously injured.”
Nathan gave Father a hug. “I’m scared, Dad. That man said the accident was our fault.”
Mother reached out and took Nathan’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. There were several witnesses who will testify, or bear testimony, that we waited for the light to turn green. The judge will decide who was at fault.”
Nathan’s parents knelt in prayer with him, then tucked him in bed again, and he soon drifted off to sleep.
A few weeks later they drove to the courthouse for the trial. Nathan was nervous. How would the judge know the truth when he hadn’t seen the accident? As they walked into the courtroom, Nathan recognized the man who had hit them. The first policeman and some of the witnesses were already seated.
The judge asked the policeman to come to the witness stand. The policeman showed a big board with a diagram of two streets crossing each other. First he used drawings to show how the cars had collided. Next he showed the judge some photographs that had been taken of the accident.
After he had gone back to his seat, the judge asked the man who had hit them to come to the stand and tell about the accident. The man said, “I was driving along Thirty-fourth Street, the light was green, and suddenly her car drove right in front of my car. There was nothing I could do. I tried to stop, but there wasn’t time.”
The judge told him that he could sit down. Then the judge asked Mother to come to the stand. After she explained what had happened, he said, “We have conflicting stories here. Are there any witnesses to this accident?”
The policeman gave the judge a list of people’s names, and he called each of them to the stand to give their testimony. Every one of them said that the man had been going very fast and had gone through a red light and hit Mother’s car.
The judge looked through some papers, then made his decision. He looked first at the man. “You are guilty of speeding and running a red light. You are the cause of this accident. You will have to pay the woman’s medical fees and the cost of having her car fixed. You will also have to pay a fine of seven hundred dollars in court costs.
Nathan was relieved. The judge knew the truth because of the witnesses’ testimonies.
The next Sunday morning, at testimony meeting, Nathan realized how important testimonies are. Each person who stood up told how he or she knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live.
Nathan had a warm feeling about his testimony. He wanted to bear it often so that others would know the truth of the gospel, just as the judge had known the truth about the accident.

After the sacrament, Sister Stevens, a recently returned missionary, gave the first talk.

“One day, about halfway through my mission, I was having a really bad day,” Sister Stevens said. “Nothing was going right.”

“Fortunately,” Sister Stevens continued, “my companion wouldn’t let me stay in a bad mood. She suggested that we make a gratitude list. We listed all kinds of things, like peanut butter, soft beds, and letters from home.”

“By the end of the day, I’d forgotten why I had been in a bad mood,” Sister Stevens said. “It was the best day my companion and I had ever had. We decided to make a gratitude list every day.”

When President Russell M. Nelson visited Guatemala in 2019 as part of a nine-day ministry to Latin America, he spoke at an evening devotional, where I was asked to conduct a 200-voice choir. Sometime after we had started rehearsing, I had a dream.
I dreamed that I would be able to say hello to the prophet. After the devotional, as President Nelson waved farewell with his handkerchief to the 22,000 people there, he turned to me and said in perfect Spanish, “Thank you very much. Well done!” Then, speaking to the congregation, Sister Wendy Nelson said, “I didn’t know you had a Tabernacle Choir in Guatemala!”

Perhaps a recent experience will give you a glimpse into how I feel about you and the supernal abilities with which you are endowed.
One day while I was speaking to a congregation in South America, I became exceedingly excited about my topic, and at a pivotal moment, I said, “As the mother of 10 children, I can tell you that …” And then I went on to complete my message.
I did not realize that I had said the word mother. My translator, assuming I had misspoken, changed the word mother to father, so the congregation never knew that I had referred to myself as mother. But my wife Wendy heard it, and she was delighted with my Freudian slip.
In that moment, the deep longing of my heart to make a difference in the world—like only a mother does—bubbled up from my heart. Through the years, whenever I have been asked why I chose to become a medical doctor, my answer has always been the same: “Because I could not choose to be a mother.”

My name is Eric, and I love to play basketball. According to Eddy, our team’s student manager, I’m the fifth grader most likely to make a shot. Mom says I play so well because I play so often. “Practice makes perfect,” she says. Today I discovered that I could use some practice at something besides basketball. …
At lunch, my friend Kurt and I were walking toward our usual table, when I saw Trevor sitting alone, picking green pepper bits off his pizza. All of a sudden, I had a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t entirely because of green peppers.
Trevor is a boy who comes to our ward sometimes. Yesterday Sister McQueiry, my Primary teacher, asked me to stay after class. She told me that the ward had set a goal to reach out to less-active members and that she needed my help. She knew that Trevor went to my school, and she asked me to invite him to Primary. I told her I would. When I saw Trevor, I knew I should talk to him right away, but I didn’t want to.
I mean, what would he think if I walked over there and just started talking? What would everyone else think? If he were an OK guy, why wasn’t anybody else sitting by him? Besides, this was only Monday, and I had all week to ask him to Primary. So I sat with Kurt at our usual table.
I must’ve felt a little guilty, though, because I ate my pizza, salad, corn, and chocolate cake a lot more slowly than usual. After about fifteen minutes, everyone else was out on the playground, but I was still eating my slice of pizza. The lunchroom was practically empty—except for Trevor and me.
I finally went over and sat by him. He was really quiet at first, but when I asked him about Boston, where his family had moved from, he started talking. I was so busy listening to him that I missed the entire lunch recess, and I barely remembered to ask him to church the next Sunday. I felt relieved to have my “Trevor assignment” over with.
I rushed home and played about ten games of one-on-one with Kurt before dinner. At family home evening, my sister, Kim, gave the lesson. It was all about the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31–46 [Matt. 25:31–46]. It compares the sheep to righteous people and the goats to wicked people. In verses 33–38 and 40, it says: “And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? …
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, … Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
As I listened to the parable, I thought about Trevor eating lunch all alone. Then I thought about Jesus. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Was I really ignoring Jesus when I ignored Trevor?
Kim ended her lesson, and Dad asked if anybody had any questions. I raised my hand.
“Eric?” asked Dad, a little surprised.
“I just wanted to know,” I started, not sure how to ask my question, “if you do something good, but it takes you a while to do it and you really didn’t want to do it, but you did it anyway, would you be a sheep or a goat?”
Dad gave me a look of real concern. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked. And so I told him about Trevor.
“It sounds to me as if you knew the right thing to do and you did it.” I felt relieved to hear Dad’s answer. “But,” he added, “your attitude could use a little work.”
“You’re a sheep,” Kim decided. “Pretty much, anyway.”
“Today you were kind because you knew it was right,” Mom added. “In time, I hope you will help others because you love them as Jesus does. But it will take time and practice.”
I wonder if you can be willing to practice love and service like you’re willing to practice basketball. I wonder if you can practice them while you practice basketball. I’ve decided to have lunch with Trevor tomorrow. He seems interesting. Besides, Trevor is even taller than I am. I wonder if he can hit the outside jumper.

I pored over my patriarchal blessing once more. One part caught my eye: “You may help the needy with your time, effort, and means.” I imagined myself establishing homeless shelters, starting literacy programs, eradicating unemployment, ending starvation. I should have talked to my parents about my plans first, but I was eager to get started. So I headed out the front door determined that the sullen old beggar at the mall would be my first “project.”
I imagined that first we’d have lunch together. He’d tell me his tragic story. I’d weep. We’d eventually become good friends. I’d buy him a suit, find him a job, witness his baptism, change his life forever. It was all so simple.
I spotted the man outside the mall’s entrance, leaning on the rusted shopping cart he pushed around town. I could see his cart was filled with … onions? He picked up an onion, whacked it in half on the cart, then bit into it like it was an apple. I was taken aback but undaunted. “Would you like to join me for lunch?” I asked, wide-eyed and tentative. “I have a few dollars and …”
Suddenly, loud, unintelligible jabber poured out of the man’s mouth. He shook his fist at me and toward the sky. His gestures were wild and frantic. Was he sane? He seemed upset with me and was definitely not interested in lunch, so I turned with an apologetic grimace and went home.

When I was in the 10th grade, I had a similar problem. I saw a group of people I thought were pretty interesting and decided I wanted to be friends with them. I began talking to them and spending time with them. I ignored the warnings of my friends and parents to stay away from this particular group.
Soon I began dressing like them, listening to the same music, going to the same places. Gradually my attitude began to change, my language became increasingly vulgar, and I made choices I would never have considered a few years earlier. I lost many of my old friends, my parents no longer trusted me, and I lost my good reputation. At the time, I pretended I was happy.
The time came when I realized I wasn’t happy at all. I had gained everything I thought was important and lost everything that really was: my family relationships, my true friends, my reputation, my self-respect, and my faith in God. I had choked on a chicken bone.
It has taken a long time to repair the damage done by that chicken bone. I still struggle with its influence at times. I realize now that my parents’ and friends’ warnings were given to me out of love. They weren’t trying to restrict me; they were trying to help me.

Truman Osborn Angell (1810–87) served for several decades as Church architect, planning and directing the construction of many significant buildings, including the Salt Lake Temple. Throughout his years of service to the Church, Truman was humble and obedient.
He was born on June 5, 1810, in Providence, Rhode Island, USA. When he was a teenager, a local craftsman taught him carpentry and joinery, a specialized kind of woodworking.
At age 22 he was introduced to the Church by his sister, who had received a copy of the Book of Mormon from missionary Thomas B. Marsh. In January 1833 Truman was baptized along with his mother, Phebe, and his wife, Polly.
Shortly after Truman was ordained a member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy, the Prophet Joseph Smith requested that he build a store in Kirtland, Ohio. Truman declined, telling the Prophet he was preparing to leave for a mission. The next day, however, Truman saw the First Presidency in the distance and felt prompted to accept the building assignment from the Prophet. He later recorded, “Accordingly I changed my determination and yielded obedience.”1
In 1856 President Brigham Young sent Truman on a mission to Europe, instructing him to “take drafts of valuable works of architecture” so he could “be better qualified to continue” to work on the Salt Lake Temple and other buildings.2
Truman was called as Church architect in 1867. (The Church no longer calls an official Church architect.) Although years of hard work had caused Truman’s health to suffer, he humbly accepted the call. He wrote in his journal, “I feel a good deal worn out but if the President and my brethren feel to sustain a poor worm of dust like me to be Architect of the Church, let me strive to serve them and not disgrace myself. … May the Lord help me so to do.”3
Truman directed many building projects in Utah, including the Lion House, the Beehive House, the Utah Territorial Statehouse, and the St. George Utah Temple.
Truman did not live to see the dedication of the Salt Lake Temple in 1893, but he served faithfully as Church architect until his death in 1887.

One woman who came to this realization wrote:
“Right after my divorce, I determined that I was going to give my children the best of everything. … I would provide well for them. … I would substitute in every way for their father. I would take them on picnics, build them a tree house, and play baseball with them. I would not allow them to suffer because of our divorce.
“I baked, sewed, ran, played, wrestled. I cleaned, I ironed. I was busy being both mother and father for them.
“One evening I put the three of them in the bathtub together while I finished a chore. Then I came back, soaped the youngest, rinsed him, lifted him from the tub, and stood him on a bath mat while I wrapped a towel around him. Then I carried him off to the bedroom to put his pajamas on and tuck him into bed. I repeated the process with his brother and then his sister.
“As I bent down to kiss them goodnight, my older son said, ‘Sing us a song, please.’
“‘Which one?’ I asked.
“‘“Rudolph”!’ said the youngest immediately.
“‘No, “Johnny Appleseed,”’ said his brother.
“Then their sister said, ‘Sing, “Stay Awake.”’
“‘I can see if I stay to sing one song, I’ll be singing for an hour, and I don’t have an hour to spare. So goodnight.’ I turned off the lights.
“‘Please sing just one song, mommy. You can choose the song.’
“‘What about our prayers?’
“Firmly, I replied, ‘I said goodnight and I mean goodnight.’
“As I walked back to the bathroom to tidy up, I thought of how grateful they would be someday when they were old enough to understand how much I had done for them!
“As I entered the room I stopped short. There on the bath mat were three perfect sets of damp footprints. For one brief moment I thought I saw standing in the footprints the spirits of those precious children I had just tucked into bed. In that instant I saw the foolishness of my ways. I had been so busy providing for the physical needs of their mortal bodies that I was neglecting their spirits. I knew then that I had a sacred obligation to nourish both. If I were to clothe them in the latest fashions and give them all that money could buy and fail to tend to their spiritual needs, I could not justifiably account for my awesome responsibility as their mother.
“Humbled, I went back to their bedroom. We knelt together in prayer. We all four climbed up on the boys’ big bed and sang song after song until I was the only one awake to sing.”

I stood watching my ten-year-old cousin do her gymnastics. It was embarrassing to see all that she could do, because at age 12, I wasn’t any good at gymnastics, no matter how hard I tried. Finally, I got tired of watching and went into the house. “Why can’t I do the things she can?” I thought. “I really have to work hard, but all she has to do is see something and then she can do it. Why can’t I?”
The next day in my physical education class at school we were required to perform some gymnastics for a grade. Again my thoughts turned to my cousin, and I wondered why I couldn’t do even the simplest movements.
Sunday came around, and as I was looking through my scriptures waiting for church to start, my attention was drawn to two verses in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“For all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God.
“To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby” (D&C 46:11–12).
I realized then that each of us has different talents and capabilities and that we should develop those we have so we can lift and help one another. After reading those scriptures, I no longer felt bad that I can’t do gymnastics. I was happy for my cousin because she can!

In 2007, I made my first visit to a church in Petit-Goâve, the southernmost part of Haiti in a chapel that currently houses Les Palmes Stake. On that Sunday, the joyful songs of the Primary children echoed throughout the chapel, creating an atmosphere of spirituality. The melodious words, “I am a child of God . . . teach me all that I must do to live with him someday,” seemed to transcend a childlike innocence upon me and a great desire to know everything. I was captivated by the vibrant testimonies of the Book of Mormon, the truths it teaches, and Joseph Smith, the prophet.
In the same year, after numerous lessons from dedicated and inspired missionaries, I took the step of baptism, thus beginning a spiritual journey within the restored gospel. The years passed. I served a full-time mission and married an extraordinary woman in the covenant of eternal marriage.
During my mission journey, I loved teaching from the Book of Mormon and had extraordinary experiences with the converting power of the Book of Mormon. Nephi’s purpose to persuade men to come to God is not only his purpose but also the ultimate purpose of the Book of Mormon. The passage from 2 Nephi 25:26 was always on my lips whenever I had to answer the question: what is the Book of Mormon about? “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
The experience of the converting power of the Book of Mormon did not end after my mission. In 2016, I was called to teach institute classes for adults. That year, we were studying the Book of Mormon. One day, as we studied King Benjamin’s powerful and inspired discourse in the book of Mosiah, two brothers in my class, carrying a secret burden of deep family problems, were moved to tears. Without saying a word, they left the classroom, and instinctively, I followed them. In the church courtyard, I found them talking, crying, and supporting each other. Respecting their privacy, I returned to the classroom, but concern tinged with hope accompanied me. At the end of the lesson, the two brothers returned, but this time, their presence was marked by peace. One of them spoke, sharing the miracle that had just occurred. He explained that thanks to the teachings of the Book of Mormon and the words of King Benjamin, they had found the strength to confront their family difficulties. In that testifying moment, I was reminded of Alma’s words, “The preaching of the word had a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them.” (Alma 31:5).
That day, those brothers experienced the testimony of more than one in its fulness through the power of divine words, confirming the universal truth that the word of God can breathe life into the most wounded hearts.
I testify that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, that it contains the fulness of the eternal gospel, and that it can pierce the most wounded of hearts.

As the day for the high school’s Sixties Dance approached, the Seminary Friends decided it would be fun to attend with their seminary partners. The group got together and made tie-dyed T-shirts, then organized van rides for the group of 24.
The evening was a success. The students jumped up and down together for the fast songs and held hands and danced in a big circle for the slow songs. Everyone had a good time.
For the special-needs students, the dance was a first, and their reactions were particularly enthusiastic. “My favorite thing was dancing with the boys,” says Jané Peart.
“It was my first date, but there were many, many girls,” signs Timothy Smith. “I like it because I’m a good dancer.”
“It was so fun to see Timothy smile and laugh and dance,” says Aundi Robison, one of the Seminary Friends. She is learning sign language to better communicate with her special-needs partner. “Timothy flexed his muscles for the girls. I’ve never seen him laugh so much.”

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

I continued to study the gospel, however, and one day, late in 1974, I left a note at the chapel in Wollongong, New South Wales, saying I wanted to meet with the missionaries. Once again they began teaching me. Three times they set a date for my baptism, and each time I postponed it. (Once they even had the font filled!)
My indecision came to an end when I was offered an excellent position as a translator for the Australian government. For this position I would have to travel to Canberra each Sunday, making it impossible for me to attend church. I decided not to join the Church, and to take the job.
Not long after I made the decision, I suffered a heart attack, which left me unfit to accept the position. Once again I promised to be baptized, but this time persecution from my former minister friends made me change my mind.
I was then offered a position as a Calvinist bishop, responsible for all the migrants in New South Wales. As I contemplated this offer, I suffered another heart attack—my seventh. I realized then that I could die at any time, and that I wanted to be baptized.
At last, on 15 March 1975, after knowing the truth but putting off acting on it for so long, I was baptized.

“A call is more than an invitation or a request. It is a call from the Lord through His chosen servant. Years ago, President Spencer W. Kimball, then president of a stake in Arizona, had an experience with extending a calling. There was a vacancy in the presidency of the Young Men organization in the stake. President Kimball left his desk at the bank, walked down the street a few doors into a business, and said, ‘Jack, how would you like to be president of the Young Men in the stake?’
“Jack said, ‘Oh, Spencer, you don’t mean me.’
“He said, ‘Of course I do. You’re a young man, and you get along with young people. You’d make a very good president.’
“Then there occurred what President Kimball thought was a very disagreeable conversation because Jack turned down the call. He went back to the bank and sat at his desk, smoldering over his failure. Then it came to him. He left his desk, went down the street—same door, same man—called him by his full name, and said, ‘Last Sunday the stake presidency met to consider a vacancy in the Young Men’s presidency. We prayed about it, talked about it. Finally, on our knees we inquired about it and received the inspiration from the Lord that you should be called. As a servant of the Lord, I am here to deliver that call.’
“Jack said, ‘Well, Spencer, if you’re going to put it that way.’
“And he said, ‘I’m putting it that way.’”6

The presidencies and planning committees met several times during the winter. The young people read histories and studied pioneer journals. They learned how their ancestors had answered a mission call by President John Taylor to come to this wild corner of the world and establish a peace mission among the Indians, how in addition to this challenge they were to provide a civilized buffer in this part of Zion because to that time the San Juan country was controlled by thieves, outlaws, and murderers who used this corner of southern Utah as a place to hide out from the law.
Two hundred and fifty people, including women and children, answered the call. They brought 85 wagons and hundreds of cattle and horses with them on the journey, traveling southeast from the settlement of Escalante to what is now San Juan County. The company was made up of Saints from Cedar City, Parowan, and Paragonah. They traveled across more than 200 miles of unexplored wilderness. The pinnacle of their pioneering effort was in carving a road bed down the side of Glen Canyon to the Colorado River below. They started their descent in a notch or hole in the rim of the 1,800 foot-high canyon wall. This notch then became known as Hole-in-the-Rock. The incredibly steep grade down the upper portion of the road dropped one foot for every two feet forward.
Many of the descendants of the early pioneers still feel under obligation of that original call from President Taylor. In his campfire remarks to the youth, Stan Bronson explained, “We are here to help bring about the fulfillment of the prophecies relative to the restoration of Israel. We have never been released from that first call. I believe the end result of this ‘peace’ mission will be to have the fulness of the gospel operating among the Lamanites here. The ‘peace’ will come here from the ultimate giver of peace and be evident in the hearts and lives of this people.”
“I was excited about going on the Hole-in-the-Rock trip with our stake so I could see for myself the places that have been talked about,” said Cheyenne Johnson. “Walter Joshua and Elizabeth Kinney Stevens, my great-great-grandparents on my father’s side, were newlyweds. That trip was their honeymoon, and I think it must have been more honeymoon than they wanted since it was supposed to last six weeks and it lasted six months.
“Grandpa Stevens drove the first wagon down through the Hole. Also on my mother’s side of the family, great-great-grandparents Benjamin and Sarah Perkins were on that trip. Grandpa Perkins and his brother Hyrum had been miners in Wales and they were responsible for blasting out some of the places where they needed to build roadways down through the Hole. One place known as ‘Uncle Ben’s Dugway,’ was named after Grandpa Perkins. Platte D. Lyman, another great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, was also on the trip. His wife Adelia stayed in Fillmore to have a baby who was born while the group was at the top of the Hole. He was carried through the Hole-in-the-Rock a few months later. That baby was my great-grandfather, Albert R. Lyman, who later married Mary Ellen Perkins, and they were the first settlers in what is now Blanding. They had 15 children, my grandmother being the 15th. Grandpa always kept a journal and wrote many stories and books. I was anxious to see the country where he had been a cowpuncher and to see his name carved in the rock at Lake Canyon. I felt a special closeness to him there.”
The day had arrived. After much worry, prayer, and planning, these young people from Blanding were going to try to retrace the incredible journey their pioneer ancestors had made 107 years earlier. Brother Glen Shumway, the stake Young Men president, had spent a good deal of his life as a uranium miner and had worked outdoors in this wild country.
“I knew how inhospitable this country could become. The weather, the gnats, the sun, and of course the condition of the trails were all concerns because any one of these factors could wreck the experience for us,” Glen said.
At the stake center, 30 4-wheel drive vehicles were loaded with 135 people and all of their provisions for the three-day outing. Young people from Blanding, Kayenta, Bluff, and Mexican Hat were also represented. It was appropriate that several Native Americans participated because their Paiute, Ute and Navajo ancestors had lived and hunted in this same desert. The caravan traveled the first 75 miles on Highway 95 because at this point the modern road was much the same as the route taken by the early pioneers.
Along this part of the journey they saw Clayhill Pass, where the existing road crosses the old trail. They also were able to see Comb Ridge and Salvation Knoll in the morning light. Because they were traveling from Blanding back to the Hole-in-the-Rock, they were seeing the pioneers’ journey in reverse order. The caravan turned off the paved highway and headed into the desert. Early morning light amplified the color and richness of the red sands and the desert spring wildflowers. The yucca plants were in bloom with many of the pale yellow flowering spikes rising six feet and taller into the air. Purple sage and prickly pear cactus blooms added to the beauty of the desert with its many other flowers. After driving for a few miles they stopped at a tank trailer that seemed to be parked alone in the middle of the desert. Of course Brother and Sister Boyles had towed the trailer here earlier so every vehicle’s fuel tank could be topped off before they got into the more rugged part of the journey.
Even at this point, however, there was some uncertainty from a few of the young people about continuing on.
Peggy Sue Pincock said, “I surely wish I was home doing something else.”
For the rest of the day they traveled. Walking and riding they crawled up slick rock slopes and over sandy dunes and finally inched their way down into Lake Canyon.
They drove through the sandy bottom of Lake Canyon, and then bumped up and down ridge tops for an exhausting final leg of their journey into the camp near Marble Canyon at the base of Grey Mesa.
By this time, even though the group had only been out one day, many felt as Elizabeth Morris Decker felt 100 years earlier when she said, “It’s the roughest country you or anybody else ever seen; it’s nothing in the world but rocks and holes, hills and hollows.”
As the afternoon sun leaned farther to the horizon, tents sprang up around the campground. The clang of dutch ovens could be heard as the aromas of the evening meal spread throughout the campsite. Dutch oven potatoes cooked with onions and bacon, barbecued chicken, corn, fruit punch (seven gallons for each 50 people), and s’mores (a graham cracker, chocolate bar, and marshmallow sandwich dessert) seemed to fill stomachs and rejuvenate the spirits of the camp. Then, like their pioneer ancestors, they held a meeting with musicians and speakers who told about the original journey, and they sang songs of the present and the past.
After a good night’s sleep and a campfire breakfast of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and orange juice, the group felt strong enough to tackle the slick rock slopes of Grey Mesa. Once they got to the top they had relatively smooth going for 15 miles. From the top of the mesa they could look down and see Lake Powell and the Big Bend of the San Juan River. The drivers let themselves and their vehicles slowly down the other side of Grey Mesa while many from the company enjoyed the walk.
As the day wore on they traveled to the top of Cottonwood Canyon, where they were able to look down the canyon and across Lake Powell to the Hole-in-the-Rock.
Though the youth activity took three days instead of six months, there were many parallels in the two journeys. Many of the names were the same, the country was still the same, this modern trip was organized much like the original one. And, like the first trip, this one accomplished the purposes originally intended for it.
“What an eye opener! I couldn’t believe the places those people went over. I love the stories of all the hardships and trials and especially the motivating stories of super faith and hard working pioneers. They were great and very faithful people to do what their leaders asked them to do. I hope I can take this wonderful example and apply these hard working and faithful qualities to my life,” said Annette Carroll.
John Hunt, one of the leader specialists, added “I am 47 years old and have lived in Blanding all of my life. This is my first time to go on this trail. I learned that pictures and stories are not adequate. I have flown over this trail many times, but nothing equals being here. I took my jeep places I never would have believed it would have gone.”
Brother Shumway seemed to sum up most of the feelings of the group when he said, “We all came home with a greater appreciation for the original Hole-in-the-Rock pioneers, who showed their love for the gospel by leaving comfortable homes, disrupting their lives to heed the call of the prophet to extend the boundaries of Zion into this beautiful but inhospitable land of San Juan. We found greater love and appreciation for one another as we camped, ate, jeeped, played, and worshiped in that pleasant setting. We were touched by the Spirit of the Lord in our fireside programs as we listened to the special speakers and music. Most of all, we felt the hand of our Maker, who was with us on this journey and who will be with us on all of our journeys through this life and the eternities.”
Charles Redd later wrote about the climb up Comb Ridge: “Aside from the Hole-in-the-Rock, itself, this was the steepest crossing on the journey. Here again seven span of horses were used, so that when some of the horses were on their knees, fighting to get up to find a foothold, the still-erect horses could plunge upward against the sharp grade. On the worst slopes the men were forced to beat their jaded animals into giving all they had. After several pulls, rests, and pulls, many of the horses took to spasms and near-convulsions, so exhausted were they.”
“By the time most of the outfits were across, the worst stretches could easily be identified by the dried blood and matted hair from the forelegs of the struggling teams. My father [L. H. Redd, Jr.] was a strong man, and reluctant to display emotion; but whenever in later years the full pathos of San Juan Hill was recalled either by himself or by someone else, the memory of such bitter struggles was too much for him and he wept” (in David E. Miller, Hole-in-the-Rock, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1966, pp. 138–139).
Salvation Knoll, another early landmark, was so named by George B. Hobbs when he and three others were on an advance scouting party. They were lost Christmas day in 1879. They were out of provisions and they were traveling in snow and extreme cold. Thinking they might die, Brother Hobbs decided to climb a small knoll which he named Salvation Knoll.
His journal records, “This was surely Salvation Knoll, for on looking to the northeast across a spur of the Elk Mountain I discovered the Blue Mountains, about 10 miles away” (in Hole-in-the-Rock, p. 88).
When the main body of the pioneers got passed Comb Ridge and went on a few more miles they were too tired to travel any farther.
“As they rested in exhaustion from the last intensive strain, for the first time they began to see themselves for what they were: weary, worn out, galled, both teams and men. For so long they had walked and slept and eaten and lived on sloping uneven ground that the thought of level bottom-land was extremely sweet. Yet one woman spoke for the whole group when, recalling this last phase of the journey she said later, ‘I was so tired and sore that I had no desire to be any place except where I was.’ Someone pointed out to her that Montezuma wasn’t even twenty miles away, and that some of the head wagons were already over Butler Wash and onto dirt road—even then it made no difference. When they began to sing “The Latter-day Work Roll On,’ she had to sing to keep from crying” (Charles Redd, in Hole-in-the-Rock, p. 140).

Over the years I’ve found that of everyone I need to forgive, the hardest to forgive is myself. One time I lied to my parents, and then one lie led to another until it became a giant web of lies and cover-ups. I felt guilty and generally unhappy, but I was too embarrassed to admit what I’d done. To make matters worse, instead of coming clean about my lies on my own, I got caught! It was hard to be around my parents because I knew they loved and trusted me, and I’d betrayed that trust.
Once it was all out in the open, I did feel some relief, but I just couldn’t seem to forgive myself. I was ashamed of my behavior and vowed to be honest from then on, no matter what. I didn’t want to disappoint myself or my parents anymore.
I knew my parents would be understanding and forgiving, and they were. They like to say, “Clean up the mess and let’s move forward,” which we did.
Once I set things right with my parents, I changed my habits to help me access the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ more than ever before. I fasted and prayed, particularly seeking to understand the Atonement better. I also tried to make scripture study a part of my everyday routine and to make it more meaningful. This meant making personal prayer a priority so that I was prepared to not only read the scriptures but also to understand them through the Spirit.
As I searched, I found answers and peace in the scriptures. I more fully understood that Jesus Christ atoned for my sins and that as I repented of them, He truly would “remember them no more” (D&C 58:42). Part of forgiving myself was being able to accept this great gift that Christ offered me. I realized He invites all of us to partake, but we actually have to be willing to accept it.
One day I was reading in Alma 22 where Aaron teaches the gospel to the king of the Lamanites and invites him to pray. I love what the king says when he prays: “I will give away all my sins to know thee [God]” (Alma 22:18). That phrase struck my heart with particular force at that time. As I recommitted myself to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ through repentance, I was able to forgive myself and feel peace again.
It took time, and it wasn’t easy, but by prioritizing and putting my personal prayer and scripture study first, I found comfort and felt the pure love of Christ through a greater understanding of what He did for me personally. When I realized that He loves me despite my mistakes, I felt the forgiveness He offers. I accepted His forgiveness and was able to forgive myself.

Let’s begin with becoming charitable. I will remind you of recent experiences. Many of you participated in a day of service. There were thousands of them organized across the world.
A council of your fellow Saints prayed to know what service to plan. They asked God to know whom we should serve, what service to give, and whom to invite to participate. They may even have prayed not to forget shovels or drinking water. Above all, they prayed that all who gave service and all who received it would feel the love of God.
I know those prayers were answered in at least one ward. More than 120 members volunteered to help. In three hours they transformed the grounds of a church in our community. It was hard and happy work. The ministers of the church expressed gratitude. All who worked together that day felt unity and greater love. Some even said that they felt joy as they pulled weeds and trimmed shrubbery.

Despite the work, Rebecca continued faithful and served willingly. The Prophet Joseph Smith and his family lodged in the Williamses’ home for a time when the Smiths first moved to Kirtland. Rebecca proved loyal to the Prophet and his family as she cared for them through trying times. Once a mob came and surrounded the home looking for Joseph. Rebecca disguised Joseph in her bonnet and cloak. Joseph was able to leave the house and pass through the crowd to safety.

In March of 1832, Rebecca again provided invaluable aid to the Prophet when a mob burst into the John Johnson farm in Hiram, Ohio, and brutally assaulted Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon. After beating Sidney senseless and attempting to pour poison down Joseph’s throat, the mob tarred and feathered the Prophet. When Emma Smith saw her husband, she thought the tar was blood and fainted.5 Rebecca and Frederick spent that night peeling tar from Joseph’s bleeding and torn body and caring for the Smith children. Their succor was helpful, as Joseph found the strength to preach the next morning.

After I had been in the hospital two and a half weeks, the doctors said I could leave. They suggested, however, that my family take me to a convalescent center. I was quite frightened at the thought of moving. I remember pleading with Cal to ask the Lord what we should do. I had been leaning very heavily on the Lord, and I didn’t want any decision made without consulting him. My family was there, and I had been leaning on them, but I knew that, above all, the Lord was caring for me.
On September 20, I was transferred to a care center. The medication was cut in half, so I became more aware of what was going on around me. For a week, I worked hard at building up my strength and learning how to get around with broken bones. Then I was moved to Cal’s house. I appreciated him and his wife for letting me stay with them. It felt good to be in their home. His children would come to my room after school and tell me what they had done that day. Their visits did much to ease me back into normal life.