Gospel Story Finder

I have been blessed to have a mother who has spent her life preparing to meet God. She understands the principles of creating, learning, and serving in this life. Her motto has been “Welcome the task that makes you go beyond yourself, and you will grow.” Let me tell you a few highlights from her adventure-filled life. In her youth she lived in the wild Uinta Mountains, where her father worked. She learned to cut tall trees, fish, and camp in the outdoors. During the winter she attended school in the city, played on a basketball team, and learned to play the trumpet. She went to the university and became a nurse. After she was married, she went on a mission with her husband to Brazil, where she learned to speak Portuguese. She has traveled to many countries and has taught the gospel to thousands. She studies the scriptures daily, has written several family history books, works in the temple, keeps track of 62 grandchildren, and can cook 600 doughnuts in one morning!
My mother has stayed in the Savior’s path with unshaken faith in Him (see 2 Nephi 31:19) all the days of her life. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. For her, life is so interesting, and she still has so much to learn.

But, most of all, I selected this aria because it summons up memories of the exhilarating experience I had when I first heard it as a freshman in Todd Britsch’s Humanities 101 class. It reminds me of the joy of learning.
The Joy of Learning
I’ll never forget the thrill of first hearing “In diesen heil’gen Hallen” while sitting in the Listening Lab on the fifth floor of the library. The singing enchanted me, captivated me. I listened to it over and over. As I did so, I felt an unspeakable sense of peace and joy, an intense thrill at the sheer beauty of the piece. I felt as did Emily Dickinson when she read great poetry: “I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off.”3 I knew just enough German from high school to have a sense of the lyrics, and this knowledge of a foreign language greatly increased my pleasure. But it was Mozart’s music that most transported me.
Listening to the aria prompted me to check out a recording of the whole opera, which introduced me to yet more expansive pleasures. The program notes taught me something about Mozart’s life, Freemasonry, and the Enlightenment, while the recording introduced me to yet other beautiful songs. I was charmed by the often birdlike courting duets of Papageno and Papagena. I was moved by Pamina’s immensely sad and lovely aria “Ach, ich fühl’s, es ist verschwunden” (“Ah, I feel it, it is gone”). And I was overwhelmed by the virtuosity of the Queen of the Night’s hysterical call for vengeance, which reached the highest note I’d ever heard. This was amazing stuff for me, an 18-year-old freshman who had grown up playing a lot of football and basketball and listening to rock, pop, and American musicals. The world of opera was far removed from the world I’d known. “In diesen heil’gen Hallen” entered my heart and soul like no music before. It opened up the whole opera, and thence the whole world of opera by Mozart, Verdi, Puccini, and others, about which I’m still learning.
I mention this experience from my freshmen year to remind us of the joy of discovery, of learning. Of course learning can be tedious and tough slogging too—no doubt about it. High school German was for me, certainly. But learning can also be a source of intense pleasure and exhilaration. And even tedious subjects—like German grammar for me—can ultimately enable exciting, high-order discoveries.

Scott* and Jeri* reaped the benefits of living among Saints who loved and comforted them. Scott had been excommunicated from the Church for 12 years when he and Jeri and their four children moved to another part of the country. They decided to go to church, they said, “for the sake of the kids.” Scott steadfastly maintained he would never rejoin, although he knew the Church was true.
From the moment they arrived, they were warmly welcomed. When ward members learned of Scott’s Church status, they didn’t gossip or expect him to give a long explanation of his past. No one judged him. “They liked me for who I was,” says Scott. “After that first Sunday, we never missed church again.”
About a year and a half later, Scott was rebaptized, and eventually his priesthood blessings were restored. A son and daughter born when he was not a member were sealed to Scott and Jeri in the temple. “We’ll never forget watching our two children walk into the sealing room dressed in white,” Jeri reminisces. “There must have been at least 70 members of the Church with us. Everyone there seemed to be part of our family! These people had loved us through our ups and downs and comforted us in our times of discouragement. Without our friends we wouldn’t have made it.”
Scott’s bishop at the time observes: “Knowing that a loving ward presents the best climate for individual growth and development, we worked hard as a ward at ‘having [our] hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another’ (Mosiah 18:21). As bishop, I saw the Lord direct many people like Scott to our ward because of the climate that existed there.”

Let me tell you the story of one man who sacrificed greatly to maintain his own financial integrity and honor.

In the 1930s Fred Snowberger opened the doors of a new pharmacy in northeastern Oregon. It had been his dream to own his own business, but the economic turnaround he had hoped for never materialized. Eight months later, Fred closed the doors of his pharmacy for the last time.

Even though his business had failed, Fred was determined to repay the loan he had secured. Some wondered why he insisted on repaying the debt. Why didn’t he simply declare bankruptcy and have the debt legally forgiven?

But Fred did not listen. He had said he would repay the loan, and he was determined to honor his word. His family made many of their own clothes, grew much of their food in their garden, and used everything they had until it was thoroughly worn out or used up. Rain or shine, Fred walked to and from his work each day. And every month, Fred paid what he could on the loan.

Years passed, and finally the wonderful day arrived when Fred made the last payment. He delivered it in person. The man who had loaned him the money wept, and with tears streaming down his face he said, “You not only paid back every penny, but you taught me what a man of character and honesty is.”

To this day, nearly 70 years after Fred signed his name to that note, descendants of Fred and Erma Snowberger still tell this story with pride. This act of honor and nobility has lived through the decades as a cherished example of family integrity.

When I was in the first grade, one of my classmates kept asking if she could copy off of my paper. I said, “Stop trying to copy off my paper. I am trying to work.” Later that day, I told my mom what happened. I said, “She was trying to cheat, and that is the same as lying.” During the school year, I tried to help my classmate with her work because I knew she wouldn’t learn anything by cheating. It made me feel good knowing I had done the right thing.

Lily S. of Utah, USA, had a busy ninth grade year. As a cheerleader, she participated in parades, football games, basketball games, and cheer camps and clinics. But the path to Lily’s cheerleading career was not an easy one.
As soon as Lily found out about her junior high school’s cheerleading tryouts, she knew she wanted to be a part of the team. For three weeks, Lily practiced with a former cheerleader to learn cheers and dance routines. She also spent hours making up her own cheer. After weeks of practice and a tough audition process, Lily made the team—and the Young Women Personal Progress program had helped.
Because of Personal Progress, Lily has participated in many activities where she learned to set goals and work hard to achieve them—skills that definitely helped her reach her cheerleading goals.

When Jim returned from his mission, I was privileged to join his family at the airport to welcome him. As I drove to the airport, I reviewed our friendship and Jim’s growth and maturation. I speculated about his appearance and his demeanor.
He was the last person to emerge from the jetway, which caused extra anxiety for his waiting family. Finally, he appeared—taller than I remembered, and thinner. His naturally curly hair was darker and was cut so short that there was no curl. He wore the missionary uniform: dark suit, white shirt, dark tie, black “mailman” shoes. The suit was very worn and looked like it could stand on its own and still hold the shape of Jim’s body. He was bent a little from the weight of his carry-on luggage.
When he saw us, he smiled a little, then dropped his head as he walked the last few feet of the walkway. When he raised his head again, his eyes were red and he was weeping. He dropped his bags and embraced his mother in a tight hug and cried openly as he kissed her, then held her in his arms for a full minute more. He released her to repeat this exchange with his brother, sister, and his father.
It is a rare privilege to observe such an exchange of pure love among people. I thought, this is how it must be to return to our heavenly parents after completing our earthly missions. What a sweet experience to return, knowing you’ve served faithfully.
Jim then turned to me, and without hesitation, embraced me in a bear hug. As we parted, we both wiped tears from our eyes. And he said, “Thanks for being here.”
I spent another two hours with Jim that morning before we had to head in different directions. During that time, I watched him start a conversation with the man next to him while waiting for his luggage. Within 15 minutes, he had given the man a Book of Mormon and a pamphlet and had parted as a friend. I saw him spend a few private tender moments with his younger brother and sister as he sensed their need and focused on them individually. He gave half of his lunch to his little brother, when the ten-year-old complained of being hungry still.
Jim related a few mission experiences: of singing a duet in church with his companion, of a Sunday when he had 17 investigators at church on the same day, and of the mission farewell the night before. He had been amazed that so many of the missionaries had wanted to gather to say good-bye to him. Jim wept again as he expressed his concern for a companion who had recently lost his dad to a sudden, unexpected death. Here was compassion, love, humility, confidence, and power. Sitting before me, in his grayed shirt, wrinkled tie, and well-worn coat, was someone who had been seemingly magically transformed. His smile was the only trace of the shy, quiet boy who hesitated to pray in front of someone.

I was called to Central America. After several months in the mission field, I realized what a blessing had come to me in that call. While I was helping to find people who loved the Lord, I was also walking in places where much of the Book of Mormon may have happened. This was a second witness to the testimony of my grandfather, who had learned to love the Book of Mormon the first time he got his hands on one in the 1920s. His father was a salesman and trader who traveled widely in Mexico. My great-grandfather had told his children stories of ruined cities and highways in the jungle, and my grandfather had always wanted to know who the people were who built them.

Since my mission, I have had the opportunity to visit many of those ruined cities in Mexico and Central America. I have read what experts say about those places and about the history and greatness of their people. I am very grateful for the added knowledge I have received.

But I have never been more sure of the Book of Mormon than I was that day when I asked the Lord if it was true and He answered me just as Moroni promised. I only wish I had asked sooner. My Heavenly Father wanted me to know the truth for myself all along, and I might have been able to share it with my friend.

Are you in the right place, or have you pegged yourself? One young girl was getting into her mid-twenties and without opportunity. I urged her to move from the home that she shared with several older girls, leave the office as stenographer, and go to college where she would meet people of the right age. Sometime later I happened one day to be on that campus, and here she came to me, bubbling like a fresh new breeze, with a bright ribbon tying her hair and an optimistic and happy personality. A few months later I was invited to a temple marriage. It may not always work that well, but it did in this case.

Some time ago, Sister Haycock and I accompanied President and Sister Kimball, President and Sister Tanner, and others on a visit to the Holy Land for the dedication of the Orson Hyde Memorial Gardens. While there, we visited a number of places held sacred in the memory of Christians, and particularly Latter-day Saints, because we were walking where Jesus walked.
We visited the Garden Tomb, and after sitting with President and Sister Kimball inside the tomb, we came out into the sunshine and beauty of the garden. The cameramen who recorded the trip were anxious to get pictures of President Kimball walking in the garden, but I was concerned because the path was paved with flagstones, making it rough and uneven underfoot. I cautioned President Kimball to be careful and not fall. He responded quietly and with dignity: “Don’t worry, Arthur. I am used to walking on holy ground.”
We then visited the Garden of Gethsemane. We saw the small but beautiful garden with its ancient olive trees that many believe were there when Christ knelt and prayed to his Father just before his betrayal. Again a film crew wanted to record the event for history. Our Israeli guides went to the priests in charge and asked permission for President Kimball’s party to enter the part of the garden that was fenced off. Permission to enter for five minutes would be given, the priests said, upon the payment of 5,000 Israeli pounds per person. For President and Sister Kimball and one photographer, that would be 15,000 pounds, or 450 U.S. dollars, for 5 minutes. The Israeli guides shook their heads, and one of them said, “No, this is a holy man. He came here to worship, not to pay tribute.”
In addition to all his many other virtues, President Kimball has a wonderful sense of humor. While traveling in Europe a couple of years ago, it became necessary to stay over for a full week before going to Poland to finalize arrangements for official recognition of the Church in that land. I thought perhaps we could use the time to climb the Matterhorn, visit the fjords of Norway, or explore beautiful England by taking a boat trip on the Thames River, but instead, President Kimball said he wanted to visit the missions in Italy, Austria, and Germany. He left it up to one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve and myself to arrange the itinerary. We arranged special meetings each night in a different city or country.
As soon as we arrived in the first mission, President Kimball asked when the missionary meeting was to be held. I told him that we hadn’t planned any missionary meetings because all of the missionaries would be attending the general meeting that night. He said he still wanted a special missionary meeting. I told him the reason we didn’t plan a separate meeting with the missionaries was because of the time and energy required. He replied, “I know what you are trying to do. You are trying to save me, but I don’t want to be saved. I just want to be exalted!” I then went to the phone and arranged meetings all over Europe for the balance of our trip.
One day recently, about noon, I was urging President Kimball to have some lunch and then take a nap. He resisted, and I indicated that if he didn’t do as I suggested, Sister Kimball might scold me. He looked up at me and with a chuckle and a sly grin said, “Well I’d rather have her scold you than me!”
One evening President Kimball stayed late at the office, and so I continued working at my desk. It turned out that he was going to a dinner at the Lion House at 6:30 and was waiting for Sister Kimball to come and meet him so they could go to the dinner together. About 5:30, he urged me to go home, but I told him that I would stay as long as he did. He insisted, so I said, “I am torn between doing my duty to stay close to you and doing what you ask me to do.” He looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “They both ought to be the same, hadn’t they?”
I was with President Kimball when I saw the mantle of presidency fall upon him the day after Christmas 1973. I had taken President Harold B. Lee to the hospital in Salt Lake the afternoon of December 26 because he was tired and the doctor thought he ought to get a rest and have a checkup. His family had gone home for a brief period, and I was alone with him in the room when he began to have difficulties. Within seconds I called a nurse and then a doctor, and immediately the alarm was sounded—“cardiac arrest.”
A team of doctors and nurses with sophisticated equipment began an heroic hour-long struggle in an effort to save his life. As I watched, I became convinced that unless the Lord did indeed work a miracle, President Lee could not live. I at once called President Romney and then reached President Tanner in Phoenix and got in touch with President Lee’s wife and family. Again convinced that unless the Lord took a hand there would be a change in the leadership of the Church, I felt that the next President of the Church should be present.
I immediately went to the phone and called President Kimball, and when he heard my voice, he responded in his usual cheerful manner, “Well, Arthur, how are you tonight?” I said, “Not very well. I am at the hospital with President Lee, and he is very ill. I think you should come at once.” He said, “I’ll be right there,” and I hung up. As I did so, I was conscious of the fact that I had not even told President Kimball which hospital we were at. Nevertheless, he was the first to arrive. Then President Romney came, and then President Lee’s wife and family.
It was on this sad occasion that I learned a great and fundamental lesson in priesthood and Church government. As you know, President Romney was a member of the First Presidency, while President Kimball was the President of the Quorum of the Twelve. As soon as President Romney arrived, President Kimball turned to him and said, “President Romney, what would you like me to do?” At the moment there seemed little that any of us could do, except pray and wait. A short time later, the doctor came and gave us the awful news that President Lee was dead. Quietly, President Romney, knowing that the First Presidency was now dissolved at that precise moment and that the mantle had fallen upon President Kimball, turned to him and said, “President Kimball, what would you like me to do?”
In a recent conference President Kimball said: “We believe that we have in this Church the answers to all questions, for the Lord is the head of the Church, and He has given us the program. Our message is what it has always been, and our hope is that our people will live the commandments of the Lord. They have been revealed in the holy scriptures and by living prophets throughout many years.”
No, President Kimball is not an ordinary man. He is a Prophet of the Lord.

We sometimes find ourselves in a situation where we have to take charge and move, or nothing gets done. When I arrived at my mission in Tonga some thirty years ago, the mission president said, “I’ve got just the place for you. It’s a small island several hundred kilometers from here. It is nearly twelve kilometers around with about 700 people on it. No one speaks your language. I want you to go there and not come back until you know the missionary discussions and know how to speak Tongan.”

Well, I went; and to put it mildly, there were lots of problems. At one time we came close to literally starving to death because a hurricane wrecked the supply boat. But my companion and I kept moving.

Sometimes we made mistakes. However, whenever there was the possibility of our doing something seriously wrong, the Lord let us know and we did not do it. I assure you that if you are striving to do right, the Lord will let you know if you are starting to do something wrong. So listen! I am sure there was even more good we could have done, but at least we never stopped. We kept going. We did something; and that’s important.

When I left that little island after thirteen months, I had learned the Tongan language, and I had learned quite a lot about life. But most important, I came away knowing that God lives and that he had all knowledge and all power and that he was literally the Father of our spirits. I knew that he loved each of us personally and individually.

I knew that Jesus Christ was his Son, our Savior and Redeemer, a real person, a true friend, one who gave his life for us. I knew that because of the Savior, we can look forward to a glorious resurrection, and an eventual opportunity to stand in the presence of our Father in Heaven cleansed and pure.

I knew that God had a mission for me. I didn’t know exactly what it was in every detail, but I knew where to start. I knew I had to live closer to him. I knew I had to do better. I knew the path to take. I knew I could trust him. I knew that he would let me know what else I could do to fulfill my life’s mission. I have not been disappointed, and neither will you be.

In 1816 the family moved again, this time to Palmyra, New York. Joseph’s father had gone ahead to find a place for them to live. When Lucy Mack Smith and the eight children went to join him, a man named Caleb Howard was hired to drive the wagon with their things. Ten-year-old Joseph had not fully recovered from his leg operation yet, making it painful for him to walk. Nevertheless, Mr. Howard made him walk miles at a time.

At Utica, New York, still many miles from Palmyra, Mr. Howard unloaded the Smith’s household goods and was about to leave with the wagon and horses. Joseph’s mother demanded that he leave them, then reloaded the wagon and drove the rest of the way herself.

A Broadway star had a colorful way of expressing his opinion about the place of pride in his work. He had been hired to be the lead in a production of Fiddler on the Roof with a cast of college students. I was asked to give a prayer with the cast on opening night. The Broadway veteran, who had played the part hundreds of times, stood at the back of a ring of students gathered around me just before the curtain was to go up. He looked puzzled.

As I recall now, I prayed about the way you might have done. I pleaded with God that the members of the cast would be lifted above their natural abilities, that the stage equipment would function well, that the hearts of the audience would be softened, and that they would be touched. I can’t remember much else of the prayer, but I can remember what happened just after I said “Amen.”

The Broadway star jumped into the air, landed on the stage with the sound of an explosion coming from his heavy boots, slapped his hands to his sides, and then thrust them into the air and shouted, “Okay, now let’s go for it!” If the audience heard his bellow, and I can’t imagine that they didn’t, they must have expected the cast to come charging through the curtain out into the audience bent on some kind of mayhem.

I can only assume that he was determined to counteract the terrible mistake he had just witnessed. The last thing on earth he wanted was to go on a stage with a bunch of amateur actors who had been infected with humility.

Gift of baptism. My companion and I had been teaching a 14-year-old girl named Martha, and she was nearly ready for baptism and confirmation. We had a few more lessons to teach, and she needed to stop working on Sundays so she could come to church. She loved what she was learning and believed it, but she worked for her aunt and was too young to get any other job. Martha struggled with the decision, so we taught her the blessings of the Sabbath day and encouraged her to pray.
Christmas Eve was a rainy day, and when it was almost time to go home, we felt we should stop by and say hello to Martha. Almost before we knocked on the door, she came running out and hugged us, jumping up and down with enthusiasm. She said, “I don’t have to work on Sundays anymore! I’m coming to church! I’m going to get baptized!” Even the rain seemed wonderful after that. Christmas Eve seemed like the perfect time to see someone make the decision to devote her life to Christ. We were two of the happiest missionaries you’ve ever seen.Erin B., Utah, USA

Angelo Scarpulla started his theological studies in his native Italy when he was 10. He eventually became a priest and served his church with devotion. At a certain point his faith started to waver, and he sought and received opportunities for further study. The more he studied, however, the more concerned he became. What he read and felt convinced him that there had been a general apostasy from the true doctrine taught by Jesus and the early Apostles. Angelo searched for God’s true religion in various faiths but was left unsatisfied for many years.
One day he encountered two members of the Church who were helping the missionaries find more people to teach. He felt drawn to them and joyfully listened to their message. Angelo willingly accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
That evening he started reading the book. He felt overcome with joy. Through the Spirit, God gave Angelo an inner assurance that in the Book of Mormon he would find the truth for which he had been seeking for many years. Sweet feelings flooded through him. What he read and what he learned from the missionaries confirmed his conclusion that there had been a general apostasy, but he also learned that God’s true Church had been restored to the earth. A short while later, Angelo was baptized into the Church. When I first met him, he was the president of the Rimini Branch of our Church in Italy.

My great-great-grandmother Eliza Cusworth was born in England in 1824 and married Joseph Burton in 1846. They lived happily for a few years and had two children, Joseph and Martha. In 1849 two LDS missionaries came to the area, and both Eliza and Joseph listened to them, gained testimonies of the gospel, and were baptized. The counsel of the prophet at that time was for the Saints to migrate to Utah. Joseph and Eliza started saving so that they could make the journey.

Joseph was employed as a carrier delivering goods from the depot to various stores. While lifting at work he broke a blood vessel, which resulted in his death a short time later. His dying request to Eliza was for her to migrate to Utah so she could do their temple work and raise their children among the Saints in Zion. Eliza promised him she would do this.

Understandably, both Eliza’s and Joseph’s families discouraged her from making what they said was “a foolish journey.” Eliza’s mother said that if Eliza would stay with them, they would take care of her and her children, and she would want for nothing. Joseph’s family offered to give her any amount of money if she would stay in England. It was a difficult decision for Eliza. However, she had made a promise to her dying husband, and she knew the gospel was true, so she chose to go.

In the spring of 1856, at age 32, Eliza packed her trunks and embarked on the 6,000-mile journey with Joseph and Martha, her two children. They went by train to Liverpool, England, and boarded the shipHorizon on May 25, 1856. During the voyage Eliza suffered from severe seasickness. It got so bad that for about 10 days she was unable even to care for her children. The Horizon landed in Boston on June 30, 1856, and then Eliza and her children traveled by boat and train to Iowa City, Iowa, where the railway ended. She had planned to join a wagon train at Iowa City; however, upon arrival she discovered that they were too late—the last of the wagon trains had already gone. She had no choice but to wait for handcarts to be made. When the handcarts were ready, the travelers were told they would have to leave most of their belongings behind, as they could bring only necessities on the handcarts. Eliza’s trunks contained many of her valuable possessions—silverware, linen, bedsheets, and clothing. Most of it had to be left behind.

Eliza joined the Martin Handcart Company, which left Iowa City on July 30, 1856, for the 1,300-mile trek to Salt Lake City. She pulled the handcart, little seven-year-old Joseph walked and helped her pull the cart part of the time, and four-year-old Martha rode in the handcart. During the first part of the journey everyone got along quite well. At night many would gather around the campfires after supper and sing songs such as “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” However, travel was slower than expected because they had to stop frequently to repair the hurriedly made handcarts.

The days wore on, and the members of the company tried to encourage one another. Often the only fuel available was buffalo chips with which they made fires to do their cooking and dry their clothing. After a while their food began to run low. Sometimes the men were able to kill buffalo, but after the company’s store of salt gave out, the meat often made them sick. Toward the latter part of their journey, the food was almost gone, and rations were reduced to one-fourth pound of flour per person per day. The season was getting late and the nights were cold—their clothing was thin, and they had little bedding. In their weakened condition, many became discouraged and wondered if they would ever reach the Salt Lake Valley.

When the company reached Devil’s Gate, they ran out of food entirely. At some ranchers’ cabins they tried to buy food, but the ranchers could sell them only some pelts of deer and mountain sheep that were dry and old. After soaking them and scraping off the hair, they cooked them into a soup that was thickened with their last remaining flour. Eating this helped relieve their hunger for a time.

Eliza waded across the Sweetwater River three times in one evening. First, she took little Joseph across on her back. When she reached the other side, Joseph was so frightened that he wouldn’t stay by himself and tried to follow her back. Eliza had to tie him to a nearby tree while she went back to get Martha. Then she had to go back a third time to get her handcart. She spent part of the night in freezing weather drying her clothes over the fire.

An early winter storm struck as the group was plodding its way along the Sweetwater River about 50 miles north of what is now Rawlins, Wyoming. The company waded through an icy stream and sought shelter in a nearby cove. Using frying pans and tin plates, they cleared the snow away as best they could and pitched their tents beside a tiny spring. As the desperate Saints huddled together in the cove, everyone hoped and prayed that they could survive until help arrived.

Brigham Young heard that the handcart company was marooned in the snow and sent rescuers with teams and food to assist them. More than one-fourth of the 500 members of the Martin Handcart Company perished, and many more would have died had Brigham Young not sent the rescuers. Eliza and her two children suffered greatly, but somehow they made it, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on November 30, 1856.

When Eliza reached the Salt Lake Valley, she inquired about William Cusworth, a cousin who had gone to Utah earlier in the season in a wagon train and with whom she intended to make her home for a while. She learned that he had become discouraged and had taken his family back to Iowa. She and her children were taken to the home of Isaac Leney, where they received care for a few weeks. Little Joseph lost two of his toes because his feet had been frozen.

They eventually settled in Pleasant Grove, where Eliza met and married Nathan Staker, a widower with several children. Eliza and Nathan moved to Mount Pleasant, where they helped pioneer Sanpete County. In addition to Joseph and Martha, Eliza had four children with Nathan Staker: three daughters and one son. Eliza raised her children and was a faithful Latter-day Saint all of her life, dying at age 90.

By any objective standard it was foolish for her, a single mother with two young children, to attempt the 6,000-mile journey by boat, train, and handcart. Why did she do it? Because she wanted to keep a promise she had made to her husband. As I look back on her decision 153 years later, I believe she did the right thing. She was able to make it safely, have her and Joseph’s temple work done, and raise their children in Zion. Because she was true to the promises she made to her husband and to God, I and her other descendants have been blessed beyond measure. I am confident that she and her husband Joseph are now together. I bless her name and am proud to call her my great-great-grandmother. One day when I meet her, I will embrace her and thank her for having the courage and humility to keep a promise to her husband and to follow the counsel of a prophet.

To illustrate my point, I would like to go back in thought to my native Holland where six generations of my father’s ancestors lived in the little village of Scheveningen at the seashore. They were fishermen or had other related vocations, like fishing-boat builders, sailmakers, or fishing-net repairmen. Many of them were also involved in the voluntary but hazardous task of lifesaving. They were stouthearted, experienced men who always were ready to man the rowing lifeboats to go on a rescue mission. With every westerly gale that blew, some fishing boats ran into difficulties, and many times the sailors had to cling to the rigging of their stricken ships in a desperate fight to escape inevitable drowning. Year after year the sea claimed its victims.

On one occasion during a severe storm, a ship was in distress, and a rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.

The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.

So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.

When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!”

But Hans said, “Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.” And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?”

And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!”

This story happened in the USA.
You broke my truck!
Well, you started it!
Grant broke my truck!
Joey stole my football!
It sounds like you’re both having a problem sharing. Do you want me to solve the problem, or do you want to solve it yourselves?
Joey, wait. Remember what happened last time Dad solved our problem? We couldn’t do anything fun for a whole week.
Fine. We can try to solve it.
Great. I want you to politely talk things over and come up with some ideas for how you can get along better.
I’m sorry I took your football. I just wanted to look at it. I should have asked you first.
I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I’m really sorry I broke your truck. I know it’s your favorite.
Were you able to solve your problem?
I think so.
I’m going to ask for permission before taking things.
And I’m going to buy Joey a new truck. I’m going to be nicer too.
I’m proud of you both for being peacemakers.

In closing, I want to share an experience that Wid Tolman, who offered our opening prayer this morning, shared with me. Brother Tolman is a good friend and for many years has taken youth, members and nonmembers, into the mountains for special experiences. I have been with him on some of these trips and know they are unique. He shared with me an experience he had last summer. He was with such a group. They had had several days of hard hiking; they had gone without meals. On the third day, after the youth had been by themselves for about two hours, they came together to share testimonies and other things of importance. They were in a beautiful spot in the mountains, a place where I had been. There were tall pine trees and green grass, with a slight knoll surrounding the area where they sat.

Brother Tolman shared with me that this group of youth had become very close on this trip. They expressed concern about each other; they shared with others; there was a unity among that group that frequently isn’t found among young people of 12 to 16 years of age. During this period of sharing, Brother Tolman happened to glance up and see a deer put her head over the top of the knoll, sample the air, and look at what was happening below. Then she backed down and was invisible. Brother Tolman kept watching that knoll. The deer would move about 15 feet, come up over the top and look around. She kept doing that until she came all the way around, back to where she had started. Then the deer walked slowly down the hill and moved in among the youth. Nobody moved, nobody yelled, “Hey, there’s a deer!” to frighten her; they simply went on with their sharing. The deer lingered with them for a period of time, and some of the youth asked if this might be what we mean as we sing of the day when “the lamb and the lion shall lie down together.” Eventually, the deer wandered back over the knoll and left the group. There was, in that group, no contention. They were of one heart and one mind, and perhaps in some lesser sense they were at that moment dwelling in righteousness as did the people of Enoch. They were united by a bond of perfectness and peace. As Brother Tolman related that to me, we both mused on whether or not the deer had, in fact, sensed that all was safe, that there was nothing to be afraid of, because you will remember in 1 John we are told that “perfect love casteth out fear” (1 John 4:18).

Over the 2020 Christmas period I was given an opportunity to participate, as a service missionary, in Cardiff Stake’s ‘Help for Refugees’ projects.
Necessities were packed and prepared for approximately 150 refugees at the local centre. When delivering the packages, it was very heartwarming to see the reactions of those involved, as to what was being delivered to the centre and the sheer amount. There was even a box of cuddly bears for children.
I am grateful to have had the opportunity to work alongside so many caring and compassionate people. It was a joy, that couldn’t be found anywhere else, such as when young men are so happy to see nappies for their children, and to hear their expressions of thanks.