Gospel Story Finder

My family’s story does not end with my brothers’ deaths. The doctor who tried so desperately to save Steven’s life had been separated from his own sons through a terrible divorce. When he told my mother that Steven had died, my mother told him, “The Lord will allow us to see him again. I am so grateful that we have an eternal family so we can all be together again.”
The doctor was so impressed by my mother’s faith that he investigated the Church and was baptized and later sealed in the temple to his new wife.

The story is told that in ancient Rome a group of women were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another. Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys. One of the women said to her, “And where are your jewels?” to which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, “These are my jewels.” Under her tutelage, and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus—the Gracchi, as they were called—two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history. For as long as they are remembered and spoken of, the mother who reared them after the manner of her own life will be remembered and spoken of with praise also.

When attending the stake conference of the Winter Haven Florida Stake (now Lakeland Florida Stake) we were invited to stay at the home of Brother and Sister Nolan. After the Saturday evening session we visited for awhile before retiring for the night I asked the Nolan's to tell us about their conversion which had occurred almost 20 years before. They both smiled then Sister Nolan started telling us about their eventual baptism. Her story went somewhat like this: "We had been married just a short time and one evening were having a big fight" Brother Nolan interrupted his wife by saying, "Now dear, we were not fighting, just having an argument" Sister Nolan continued, Well anyway, we were really upset with each other and in the midst of the argument the doorbell rang. I answered the doorbell and there were two Mormon Elders at the door. I called to my husband that two Mormon missionaries wanted to visit with us. His response was 'send them away!' I was so mad at him that I invited them in!" Brother Nolan continued, "As those missionaries came into the room, the ill feelings we had for each other just disappeared. We both knew that there was something special about these young men and the message they left with us."
At the time of our visit, Brother Nolan was serving as a counselor in the stake presidency and their son had submitted his papers to serve as a missionary.

When I was about 16, we had an activity about being a full-time missionary. We divided into pairs and lived like missionaries for a week. That was the first time I learned how important it is to share our testimonies with others. This activity helped me realize not only how hard it is to serve the Lord, but also the joy we feel by sharing the gospel and seeing how Christ’s teachings change someone’s life. It helped me understand what it is like to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

Beth, Blondie, Freckles, Beauty, and Dolly went on a backpacking trip. But on their backs they carried Amy, Linda, Jennifer, Heidi, and Cherish.
Beth, Blondie, and crew are the four-legged, half-ton-with-mane-and-tail variety of backpackers; but even though they see the trail from a slightly different angle than their human cargo, they know the mountain trails as well as anyone. They know how to pick their way down a rocky trail because they hate to slip on the loose rocks. They remember the spots where they have stopped to camp for the night. They know how to work a little slack into the reins so they have a chance for a quick bite of succulent mountain grass. They know how good it feels to roll in the dust after their humans have removed the saddles and saddlebags. Even though they enjoy getting out on the mountain trails, they are only horses, more intent on their next mouthful of grass than the beauty of a panorama of rugged mountains, blue sky, and snow-fed lakes. Those beauties are left for their riders to enjoy.
And the beauties of the Tetons, a range of mountains slicing the border between Wyoming and Idaho, were not lost on the girls from the Idaho Falls Idaho East Stake. They chose to spend three days on horseback as their Summiteer trip. The Summiteer program is the adventure-laden fifth year of the Young Women camp certification program. Girls are encouraged to plan and carry out an activity themselves, using the things they have learned about organizing and camping during their four years of the Campcrafter program.
It was a gorgeous morning in August when the girls met to carpool to the mountains. In reviewing how the activity got started, Susan Butikofer, Summiteer leader for the stake, said that the girls wanted to go horseback riding or winter camping, both ambitious undertakings. She said the girls got together to make their decision. “I backed clear off,” said Susan. “If these girls are here after four years of Campcrafters, they want to be here. The leaders aren’t pulling them along anymore. At this age, these girls have so many things keeping them busy, they have to have a real desire, and some have made a real sacrifice to pursue their Summiteer.”
It took extra effort to arrange for the trip. Every girl who participated in the horseback Summiteer trip was working a summer job and had to arrange to take the time off without pay. Also they were inventive about the ways they came up with the fee to pay for the rental horses. One girl gathered earthworms to sell to a fisherman’s bait shop to earn the fee.
The first morning of the trip was spent saddling the horses and consolidating equipment into small bundles to be packed on the mules. Then everyone was assigned a mount. For the inexperienced, coming eye to eye with the animal she would be responsible to saddle, curry, hobble, and keep under control for the next three days was a daunting moment. But the horses knew what they were doing even if the girls didn’t and put up with the fumbling fingers, the jerking reins, and the indecisive directions given by their riders. The horses fell into line behind the lead horse regardless of the directions given by their riders as they headed up the trail. The girls were soon to learn who really was in charge on this trip and that they were just along for the ride.
It was a glorious summer day. The air at that mountain altitude was crystal clear. The sky was such an intense blue that it was a subject of debate whether it was closer to the color of robins’ eggs or more like a tropical sea. The meadows were alive with wild flowers, every color and kind—columbines, Indian paint brush, bluebells, purple lupine, buttercups. Although the valley was in the heat of summer, here in the mountains, it was spring. It was soon obvious that the horses needed little direction while on the trail. This made it easy for the girls to absorb the scenery with names as colorful as the places themselves—up Fox Creek, past Death Canyon, along the Teton Shelf, down the Sheep Steps, into Alaska Basin, and on the Skyline Trail.
As the trail climbed, the trees began to thin out. Tall stands of pine were separated by stretches of rocky meadows. Water seemed to gush from every crevice, and clear, cold streams joined together to form high-running creeks. With the sun, the flowers, the water, the scenery, and the good company, it was nearly as perfect a day in the mountains as it could be.
But there were saddle sores in paradise. At the end of the day’s ride, when at last the camp spot for the evening was selected, there were some mighty groans, some bent backs, and some crooked legs as the girls dismounted. But no matter how tired the girls were, the first concern was to take care of the horses. Saddles were removed, bridles carefully coiled, and hobbles attached. “Come on, come on, just move your other hoof over here.” Linda Garner, of the Idaho Falls 38th Ward, was talking out loud as she struggled to get her horse to put his front legs close enough together to fasten the hobbles, a small girl trying to coerce a large animal into cooperating.
After setting up camp and getting dinner started, it was time for a treat. Custom-made snow cones were just the thing to cool down and quench thirst. The crushed ice was gathered from the remnants of a nearby snowfield. Punch mix was prepared at double strength and poured over the snow. No machine could chop the ice more perfectly than nature had already done.
That evening a full moon rose over the mountains like a spotlight. It was so bright that the girls didn’t need flashlights to find their way around camp.
By the second day, the girls were old hands at preparing their horses for the day’s ride. Jennifer Goodell of the Idaho Falls 38th Ward saddled her horse and wandered up the hill from camp and sat down to watch the early-morning light play among the peaks. It was a time for a moment’s introspection as she absorbed the beauty of nature and the feeling of oneness with our Creator.
The second day offered some unexpected challenges. The group had to negotiate a section of steep loose shale, and there were mushy snowbanks that would be too dangerous to ride across. The girls walked down the trail, leading their horses across the snowbanks, staying uphill in case their horses started to slide. Everyone was careful and made it across safely.
By now, some of the inexperienced riders were feeling more comfortable on horseback. Cherish Haroldsen of the Idaho Falls 41st Ward had never been on a horse until this trip. She was given a gentle horse, and she soon got into the rhythm of trail riding. She just tied her reins to the saddle horn and let her horse find his own way. “I figure the horse knew where to put his feet better than I did,” Cherish said. “As long as another horse is in front of him, he does real good. But just try to make him do something the others aren’t doing. He’s like a teenager. He follows peer pressure.”
The group entered a beautiful basin where snow-fed lakes connected by small waterfalls descended like huge stairsteps. The trail faded and disappeared altogether as it led across flat, slick rock. By this time, the girls were gaining confidence and, instead of following the lead horse, they spread out in groups of twos or threes, picking their own ways across the rock. But they soon found that taking off on their own didn’t always work well. What looked like a good way to go often led to the edge of cliffs or into an impossible thicket of trees that forced them to turn back and retrace their routes.
A forest ranger had gone over the trail before and had marked the best way across the slick rock with small pyramids of stone. These markers, or cairns as they are called, were easy to spot and if followed led safely across the section where the trail was obliterated. The girls found they could not rely on their own instincts or observations to select a good path. They found they had to trust the one who had gone on before to show them the best way. The girls started talking about following the cairns. “This is like our leaders giving us lessons about how to live our lives,” said one. “Yes,” said another catching on to the symbolism, “it’s like learning to follow the prophet. By listening to him, we can follow the right trail even when we can’t see where it leads.”
On the final day, the girls were busy packing the mules and saddling their horses. Heidi Hicks, of the Coltman Second Ward, settled into the saddle and said, “It doesn’t hurt as bad this morning.” Indeed, the girls were becoming toughened to riding, but it was time to head home.
The downward trail was rough. It was very steep, eroded in spots, and had plenty of rocks to trip up even the most surefooted horse. But things went well. When a horse slipped, its rider hung on or slipped a foot out of the downhill stirrup in case a hasty dismount was called for. Horses and girls came through like troopers. Heidi summed up the feelings of many when she said, “If we had done that the first day, we would have been in tears.”
At the end of the trail, the horses were anxious to get back to the corral, and the girls were again thinking about the activities awaiting them in the valley. But the impact of the trip was not overlooked.
As one leader said at the last night’s campfire, “Many of you will be taken to faraway places to serve in the Lord’s kingdom. You’ll always remember these beautiful mountains and your home nearby. Bathe in the beauty, and pay attention to it.”
The Summiteer program is designed to allow girls to use what they have learned in Campcrafters in planning and carrying out their own activities. It is easy to draw parallels to life. Girls are taught correct principles about outdoor life and about living the gospel. They find that in both, if they follow the markers, the cairns along the trails, set out by wise leaders who have led the way, they can find the correct paths.

I was born in England in 1942 into a loving family of mother, father, and sister. When I was seven, we were blessed with another addition to our family—a baby boy. My mother loved the Savior but was not a member of any particular church. She would attend the nearest church and encourage my sister and me to attend with her. Consequently, I learned a great deal about Jesus Christ and hoped to find a church to strengthen my faith in Him.
One day there came into our house a large picture book called Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Annual. I do not know where it came from. At the time I thought that perhaps one of my friends had brought it over and forgotten to take it home. It had picture stories of Buffalo Bill and Billy the Kid, just the kind of information that was important to a boy who wanted to be a cowboy. It also told the story in pictures of a persecuted people who were expelled from a beautiful city by a lawless mob and forced to trek hundreds of miles and endure endless torment before they established a new home in a western wilderness. Each little picture told a dramatic story of suffering and faith, and the story included a few pictures of a miracle involving crickets eating crops and seagulls eating crickets.
I read the story several times before I realized that the poor, persecuted people were members of a church. Then it slowly dawned on me that this church was the one that I was looking for. I wanted to join that church. Unfortunately, I was presented with a problem. The last picture in the story described Salt Lake City, Utah. From another source I was able to learn that Utah was in the United States of America. Since I had no hope of traveling from England to Utah, I would have to give up my plan of joining the Church. It never occurred to me that the Church might be located anywhere other than the United States.

Susan wandered into the kitchen, where Mother was busy fixing dinner.
“Would you go get the baby for me, please?” asked Mother. “He just woke up, and this afternoon’s fun has put me way behind in everything.”
Susan’s younger brother Mark had spent a lot of time during the week sanding and painting his car for his first Pinewood Derby race. The derby had lasted longer than expected, so the baby had been taking a late nap while Mother tried to get supper ready.
Susan brought little Jonathan into the kitchen, pulled out a chair from the table, and held the baby on her lap. She sat there so quietly that her mother looked over at her and asked, “Why so sad?”
Susan was staring at Mark’s trophy on the kitchen counter. Mark hadn’t had a very fast car, but it had won the prize for “best looking car.”
“I’ll never get a trophy,” Susan said, sounding very discouraged. “When I went to Lynn’s birthday party last week, I saw her trophies for baton twirling. Claudia has a trophy from her dancing class, and when we visited Grandma last summer, I saw all of Uncle Robert’s racquetball trophies. The only thing that I’m in is the stamp club, and nobody gives trophies for that!”
“You know what?” Mother asked slowly. “I think that you already have some trophies.”
“I do?” Susan thought for a minute. “No, I don’t. Not even one.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about that kind of trophy.” Mother flicked her hand at the trophy sitting on the counter as if that kind of trophy wasn’t special at all. “The kind of trophy that I’m talking about is an invisible one.”
Susan looked puzzled. “An invisible trophy?”
“Well, right now you’re tending your baby brother, and he’s learning to love you, just the way Mark and your little sister do. Remember how you played house with Beth yesterday after school, even though you had other things that you wanted to do? Love is a wonderful kind of trophy, but it’s not the kind that you can see on a shelf.”
Susan looked doubtful as she gave baby Jonathan a squeeze.
Mother smiled and said, “I know of another trophy that you’ve earned. You practice the piano before school every morning, and I never have to remind you. Nobody hands out trophies for practicing without being nagged, but learning to do things on your own is an invisible trophy that will last forever.”
“What good is a trophy,” Susan wanted to know, “if nobody can see it?”
“Remember last fall,” her mother answered, “when a new girl came into your class and some of the kids weren’t very nice to her? You were the first one to be her friend and make her feel wanted. You certainly deserve a trophy for that, but friendship is its own reward, and a plaque on the wall announcing the fact would only spoil it.”
Susan was quiet as Mother put the meat loaf into the oven, but as she looked one more time at the Pinewood Derby trophy on the counter, she said wistfully, “I still think it would be fun to have a trophy to put on my bedroom shelf.”
“Oh, you still have plenty of life ahead of you to collect some of those,” Mother told her. “Just remember that you will probably never get one for the things that really count.”
“Why doesn’t anybody give out trophies like that?” Susan asked.
“I guess that the things that matter most are hard to measure. But when you do good things, you feel good, and that’s better than a whole roomful of this kind of trophy.” Mother kissed Susan on the forehead as she picked up the baby from her lap. “Besides,” she continued, “Heavenly Father can see the real you inside, and He knows that you’re worth a lot! Now, want to help me change a wet baby?”
“Sure thing.” Susan jumped up and followed her mother out of the kitchen without a backward glance at the brown and gold trophy on the counter.

“You know, this reminds me of something that happened to me about a year ago in the Netherlands.”
Great. An inspiring missionary story. I sighed and settled against my pillows to listen, resolving that nothing he could say would make me change my mind.
“One afternoon, my companion noticed we’d run out of milk, and since we had a really busy day ahead of us, we decided to pick some up at a small store on our way home from our last teaching appointment. We’d been walking everywhere all day long, and we were pretty tired by the time we bought the milk. The girl at the register rushed us through her line without really looking at us, and it wasn’t until we made it back to our apartment that I noticed we had more money than before we’d bought the milk.”
I lifted my eyebrows at him. “Really? How so?”
“Money in the Netherlands is called guilders. A five-guilder piece is about the same size as a 500-guilder piece, and they look alike, too. As part of my change, she should’ve given me a five guilder, but instead, she’d given me a 500 by mistake. So, in American terms, she’d given me five dollars back instead of five cents.”
“Wow. Of course, you took the money back, right?”
“I wasn’t going to. I mean, it was her mistake, not mine, right? It was late, we were both tired, and it was a good 15-minute walk back to the store. Plus, an extra five dollars would’ve helped us out that month. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more angry I became thinking about the position that girl’s thoughtlessness had put me in. I knew I wasn’t a dishonest person, and I hated feeling like I was one if I didn’t take back an insignificant 500-guilder piece.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, Jenn, it’s not. Everything isn’t always fair. If it was, we’d never learn a thing. Realizing this, my companion and I walked back to the store, barely arriving before closing time. The girl was still there, counting the register’s money, rubbing her head and looking pretty worried. She looked up when we came in, both of us in our suits and nametags, and said, ‘You two were here before, weren’t you?’ I simply said yes, and put the 500 guilder on the counter between us. ‘We bought some milk today, and I think you gave us too much change.’ She looked so relieved I thought she was going to cry. ‘I’ve been trying to count my register’s money for almost an hour now, and I couldn’t figure out where I went wrong.’ She looked at us curiously then said, ‘You’re Mormons, aren’t you?’ I laughed and asked her what gave us away. She laughed, too, before saying that she couldn’t believe we’d come back. When I asked her why, she said, ‘Because no one here has ever done that before.’
“Later, the realization came to me that we may have been the first real contact she’d ever had with the Church, and even though we hadn’t taught her a discussion, we’d left her with the knowledge that Mormons are honest people, and that maybe it would help her become a little curious about our church.” He picked up my receipt and fiddled with it before continuing.
“One of the questions you’re asked during a temple recommend interview is whether or not you’re honest in all of your dealings. Honesty is a hard principle to live—harder than most people realize. There will be plenty of times in your life when being honest won’t leave you with a good, warm feeling at first. Often times, you may walk away feeling frustrated—even angry. Especially concerning financial matters, where every dime counts. Five-hundred guilders here, $150 there may seem insignificant. But little by little, something much more valuable is being lost: your integrity.
“Strengthening your integrity through honesty takes a lot of hard work—work that often goes unnoticed or unappreciated. But the payoff comes when you realize that each time you’re honest, it’s that much easier to be honest when the next challenge comes around. That’s when you know you’re building character, one of the most important works you can spend your time on. Your character and integrity are far too precious to sell for $150—or for 500 guilders.”

Now I have to tell you a little about Josh so you get a feel for his personality. He is our oldest son, and his temperament is fairly easy-going. He is somewhat introverted. He doesn't like a lot of fuss or attention, and he's pretty independent. Unlike some of our other children, he didn't require much discipline growing up.

I remember when he was around age three, that I could go play basketball and I could sit him on the stage at the church house with some treats, and he could sit there eating his snacks quietly for more than an hour as he watched me play. (That's pretty remarkable). That's just Josh. None of our other children could have done that, but he was blessed with a calm demeanor. His temperament would assist him in enduring the great trials that were ahead for him.

When my son was five years old he sort of trotted into the room one day and very casually said, "Dad, can you see out of this eye the same way you see out of the other eye?" Somewhat concerned, we had him cover his eye and did a little test on his sight. It was apparent that he could not see the same out of both eyes. So, we thought he might need glasses, and took him to an ophthalmologist that same week. As the doctor shined a light in Josh's eye, to examine the optic nerve, I will never forget the look of alarm on the doctor's face. He wouldn't tell us what was wrong, but he immediately scheduled us for an appointment at Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake City. (Not a good sign, right?).

Shortly thereafter Josh was diagnosed as having a large tumor directly behind his eyes, that was pressing on his optic nerve, and damaging his vision in one eye. Surgery was scheduled immediately. I'll always remember him being wheeled into the surgery room in a little car, with an angel nurse by his side. To us it was like our lamb was going to the slaughter. And, if you saw him afterward, you would think that he had gone to the slaughter.

Normally they would go through the nasal cavity to access this type of tumor, but because of his age, they had to cut an incision from ear to ear, and go in through his skull. In this picture you can see Josh shortly after he came out of surgery. We prayed hard, and hoped for the best. Within a day after surgery his eyes were completely swollen shut and everything was dark. He was all alone that first night after surgery, as we were not allowed in the room.

That was painfully difficult for all of us. While the surgery was successful in removing the tumor, in the process they destroyed his pituitary gland--the body's master gland. Josh would need to have all his hormones synthetically replaced for the rest of his life.

He received many blessings during this time, and afterward, including blessings that discussed his healing. That healing did not come in the form we expected. We, of course, wanted him to be healed to the extent that he would not be dependent on any more medicine. But instead, the blessing was that he responded miraculously well to all of the medicines he was required to take. It was also a miracle that all of his hormones could be synthetically replaced. 30 years earlier that would not have been possible.

Years passed. By the time he was in high school he was 6' 3" tall. We had one doctor tell us he had never seen someone as tall as Josh, who was entirely dependent on growth hormone from such a young age. We were grateful for that blessing. Josh learned to endure the health challenges that were an everyday part of his life, and our family gradually learned to adjust to his medical routines.

Hiking out of the Grand Canyon is no easy task. The trail is steep. The sun is hot. When you stop to rest, squirrels steal your candy bars. There must be a dozen different kinds of plants with stickers, and they all seem to be waiting just for your feet.
The only water on the way is in your canteen. It is warm and stale and tastes of halazone.
Granted, the scenery is spectacular. But after five days you’re starting to think you’ve seen it all. It’s at least four hours and a 4,800-foot climb to the top. What you want to do is get back to the car and head home, stopping at the first hamburger stand along the way for a nice, cold milkshake.
Why in the world, then, would you take any longer to hike out than you have to? And why in the world would you be carrying 50 pounds of extra gear?
If you were Willie Holdman, a 16-year-old priest in the 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, you’d know the answers to those questions.
Willie’s father, Floyd, is a professional photographer. The 50 pounds of extra gear is camera equipment. And the hike takes half again as long as normal because every time there’s a possibility of a good picture, the hiking stops.
Willie, who wants someday to be a professional photographer himself, has traveled with his father on assignments in Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Washington, Florida, and the Caribbean. But he remembers vividly that long walk up from the depths of one of Earth’s deepest canyons.
“People just don’t realize how much work goes into taking pictures,” Willie said. “We got up before dawn—and it’s hard to get up early when you’ve done it all week and you’d rather stay in the sleeping bag for two more hours. We waited for the morning light to be just right. While other hikers were starting out early to take advantage of the cool morning temperatures, we spent an hour taking photos before we even thought of breaking camp. And then we couldn’t just throw things in our backpacks. We had to be careful to protect the film and cameras from heat and dust.
“Then, when we finally got on the trail, we’d just get moving and Dad would say, ‘Wait, we need to take a picture here.’ Sometimes you’d be ready to forget the whole thing.
“But,” Willie said, “when you get home and you see the pictures, it makes you glad you did it.”
That’s just one of many lessons Willie has learned from working with his dad: to work hard, even when you don’t want to work, because you know the reward comes later on.

Let me tell you of an experience I had with one of our Area Presidents. We were in a land where, to our knowledge, there was not a member of the Church among the millions of that nation.
There was a man who knew of the Church and desired baptism. He had been a longtime student of the Bible. He belonged to a Christian church but was not satisfied. The thought came into his mind that he should belong to a church that carried the name of the Savior. In an old encyclopedia in a public library, he found listed The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints with headquarters in Salt Lake City. He wrote a letter of inquiry and received a response with literature. Other literature followed as he requested it.
When we met him he had read the Book of Mormon again and again. He had read the Doctrine and Covenants and other Church writings. With enthusiasm he had told his friends of his treasured find. He asked to be baptized.
We questioned him. He knew of the priesthood, its orders and its offices. He knew of the various ordinances and the procedures of our meetings.
Did he believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God? Oh, yes, he knew it to be true. He had read it. He had prayed about it and pondered. He had no doubt of its truth.
Did he believe Joseph Smith to be a prophet of God? Most assuredly. Again, he had studied and prayed. He was convinced of the reality of that glorious vision when God the Eternal Father and His Beloved Son, the resurrected Lord, appeared to the boy Joseph to usher in a new and final dispensation of gospel truth.
The priesthood had been restored with all its gifts and powers. He knew that. Our friend asked for baptism and hoped for the priesthood that he might teach and act with proper authority.
“But,” we said, “if we baptize you and then leave, you will be left alone. While there are many Christians in your nation, and freedom of religion is guaranteed under its laws, there are severe restrictions concerning foreigners. There will be no one to teach you and help you. There will be no one on whom you can lean.”
He responded, “God will teach me and help me, and He will be my friend and support.”
I looked into the eyes of that good man and saw the light of faith. We baptized him under the authority of the holy priesthood. We confirmed him a member of the Church and bestowed upon him the Holy Ghost. We baptized his wife. We conferred upon him the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained him to the office of priest so that under proper direction they might have the sacrament.
We held a sacrament and testimony meeting with them. We embraced them and said good-bye to one another, and tears were in our eyes. They left to return to their home, and we left for responsibilities in other nations.
I shall never forget him. He is poor in the things of the world. But he is educated—a teacher by profession. I know little of his circumstances. But this I know—when we talked with him, the fire of faith burned in his heart, and our own faith was quickened also.
As we traveled from that scene and there was time to meditate, I wished that faith of his kind was found more widely, both among us and among others. His example has provided a text for me. It is found in the fifth verse of the seventeenth chapter of Luke. Jesus had been teaching his disciples by precept and parable. “And the apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith” (italics added).

Claire stomped her foot and glared at her closed bedroom door. Then she collapsed on her bed in tears. It was so unfair! Claire had two younger sisters and one younger brother. All she ever did was clean up after them! At least that’s what she had told Dad five minutes ago.
Claire had been reading a book, her favorite thing to do. Danielle was at the kitchen table making an art project. Liberty was playing with her blocks and dolls, and Hyrum was playing with his farm set.
“Guess what?” Mom said as she walked into the room. “Dad checked out a fun video at the library. Please clean up quickly so there will be time to eat dinner and watch the video before bedtime,” Mom said. “Claire, please help Hyrum clean up his farm set.”
As Claire set her book down, she heard her sisters complaining. Danielle said she wasn’t done with her art project and Liberty said she was too little to clean up her toys. Claire smiled. Liberty always said she was too little when she was asked to do something.
“I have to clean up Hyrum’s toys and I’m not complaining,” Claire thought. She scooped little farm animals into the toy barn and then put the barn on the shelf in Hyrum’s room. Then she went back to the couch and opened her book.
Dad came into the room. “Claire, could you please help Liberty clean up the blocks and dolls?” he asked. “Mom and I will be busy making dinner.”
“But I didn’t play with them, Dad,” Claire said. “Mom said we needed to clean up what we were playing with. I already cleaned up Hyrum’s mess.”
“Claire, we need to work together or we won’t have time to finish the video before bedtime,” Dad said. “Please go help Liberty.”
Claire was upset. She saw all of the blocks scattered throughout the family room. They had been made into little houses for Liberty’s dolls and stuffed animals. What a mess! She stomped her foot. “All I ever do is clean up after little kids!” she said.
“Let’s go to your room,” Dad said. He walked with Claire to her room. When they got there he said, “I know you’ve already cleaned. But we are a family and we work together. We all want to watch the video, so we all need to help. Danielle is cleaning up her art project, and Mom and I are making dinner. Liberty made a big mess but she’s only three. She needs help. Can you please be more willing to help?”
Now Claire lay on her bed crying. She felt awful inside. Did her parents think she was a maid? Maybe they should call her “Clean-up Claire.” Claire felt like a dark cloud was hanging over her head. She felt angry and alone. She took a deep breath. “I’ve got to stop feeling like this,” she thought. “What can I do to feel better?”
She knew what would make her feel better. She wiped the tears out of her eyes and knelt by the side of her bed. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted. I’m sorry that I didn’t obey and that I complained to my parents. Please help me to feel better. Please help me feel the Spirit.”
As she said those words, the dark feelings left her. She felt warm and peaceful. She stayed on her knees and enjoyed the good feelings in her heart. Then she stood up. “This won’t be so bad,” she thought. She opened her door and quickly found the bucket that the blocks went in. She scooped them up as quickly as she could. “Liberty,” she called, “come and help me put these dolls and stuffed animals away.”
“I can’t help,” Liberty said as she walked into the room. “I’m too little.”
Claire smiled at her. “No, you’re not,” Claire said kindly. “Come on, I’ll help you.” Together the girls picked up the family room. Then Claire went into the kitchen where Mom and Dad were setting the table.
“I’m sorry I complained,” Claire said.
Mom and Dad smiled at her. “Thank you, Claire,” Dad said.
As the family gathered around the table, Mom said, “I never realized how much effect one person can have on the feeling we have in our home. A little while ago, it didn’t seem like the Spirit was here. But now, I know that it is. Thank you for doing your work happily, Claire.”
Claire smiled. She knew she had helped her whole family.

“Mom,” Anna said, “could we please stop at the next rest area? I need to get out and stretch.”
“Sure,” Mom replied. “There’s one coming up in just a few miles. I guess you haven’t had much chance to stretch since I picked you up after kindergarten.”
As soon as Mom stopped the car, Anna jumped out. There were no other cars, so she ran back and forth along the sidewalk for a few minutes. Then she went into the rest room. The first thing she saw was a shiny blue belt lying on the counter. She picked it up and looked at it. It was almost new. She rubbed it against her cheek. It felt good.
Blue is my favorite color, she thought. This even matches my pants. She tried it on. It fit just right.
When her mother came into the rest room, Anna held up the belt. “Look what I found.”
“That’s really pretty,” Mom said.
“Would it be OK if I kept it? There’s no one here for it to belong to.”
Mom thought a minute. “I think it’s your choice, Anna.”
Anna left the belt in the rest room and went out and sat on the lawn. She thought about what a great belt it was. Then she remembered a story Dad had told them in family home evening about finding a pocketknife when he was a boy. He had left it where he found it because it wasn’t his.
But I bet he didn’t want the knife nearly as much as I want this belt, Anna thought. Anyway, who would it hurt? The owner is long gone.
She thought how impressed the girls at school would be when she wore it. Maybe even her teacher would tell her what a pretty belt it was. Then she remembered the story her Primary teacher had told last week about a little boy who had returned a ball he’d found and how good he had felt about his decision.
Anna went back into the rest room. She picked up the belt and tried it on again. She remembered that she had a skirt it would go with perfectly. She even had shoes that were the same color of blue. She started to leave the rest room wearing the belt, then stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. The belt looked awesome with her pants. But did she like the girl who was wearing it? She took it off and rubbed the buckle with her thumb. She put it back on the counter and left, looking back at the belt one last time.
As she walked out the door, another car pulled into the parking lot. A girl about Anna’s age jumped out and raced into the rest room. A moment later, the girl ran back out, waving the belt in the air. “Mom, Mom, it was still there!”
Anna smiled.

Even though she was 90 years old, Aletha Gilbert of the Lakeview Ward, Bountiful Utah Central Stake, loved to invite her family over for family home evening. Before her death in 2002, Aletha wrote of these special home evenings: “I make sure I have a supply of pens or pencils, writing paper, and envelopes. Sometimes I address the envelopes in advance. We each write a message to missionaries in the family and ward. What fun! Everyone likes this idea—the one who sends it and the one who receives it.”

“I’m bored,” Mike said.
Mike’s mother looked up from the cake she was making. “I’m going to work in the garden while the cake bakes,” she said. “I could use a strong boy like you to help me.”
“That’s no fun,” Mike told her as he licked the spoon. “I want to do something fun.”
Mike followed his mother to the garden. He looked cross, even with cake batter on his chin. He ate some fresh peas, watered the corn, and watched a ladybug crawl along a bean leaf.
“How would you like to deliver some carrots to Aunt Annie?” asked his mother.
Mike started to grin. “I have an idea,” he said, running toward the house.
Mike cut out the bottom of an old shoe box. He found a red crayon and wrote three words on the piece of box. Then he got his skates and ran back to the garden. “Pin this on my back, please,” he said to his mother.
“Mike’s Delivery Service,” she read as she pinned it to his shirt.
Mike put on his skates and picked up the bag of carrots. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said as he started down the sidewalk.
Old Mr. Davis, who lived in the next block, was walking by. He had a bag of groceries in his arms, and his dog, Chip, on a leash. “Beep! Beep!” Mike shouted, skating carefully out around the old man. “Make way for Mike’s Delivery Service!”
“Yap! Yap!” barked Chip, jerking his leash.
Mike turned in at the house on the corner. He rang the doorbell and called, “Delivery for you, Aunt Annie!”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Mike,” said the smiling lady who opened the door. “Do you take return loads?”
Aunt Annie put a carton of eggs in Mike’s hands. She said, “This is a special delivery, sir. Please be very careful.”
Chip barked and pulled at his leash when Mike passed him and Mr. Davis again.
Mike’s mother met him at the door and took the eggs. “Thank you, sir. You have a very good delivery service.”
Mike sat on the step and ate a piece of warm cake. While he ate, he had another idea. “I have one more job to do, Mom,” he called. And Mike’s Delivery Service took off again.
Mr. Davis was sitting on a low wall, resting. Chip could hear Mike’s skates, and he pulled on the leash.
“Mr. Davis,” said Mike, “I’ll carry that bag for you.”
“Well, Mr. Delivery Service,” said the old man, “it has a jar of jam in it.” Then he winked and said, “If the glass broke, it could give your ‘delivery truck’ a flat tire. But you would help me a lot if you could take my dog!”
Mike took Chip’s leash in his hand. Chip barked and ran down the walk, pulling Mike behind him. “Slow down, Chip, before we get a ticket for speeding!” yelled Mike.
Chip and Mike were waiting when Mr. Davis got home. “Thanks, Mike,” said the tired man. “You made a fast delivery—but did you deliver the dog, or did the dog deliver you?”
“Chip delivered me,” Mike said. “And he liked it. Look at him.”
Chip was wagging his tail hard.
“You like to help, don’t you, boy?” asked Mike as he patted the head of the happy dog.
Mike felt happy, too, and not a bit bored.

Our family had a vacation and drove to southeastern Utah to do some hiking and spend some family time together. We decided to spend a day hiking two slot canyons known as the Spooky and Peek-a-boo Gulch. The names of these canyons should have been enough to let me know what I was in for, but our children convinced Elder Johnson and I that it would be worth it and that we could do it. The description of the slot canyons suggested that we would see very unique and colorful rock formations. The description also suggested that Peek-a-boo Canyon would have several sections of challenging rock scrambling and a 12-foot climb to enter the canyon. It further said that Spooky Canyon at some points along the trail would narrow to only 10 inches wide and included in the description was a warning that said Spooky was more suited for smaller body types.
These descriptions proved true as we scrambled over, under and around rocks. We navigated through Peek-a-boo and then located Spooky Canyon. We headed down into the entrance of Spooky Gulch and started to descend quickly. At one point, we had to descend down a 10-foot drop to continue on the way. As we struggled to climb down this narrow portion of the canyon, we had to lean on each other and at one point my son had to catch me as I slid down the canyon wall. Often in this adventure I questioned, “Is this the right way?” or “This cannot be right?” The only reassurance that we were going the right way was the footprints left in the dirt. Others had gone before us.
Just as in life, others have gone before and showed us the way to follow.

For several years, I served as a bishop in my home ward. One day a friend came to me and said, “I feel sorry for you. You have to know all of the bad things people do.” I love my friend, but he couldn’t have gotten it more wrong. As a bishop in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I rejoiced whenever someone wanted to repent and change their life. I never once felt anything but love for them. And I never looked at it as having to know all of the bad things. In reality, Heavenly Father blessed me to see everyone as His child, whom He loves and whom He wants back. I only saw my brothers and sisters who were hurting and who wanted to be clean and worthy again, and I felt Heavenly Father’s love for them, and this became my love for them. I promise you that this is how your bishop sees you. If you’re hurting, go to him.

“Mom, I want to be a member of the youth battalion!” I said after watching President Nelson’s special devotional for the youth. I looked for ways to be a youth-battalion member. I tried to be extra kind to people at school. I stood up for someone who was being teased.
After watching President Nelson’s talk in general conference about calling the Church by its full and correct name, I knew there was something I could do about it. I remembered a section of my student dictionary that talked about religion and called us “Mormons.” I immediately wrote the following email to the student dictionary.
Dear Student Dictionary,
I’d like to point out a mistake. On page 510 of the 19th edition, when giving percentages of how many people in the United States are a part of each religion, it says that “Mormon” is 1.7 percent. But “Mormon” is not the name of our religion. The full name of our religion is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The name “Mormon” is a nickname that was formed because of the book we believe in, which is called the Book of Mormon. Saying “Mormon” as the name of our church makes people think that we worship Mormon (who was the editor of the book), but we really worship Jesus Christ.
Sincerely,
Matthew
P.S. Please respond.
A month later, they responded! They thanked me for my message and said they would make the change. They even offered to send me a copy!

My brothers and sisters, I want to tell you another story that happened in Japan right after the war. A young boy lost a father and lost practically everything in his life because of the war. This young boy naturally hated Americans, was prejudiced against them because of his lack of understanding. As he grew up, this young boy learned that a handful of Japanese leaders took the initiative to start the war, and he understood the true situation.

Things were difficult—not enough food or clothing for him or his family. His mother always tried to help, to teach, and to clothe the family. After he graduated from junior high school, this young boy had a chance to go to senior high school. One day he heard a conversation between his mother and brother and found out the financial difficulties of his home. The next morning, though his brother said that he could go to senior high school, this young man decided, “My brother, I will not go; I will work and help the family.”

He found a job in a tiny shop which produced a bean curd (we call it tofu in Japan) and attended school part-time at night. He would get up in the morning at 4:30, work until 6:00 p.m., go to school until 11:00 p.m., and not get home until 11:30 p.m. He followed this demanding schedule for about one year, but it became too much and he found himself in the hospital one day suffering from exhaustion. His condition was very critical, and he sensed that. Without knowing of Jesus Christ or God or even how to pray, he prayed, “O God, if thou art there, save my life. If thou wilt save me, I shall repay thee someday. I will serve thee.”

This was the simple prayer of this young boy. He was able to leave the hospital after two months. In order to recuperate he stayed with an uncle in the northern part of Japan.

At about the same time there were two young men, one from Pocatello, Idaho, and one from Salt Lake City, who went to San Francisco and crossed the big pond, the Pacific. It took them almost a month. There were no jumbo planes in those days. After a few months of training and laboring in Tokyo, they went to the northern part of Japan to a very cold place, not a dry cold like here, but high humidity—it was very wet there.

It was a P-day, but the senior companion from Idaho, Elder Delmont C. Law, a great man, asked his companion, R. Gordon Porter, if they could go knock on doors. They had had no success whatsoever for days, weeks, and months. Then finally, on this P-day, they decided to keep trying, and after breakfast they took off. They knocked, knocked, and knocked on doors that day. When evening came, bringing with it more cold and rain, they decided they should go home. Then the Spirit prompted them again, especially the senior companion from Pocatello, Idaho, who said to his companion, “Companion, can we do a few more doors?” They again agreed and then went on.

In that same vicinity lived the young man who had just left the hospital and was recuperating in his uncle’s home. He was waiting for something without knowing what. In a dark and cold room in that uncle’s home, the missionaries found this young man. When he saw these foreigners, he said to them, “I don’t like you Americans. Please go home.”

That was the first reply of the young boy, but the missionary from Pocatello, Idaho, replied, “We have a message for you. Can’t you even spend five minutes?” That was a very strong statement, and the young boy couldn’t refuse them and welcomed them inside. These missionaries taught him the most beautiful story, and this young boy accepted the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that day. He was baptized two weeks later and grew in the gospel. My brothers and sisters, that young boy is now standing before you.

On that day I almost missed the glorious everlasting gospel that your forefathers and mothers preserved, this great legacy, great heritage, glorious truth, even the teachings of Jesus Christ. I accepted the beauties of that day. I glanced at the beauties of the panorama of this great gospel of love and this legacy. To me, my wounds, my pain, my suffering, my patches, and my stitches from the war were gone because of the gospel of the Lord, our Savior, even Jesus Christ.

Caleb grabbed his shovel. It was time to work in the garden!
He helped Mom carry the tools. There was a little rake. And there was a shovel for Mom too. They were ready to start working.
Mom and Caleb walked to the garden. Oh no! It was full of weeds! There were short, spiky weeds. And there were tall, wispy weeds. So many weeds!
But Caleb knew what to do. He got right to work. Caleb dug under the weeds. Then Mom pulled the weeds out of the dirt. They made a great team! Soon they had a giant pile of weeds.
It was time for a break. Caleb took a big drink of water.
“What are we going to do when the weeds are gone?” Caleb asked.
Mom brushed some dirt off her hands. “Once the weeds are gone, we can plant seeds. Like tomatoes and beans and—”
“And corn?” Caleb asked. He loved corn.
“And corn,” Mom said. “We can’t forget that!”
Caleb stood up. “OK. Let’s get back to work.” He picked up his shovel. He needed to make room for corn plants.
Caleb dug and dug. It was hard work. But Caleb was a hard worker. He could do hard things. Together, he and Mom made another pile of weeds. Then another. Then another. So many weeds!
Finally Caleb and Mom had pulled out all the weeds. Caleb flopped down on the grass. He was so tired! Mom flopped down next to him.
“You are such a hard worker,” Mom said. “Those weeds would have taken me all day. You made it fast and fun.”
Caleb smiled big. He was a hard worker. “It’s good when we work together.”