Gospel Story Finder

“My mother is a unique person,” began Elder Paramore in tribute to his mother. “She has implicit, absolute faith in our Father in heaven. Through prayer and undeviating faith, she has been able to accomplish many things in her life. She prayed that my father would become active in the Church, and it happened; he became a very strong, faithful, and capable leader. She prayed to have more children, a thing that was especially difficult for her. Yet she was able to have six children, who mean so much to her. She set as fine example for all of us to follow.
“My father is special also. When I was young, he trained me to be a dental technician. We often sat side by side while I worked under his direction until I became quite proficient. He would show and tell me things about this skill and this went on for about five years. When I went into the service, they learned of my skills. I was taken out of basic training when I was only eighteen years old and put in charge of a dental laboratory with many workers. All this because of my dad’s training.
“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to a place in Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put her aboard the train that would take her to Ephraim, Utah. What an experience for an eight-year-old child! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”
On the subject of children who are eight years of age, Elder Paramore added, “As a former bishop, I must have interviewed at least eighty children and watched them be baptized. In all those interviews, I never knew a time when I felt that the child wasn’t ready for baptism. Eight is the age of accountability and children do know right from wrong at this age. They don’t know all of the doctrines, of course, but they know how to make proper judgments. They know instinctively, by the light of Christ, what is right. Whether they do what is right is subject to the exercise of their free agency, but there’s no question in my mind regarding an eight-year-old child’s ability to choose the right. I’ve had that witness come to me many, many times.
“I would like the children of the world to know that the great message from our Heavenly Father is to trust in Him and to love their fellowmen. Keep the loving spirit you have at this age in your life. You are humble now and teachable. You have a marvelous ability and that is that you can forget—you don’t hold grudges and you can put problems out of your mind and go on loving someone who may have hurt you. Don’t build walls or barriers, just keep a loving heart. There is no substitute for love. Love means interest and concern. It means doing things for others. When there is a spirit of love between two people, it encourages a feeling of trust and self-worth. You can share any problem with each other and solve it together. Love breaks down barriers. President Kimball loves unconditionally.
“If you are remembered for only one thing, what would it be? Would you want to be remembered because you were steadfast in the things of the Lord? That you were honest? That you were trustworthy? All of these are cherished attributes, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to be remembered above all else for your love of people?
“I bear witness to the truth that loving the Lord and loving your fellowmen is the message of the Savior and that we must find and return this love if we are to have eternal life.”

Arthur Parker walked and walked and walked. Even though he was only six years old, he sometimes helped his mother and father pull their loaded handcart. When everybody stopped to rest, he liked to explore. He wandered around to see other people, the prairie grass, a stream, or a grove of trees.
Arthur had one brother and two sisters: Max, 12; Martha Ann, 10; and Ada, 1. The Parkers had sailed from England to America that spring. Now they were traveling west with the McArthur Handcart Company. As Max helped his parents pull the handcart, Martha Ann walked behind, taking care of Arthur and Ada.
But one day Arthur’s father became ill. Martha Ann took his place helping to pull the handcart and sent Arthur to walk with a group of other children in the company. When Arthur sat down to rest beside the trail and fell asleep, the other children didn’t notice. The company moved on without him.
By the time Arthur’s family discovered that he was missing, it was too late and too dark to go looking for him. That night, the cloudy sky burst open. Thunder and lightning raged, and many tents blew over. Water ran across the ground in streams as people huddled in wet clothes. All night long, the Parkers worried about Arthur, lost out in the stormy darkness. They hoped somebody would bring him to their tent, but no one did.
The next morning, search parties went back along the trail to look for Arthur. The handcarts stayed camped all day so the searchers could continue looking. Where was the little boy? Was he hurt in the thunderstorm?
After searching for two days, the company could not wait any longer. They had more than a thousand miles left to go.
Arthur’s parents didn’t give up hope. They decided that Brother Parker would go farther back along the trail to look for Arthur, while Sister Parker and the other children would stay with the company and pull the handcart.
Before Brother Parker left, his wife pinned a bright red shawl around his shoulders. If he found Arthur dead, he would wrap him in the shawl. But if he found Arthur alive, he would wear the shawl on his shoulders or hold it in his hand to signal that Arthur was all right.
The worried father retraced the trail—calling Arthur’s name, searching everywhere he could, and praying. He walked and searched for 10 miles, determined not to leave without finding his son.
Meanwhile, the handcart company moved ahead. Two days went by. Sister Parker kept looking back anxiously, hoping to see her husband and son catching up with them.
At last, Brother Parker came to a mail-and-trading station. He asked if anyone had seen a lost six-year-old boy. Someone said that a boy had been found! He was being cared for by a farmer and his wife. Arthur’s father went to the farmhouse and found his son. How glad they were to see each other!
Arthur told his father that he had spent the first night under some trees, which protected him from the rainstorm. Then he had wandered until he came to the farmhouse. Brother Parker figured out that Arthur had walked about nine miles!
The handcart company was now 60 miles past where Arthur had disappeared. Arthur had been missing for four days, and his mother had hardly slept at all since then. She kept watching the trail behind her, looking for her husband, hoping he would be waving the red shawl.
A few days later, as the sun was setting, she suddenly spotted the red shawl waving in the distance. Arthur was alive! Captain McArthur sent a wagon back to meet the father and son. Everyone in the company rejoiced to see Arthur, but no one felt as happy as his mother. Completely exhausted, she slept soundly for the first time in days.
The Parkers continued on their journey. Arthur kept walking, singing, and exploring—but he stayed a little closer to his parents. Each night, they hugged him a little tighter.

I once knew a man who attained a high position in a company. Each day he would go to his office with a briefcase. One day his wife asked him, “Why do you carry that briefcase to work each day?”
He replied, “The executive vice-president is a very important person, and the paperwork he manages is also important. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” she said. But then she asked, “How many times do you open the briefcase and use the papers?”
“The truth is, very few times,” he responded.
And she replied, “If the briefcase gives you a feeling of importance, wouldn’t it be easier just to carry an empty one?”
While he was thinking about that, she added one more thought.
“But if you carry it only for status, let me remind you that by the time you leave the office, the only person who sees you is the custodian.”

1 Tomorrow would be Father’s Day, and Jimmy, Henry, and Bob were busy making cards for Dad. Jimmy was trying to think of something special he could do for Dad.
“How do you like my card?” Henry asked as he held up a piece of paper with a picture of a boy and a lawn mower drawn on the outside. On the inside Henry had printed:
Happy Father’s Day!I will mow the lawn.Love, Henry
2 “I like it,” Jimmy said. He wished he were as old as Henry so he could draw nice pictures and use the lawn mower.
“Look at my card!” cried Bob. His card had a picture of a shiny car pasted on the outside. Inside he had printed:
Happy Father’s Day!I will wash and shine the car.Love, Bob
3 “That’s nice,” Jimmy said. Bob was ten, and he was big enough to do lots of things.
Jimmy used a yellow crayon to color a sun in the blue sky on the outside of his card. “I wish I could think of something to do for Dad too,” he said as he bent over his card.
4 “Maybe you could bring in the paper every afternoon,” Henry said.
“I do that all the time anyway,” Jimmy replied. “I want to do something special.”
5 “You could try to find the nozzle for the water hose,” Henry suggested. “When Dad was washing the car this morning, he couldn’t find it.”
6 Henry and Bob picked up their cards and crayons and left Jimmy all alone.
Jimmy tucked his card inside his shirt pocket and put away his crayons. Then he began to try to find the lost nozzle for Dad.
7 He went out to the garage and looked on all the shelves, in the corners, and even inside Mother’s watering can. He looked inside Dad’s tool box and behind his own toy box. But he couldn’t find the nozzle anywhere.
8 Jimmy looked again at his toy box. Maybe I should straighten it up a bit, he thought. So he carefully took all of his toys out of the box and put them on the floor. Then one by one he replaced them—all except an old pair of cowboy boots with the toes worn out. As he picked the boots up, something fell on the floor with a clatter.
What a surprise! There on the floor lay the lost nozzle.
9 The next morning Henry and Bob gave Dad their Father’s Day cards, and Dad was very happy.
Then Jimmy handed Dad the hose nozzle and his card. On the inside of the card, Henry had helped him write:
I will help find things!Love, Jimmy
10 Dad laughed and put his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders. “I have one boy to help me keep the lawn mowed,” he said. “I have another boy to help me keep the car shined. And I also have a boy who finds things for me. This is a happy Father’s Day.”
Jimmy was happy too. Finding things is a very special kind of gift, he decided.

I really liked the new video game I played at my nonmember friend’s house. It became my favorite, but I could never play long enough to get very far into it. I decided to work and earn enough money to buy my own copy. It cost a lot of money, but I did a lot of extra jobs and even sold lemonade and cookies at a garage sale.
When I had enough money, I first paid my tithing and then asked my dad to take me to the store to buy the game. It had a good rating, and I told my dad that I hadn’t seen anything bad in it.
I loved playing the game, but when I got into the higher levels, some bad words and violence started to appear. They made me feel bad inside. If I had known they were there, I would not have purchased the game. I told my parents, and we decided that I should not play it anymore, even though I had worked so hard to earn the money for it. It was the right choice.
When my friend and his mom asked why I didn’t play the game anymore at their house, I told them why it made me uncomfortable. My friend’s mom said she didn’t know the game was like that and she didn’t want my friend to play it, either. It felt good to make the right decision and to be an example for others.
Richard S. Osborn, age 9Omaha, Nebraska

The fourth is to respect yourself as a son of God. Those of us who have served missions have seen the miracle in the lives of some we have taught as they have come to realize that they are sons and daughters of God. Many years ago an elder who served a mission in the British Isles said at the end of his labors, “I think my mission has been a failure. I have labored all my days as a missionary here and I have only baptized one dirty little Irish kid. That is all I baptized.”

Years later, after his return to his home in Montana, he had a visitor come to his home who asked, “Are you the elder who served a mission in the British Isles in 1873?”

“Yes.”

Then the man went on, “And do you remember having said that you thought your mission was a failure because you had only baptized one dirty little Irish kid?”

He said, “Yes.”

The visitor put out his hand and said, “I would like to shake hands with you. My name is Charles A. Callis, of the Council of the Twelve of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am that dirty little Irish kid that you baptized on your mission.”

That little Irish boy came to a knowledge of his potential as a son of God. Elder Callis left a lasting legacy for his large family. Serving as a mission president for 25 years and in his apostolic ministry for 13 years, he blessed the lives of literally thousands. I feel privileged to have known this great Apostle of the Lord when I was a young man.

To be old and poor is to be alone, afraid, and ill-fed, and unknown. In a series of articles the Wall Street Journal discusses the problems related to the care of the aged. Following are some of the quotes taken from these articles:
“Many of the aged are gnawed by the fear not that they will die, but that they will die unnoticed by anyone.” (Nov. 15, 1972, p. 16.)
“The poor never saved for rainy days because it rained every day of their lives.” (Nov. 15, 1972, p. 1.)
Shabby apartments attract the elderly due to their meager incomes.
Most of these people live alone “as do five million of the total U.S. population over 65. Coupled with their sense of uselessness, their solitude breeds despair.” (Nov. 15, 1972, p. 1.)
“So, many of the elderly eat what they can get, or afford, not what is good for them. …
“Some live mainly on what they can buy from the vending machines in their hotel or apartment lobbies. …
“Others eat dog food. ‘They can get two meals out of a can,’ says Robert Forst.” (Nov. 15, 1972, p. 16.)
It may be interesting to note there are over 300 organizations representing the interests of the aged.
I believe the Savior had great insight into problems such as this, for as he describes in his parable of the rich man and Lazarus, Lazarus was laid daily at the gate, “desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table: moreover the dogs … licked his sores.” (Luke 16:19–21.) Both examples are pitiful plights of humanity.
Beset by problems, the elderly poor still cling fiercely to their pride; many will not ask relatives for extra help. They don’t want to be a burden.
A popular song says:
Old friends,
Old friends
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends, …
How terribly strange
To be seventy.
Paul Simon, “Old Friends”
The Church is not without its fault in the care of the aged. This is not due to the principles or the teachings of the Church, but rather to the shortcomings of its members. I sat in a conference some years ago when Elder Matthew Cowley said, “A mother can take care of seven children, but seven children will not later take care of that same mother.” The Church has the solution to all of life’s problems. The Savior did not leave us without direction in caring for our wonderful senior Saints. He was our model. You recall his beautiful, compassionate experience with the widow in the city of Nain. (See Luke 7:11–15.)
Several years ago we lived in Garden Grove, California. I was a produce supervisor for a large grocery chain. I dropped by home and picked up my young son Lawrence, who was three at the time. We went out to visit a farm to see if we could procure produce for that company. I went into the sheds, examined the produce; then I was told that Jack, the farmer, was in the house. I went to the front door and rang the bell. A little lady, probably 85 years old, white-haired, frail, stood in the doorway.
I said, “Is Jack here?”
“No, he isn’t. His father just passed away, and he went to the hospital.” And then she began to weep, and I said, “Are you Jack’s mother?” She said, “Yes.”
“I’m terribly sorry about your husband.” And then I was no longer a produce buyer; I was a high priest in the Church, and I said to her, “Do you believe in the resurrection?”
“I guess so.”
And then I said, “The Savior said, ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ (John 11:25.) And ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.’” (John 14:2.) And I went on with several scriptures about the resurrection.
Then finally as I concluded I said, “Your husband will live again. He will be resurrected.” I said, “Do you believe that?” I couldn’t tell whether she did or not; I just knew she wasn’t comforted. So I said to her, “Do you believe in prayer?”
She said, “I used to pray, but lately if I get down on my knees I can’t get back up again. When I do pray, I forget what I’m supposed to pray about. And then when I’m down on my knees and no one comes, I just have to wait until someone does come.”
I said, “Would you like Lawrence and me to pray for you?”
She said, “Yes,” and opened the door and we went in.
I helped this sweet soul down onto her knees, and then we began to pray. I poured out my soul to the Lord to let a sweet blessing of comfort come to this spirit, to this little soul. About halfway through the prayer I felt a warmth and a peace come into my heart that I knew our prayers were answered.
At the close of the prayer, I stood up and lifted this soul again from her knees. Peace radiated from her face. I held her hands for a moment and looked into her eyes. There was peace there.
Lawrence and I left. She came over and stood in the doorway as we went out and climbed into the car.
Lawrence turned around and looked at her and then he said to me, “Dad, she sure was a sweet old grandma.”
Well, there are many sweet old grandmas in the Church, and they love us and they need our love.
Not too long ago I left a Committee of Expenditures meeting, went up to the hospital to administer to a sweet little soul who had been there. As I finished, for some reason I felt impressed and so I said, “I want you to know this hand shook hands with the prophet 15 minutes ago.” And she began to weep. And then a little lady across the room said, “Would you mind administering to me with that hand that shook hands with the prophet 15 minutes ago?” And I administered to her, and then a lady in the bed next to her said, “Would you mind administering to me with that hand that shook hands with the prophet a few minutes ago?” And I administered to her.
Let us review the program, the Lord’s program, for the care of our senior Saints. First, the responsibility rests with the individual to do all he or she can to be a contributing member of society and of the Church, and give service to friends and children and loved ones. All these give soul satisfaction so needed. When health is sufficient to warrant, the Church provides many blessed opportunities for great service. The rich experience of these loved ones can be of such importance to the Church.
Many can accept calls as couples to fill full-time missions. Others may be called upon to officiate in the temples. Some may visit the temple regularly to do endowment work. Genealogical research is fascinating, stimulating, and fulfilling. Many can and should be called to teach Primary, Sunday School, and Relief Society. Our youth love mature Saints as teachers because they have time to care. Bishops may call the brethren to be home teachers and the sisters to do Relief Society visiting teaching.
Inasmuch as home teaching is never finished, many long-living men may help truly teach us by example what home teachers really should be. The Lord said, “He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:39.) Our senior Saints may well be called upon to bake and cook or render compassionate service during funerals or other times of stress and need.
Now, second, the family should do all they can do. Those who have mothers and fathers who are confined should care for them by furnishing those soul needs such as love, care, and tenderness. If you recall the words of the epitaph:
Here lies David Elginbrod;
Have mercy on him, God,
As he would do if he were God
And you were David Elginbrod.
So we might also declare to you, try to understand them, try to anticipate their needs. Before you turn the financial responsibility of them over to the Church, state, or government, use every resource you or any member of your family has. Nursing home care provided by the Church was up 411 percent last year.
I believe the Savior would be pleased if we would bring these souls back into our homes, if possible, and if not, to pay the expenses from members of the family. I don’t know of any mother or father in the Church who turned their children over to society during those prolonged sicknesses or during those first years of life when it took 24 hours a day to care for the infant child.
Now, third, after the individual and family have used all their resources, then the Church is called in to assist. Let me go back to one thought that came to me. I just talked to a young man the other day, and he said that in his family a grandfather had been very critically ill, had been bedfast and the family tended him during those long hours and, as it were, the man had to wear a diaper. The family changed the diaper regularly. Is that more than he would have done for them? No. We must not forget our family members.
Now to the Church. Welfare services reach into every life in the Church. We are interested in the physical health and emotional welfare of every member. Our beloved aged are a vital segment of the Church. They contribute more to our lives than we would dare to suppose.
For example, I have a sweet Aunt Beryl Hollindrake. She told me that when she was just three or four years old that my great-grandmother, her Grandmother Featherstone, would hold her on her lap and tell her about the Savior, all the beautiful stories. Then she would recall how my great-grandmother would tell her about the Savior’s trial and how they beat him and cursed him and spit upon him—how they dragged him and forced him against the cross and drove huge spikes into his hands cruelly. She said, “As my grandmother would tell me these stories, tears would stream down her cheeks.” And she said, “It was on the lap of my grandmother that I learned to love the Savior with all my heart and soul.”
What a wonderful contribution our grandmothers and grandfathers can make if they will share some of the rich experiences and their testimonies with their children and grandchildren.
When I was stake president, we wanted the lonely, the heartsick, the despairing, even the inactive, young or old, to move into our stake so we would have a greater opportunity to serve.
I have a great friend who, when he was called to be a stake president, canceled the high council Christmas party and had a special Christmas party for the senior Saints in the stake. And then on Christmas morning he would call all of the widows in his stake who had no one who cared.
Edgar A. Guest, in a great understanding of life, wrote many verses about home. Let me just extract a few from his great poem on home:
Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh.
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
For these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.
They may be pleasant memories, and they may not, depending on our care for them.
Stephen Horn, the president of California State University at Long Beach, said, “It is time we revised our concept of the ‘old’ to ‘long-living’ and accented not the declining powers of aging but the rising knowledge and experience that results from a long life.”
Life can be so full and rich for our beloved senior Saints with snowy crowns. We love you and care for you. You make life so rich and meaningful for us. We pledge to be what we should be in our relationship to you. In James we read:
“Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.” (James 1:27.)
“To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.” It is my prayer that we may be filled with pure love of Christ toward our beloved senior Saints. This is his church. I believe if he were here he would spend much time with them. May we follow in his footsteps. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sarah gulped down the last bite of toast and took a last swallow of milk before she grabbed her books and ran out the door. If the kitchen clock was right, she’d be late for school again, and her good citizenship grade would fly right out the window.

Until recently Mom had always awakened her by shouting, “Sarah, if you don’t get up this minute, you’ll be late for school!” But since Mom had had to start working and had to leave for the office so early, Sarah had only herself to rely on. If she were to grade her own efforts at good citizenship so far, she’d give herself an F.

That’s what Mrs. Buskirk said she was going to give her, too, if she was late one more time. The teacher had already sent a citizenship report home, and Dad had lectured Sarah about her deportment. “Your mother has accepted the additional responsibility of a job,” Dad had told her firmly, “and there’s no excuse for you not to accept the responsibility of getting yourself to school on time.”

Sarah shoved her bike out of the garage and pedaled down the driveway, adjusting her book bag on her shoulders as she went. She tore down Highland Avenue and turned onto Main Street.

As she rode along, she wondered why the biggest grade school and the only junior high school in town were built next to one another right on the city’s busiest street. Even though there was a sidewalk and a wide shoulder on the road, riding a bike in the morning traffic wasn’t easy.

Sarah passed the bank and glanced at the big clock inside. Only seven minutes until the tardy bell rings, she thought. The lights will have to be with me the restof the way if I’m going to make it. If they weren’t, she’d better forget about being captain of the volleyball team for the year, because no one with citizenship grades below a C was eligible. And she knew what would happen at home—no movies and no television.

Volleyball was Sarah’s whole life. Her grades were sort of ho-hum, but she could play volleyball quite well. When she practiced her spikes on the court and knew that the other kids were watching, she wanted to throw her arms around the world and hug it. Oh, if she lost that feeling, she’d just die!

Pedalling harder, Sarah welcomed the cool morning air that stung her cheeks as she approached Washington Avenue. Nearing the intersection, she saw that the cars were backed up, waiting for the light to change. Come on lights. Be on my side, she agonized.

The lights changed, yet nothing happened. The cars weren’t moving. Oh, no! Now what? she wondered. What she didn’t need was an accident on this corner so that the cars would be backed up in every direction.

Sarah pulled to a stop as far into the intersection as she dared. Then she saw the problem: A little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, had wheeled her bike into the center of the crossing. When the lights had changed, she had stopped, probably wondering if she should continue or go back. Now several drivers honked, anxious for her to move out of the way. Sarah watched as the little girl looked uncertainly from the cars on Main Street to the cars on Washington Avenue. Then her lunch box slid from her grasp and fell to the pavement. The lid opened and an orange rolled over to the curb.

Sarah fidgeted. While all the drivers were busy watching the little girl, maybe she could try to make it across the street against the red light.

Cautiously she looked around for a policeman but found only the faces of angry motorists. They were frowning and tapping their steering wheels; some shouted out their windows.

If they’re so anxious to get going, Sarah wondered, why doesn’t somebody do something? Why doesn’t someone act responsible and help the kid across the street?

As Sarah watched, the little girl tried to reach her lunch box while still holding her bicycle upright. But her arms just weren’t long enough.

Why doesn’t somebody do something? Sarah thought again. Then she realized that she was somebody!

Sarah lifted her bike up onto the parkway grass and laid it down. After shrugging off her book bag, she hurried over to the little girl. As Sarah neared her, she could see tears rolling down the child’s cheeks.

Good-bye volleyball, Sarah thought as she picked up the books and lunch box and guided the little girl across the street. Who wants to be captain, anyway? There are other things in life. Maybe next year …

After Sarah put the little girl’s bike up on the sidewalk, she bent over to look at her. The younger child’s face was blotchy and covered with leftover tears. Sarah handed her a tissue. “I’ll get my bike, and we’ll ride the rest of the way together, OK?”

Inside, Sarah felt the same warm rush of emotions that she did when she served or spiked for the volleyball team.

As I was learning from my own true-life experience, I stood alone in my bedroom a few days after the operation, preparing to go to church. I held a tie in my hand and thought, Now what am I going to do with this silly tie? I thought about having my mother help me but soon rejected the idea, knowing she couldn’t go on my mission to tie my ties and otherwise care for me. I simply had to fend for myself. With patience, I tied my tie, and although I used my teeth a little, I learned I could do it and do it well. That day a window was opened to my mind, and I could clearly see that with patience, faith, and determination, I would be able to handle almost any challenge I would face.

Preparing to migrate west with the Saints in 1848, Mary Fielding Smith faced many hardships. During her stay at Winter Quarters, some of her oxen had been stolen, and many of her cattle and horses had died in the severe winter. Strong oxen were necessary to making the trip west in safety.

Mary’s son Joseph, then nine years old, was given the job of driving one of the ox teams. Because they didn’t have enough oxen to pull their wagons, they tied two wagons together and used their few oxen to pull both wagons at once. Though this slowed their progress, they managed to make it the twenty-seven miles from Winter Quarters to the Elk Horn River, where their company was forming and where they hoped to obtain more oxen or horses.

The man who supervised the cattle in the company urged Mary to stay behind, saying, “If you start out in this manner, you will be a burden on the company the whole way, and I will have to carry you along or leave you on the way.”

Undaunted, Sister Smith told him, “I will beat you to the valley and will ask no help from you either.”

After the blessing, the ox got up and was soon ready to pull the wagon again. Two more times other oxen became ill, and twice more Mary asked the brethren to bless them. Each time, they were healed instantly. Despite all difficulties, Mary and her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on September 23, 1848, a full day before the rest of the company.

Harry Guan, Utah, USA
I grew up in China and considered myself a Christian, despite the fact that I never actually went to church. I was interested in God and Jesus Christ, and I thought Christian doctrine was very comforting.
When I moved to the United States for college, I started attending a nondenominational Christian church. After a few months, I heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from some friends who were considering attending Brigham Young University. I asked a few students at the Christian church about the Latter-day Saints and was surprised when they fervently warned me to stay away from the “Mormons.” I listened to their advice at first, but as I was scrolling through social media about a week later, I came across an address by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the talk, he mentioned that members of the Church should be respectful to other religions (see “Faith, Family, and Religious Freedom,” lds.org/prophets-and-apostles). As I listened to Elder Holland, I felt what I now know as the Spirit and decided that I needed to learn more about the Church.
I ended up going to church and later met with missionaries. I was touched by their teachings, particularly the plan of salvation. My parents weren’t too happy when I decided to be baptized, but they accepted that I was old enough to make my own decisions. When my grandparents visited me in America a few months later, I was able to teach them about the gospel. They both decided to be baptized.
The gospel has brought me so much joy and it has led me to my soon-to-be wife. It is worth every sacrifice I have had to make or will make.

Suddenly it started to rain. At first it was a soft, gentle rain that did not bother Tommy as he milked the cow and helped his father feed the oxen. Later, when they started to pitch the tent, the rain came down in fierce, angry sheets that bit into Tommy’s shoulders. The wind blew so hard that it wrenched the tent out of their hands.
“We’ll have to do without the tent tonight,” Father finally decided.
“Where will you and Mamma sleep?” asked Tommy. “My wagon is too full of corn and wheat for anybody to sleep there.”
“You and Betsy can sleep with Mamma in the other wagon,” answered his father, “and I will make a bed underneath it for me.”
“I will sleep under the wagon,” said Tommy quietly.
Father did not answer at once, but Tommy knew by the pressure of his hand that he was proud that his son had offered. Finally Father quietly said, “I’ll help you gather pine boughs to put on the ground so your bed won’t sink into the mud.”
Tommy was glad when they had enough pine boughs, because it was difficult to cut them in the stinging rain. Over these pine boughs he and his father put the folded tent, leaving enough of it free on each side to pull over the bedroll so Tommy would not get wet.
When the bed was ready, Tommy crawled into it. At first it was frightening to be alone in the storm. Never had he heard such loud thunder, and the lightning flashes were so close that he could see small fires appear in the tops of the trees where lightning had hit. Even though he knew the heavy rain would soon put them out, Tommy was afraid. What if the lightning should strike the wagon where the others are sleeping? he asked himself. He wanted to call out to his father for comfort, but he didn’t want anyone to know that he was afraid.
I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me, he said to himself. And he did. Tommy almost expected his prayer to be answered by the thunder and lightning stopping. Instead it was answered by Tommy not being afraid any more.
Then Tommy began to enjoy the storm. It was almost as if giant fireworks were everywhere. Instead of wanting to go to sleep, he wanted to stay awake so he would not miss any of it. But since the storm lasted all night, Tommy’s eyes finally closed. He did not open them again until he felt water lapping at his feet and discovered that the little creek beside which they had camped had become a raging torrent during the night.
Excitedly Tommy called out to his father, “The creek has overflowed and the back wheels of the wagon are standing in the water!”
Tommy’s father was out of the wagon in an instant. When he saw the situation, he helped Tommy pull the bed out from under the wagon and then hitched up both teams of oxen to pull the wagon out of the water. The ground was so slippery the oxen could not get a foothold.
“We will have to build a corduroy road,” said Tommy’s father.
To do this, Tommy and his father cut down many trees. They trimmed off the limbs and laid the poles side by side, close to and in front of the wagon; then with willows they bound each log tightly to the next one so they would not roll. When this was finished, they packed tough grass and pine needles on top of the poles so the oxen’s hoofs could not slip into the cracks.
Finally they coaxed the frightened oxen up onto the corduroy road and hitched them to the wagon. Father spoke to the oxen in a soothing tone, “Steady now, pull together.”
The oxen did pull together. The heavy wagon wheels rolled out of the mud, onto the tough grass, over the corduroy road, and up onto the road that the Camp of Israel would be traveling that day.
Tommy shouted, “Hooray!” and he could see by the look on his mother’s face that she was proud of her two “men.”

I was living at home and commuting to Brigham Young University every day, but I still didn’t have as much time with my family as I thought I would have. Between school, work, and my Church calling, I rarely found time at home to help around the house, or be with my Mom and my three younger sisters. As a single parent, my mom was constantly finding new and ingenious jobs for us girls to help out around the house. It was her way of keeping on top of things and to get us to work together with “cheerful” attitudes.
One Friday afternoon, after I came home from school completely exhausted, my mother announced that we were all going to bottle at least five jars of tomatoes each before we could do anything else that night. I had already made plans for the evening. Although my mother noticed my annoyance, she quickly told me that all my sisters had plans too, and nobody was getting out of it. Upset glances from my sisters let me know that they were feeling the same way as I was right about then. Knowing that I wasn’t getting out of anything without an ugly scene, I accepted my fate and decided to get to work quickly.
“Hey Sally,” I shouted to my sister across the room, “put on some music, would you? We might as well have some tunes while we resign ourselves to our Friday night doom,” I muttered under my breath. With the music playing, I tied on an apron and seated myself at the kitchen counter. Anger continued to boil as I started peeling the tomatoes. What right did my mom have to tell me I couldn’t see my friends until I had bottled some dumb tomatoes anyway? I was the one who needed to relax after such a crazy school week! The negative thoughts continued coming as I sliced and peeled more tomatoes. The dirty work seemed endless.
Suddenly I heard my sister Katherine start to sing. Out of nowhere she began to belt along with the music and even added her own dance moves as she continued bottling tomatoes. Livvy, the youngest, began giggling and soon joined in. Sally, always one for lighthearted fun, quickly gave up her bad attitude and began to add dance moves of her own. I sat and watched as these girls, whom I loved so much, began laughing and singing together. They acted as if they were having the time of their lives. It occurred to me that I wasn’t spending the quality time with these girls as I should have been. Was I just the older sister with a bad attitude? I suddenly felt an incredible need to be with my sisters more, and to feel the amazing energy they had to offer to our family. It dawned on me that I wasn’t setting the example. I knew that in order for change to happen, I needed to change.
Without another thought, I joined in the chorus. With prune fingers, I began dancing alongside Sally, adding my own harmony to the music. I began laughing and felt the horrible evening of bottling tomatoes suddenly turn into a fun-filled tomato dance party!
Moments later I spotted my mother with a video camera. Even she felt that she needed to document this hilarious moment! I couldn’t believe my sudden change of attitude. I suddenly felt free from my burdens during the week. I was surprised that doing one of my most dreaded chores could be so much fun! It was then that I realized how important family time was and the incredible influence I had on my own family, as well as the influence they had on me. Although I still have my very busy schedule, I have now found that my first priority has become my family. Who knew that bottling tomatoes could teach me so much about life?

Tracey has a natural feel for the character in the film. He could understand many of his concerns and confusion because he left his own home and parents when he was ten to live with another family and attend school on the Church’s Indian placement program.

Leaving home and family was hard for young Tracey, but he adjusted well.

"Once I got over seeing everyone as either a brown skin or a white skin, I really got a lot out of placement. I wasn’t treated as a foreigner. All my brothers and sisters and my new mom and dad made me welcome. But I was no guest to be pampered. I was a total part of the family. I had to take out the trash, wash dishes three times a week, and carry my own part of the responsibilities just like everyone else."

"My foster parents taught me the value of a really good, stable family life. I grew up with good families. We had family prayer, family home evening, and we went to church together. These are all examples I hope to follow with my own family," he said.

At length the final September arrived. The boy had become a man, almost twenty-two now. With both fear and joy Joseph climbed the familiar hill where the plates were buried—fear that he might fail the Lord, joy in the miracle that had come to him.
Joseph was not aware of the gold cover of leaves on the ground as he descended the hill. He thought only of the golden plates he carried in his arms and the heavenly messenger’s final warning as he delivered them up to him. It rang in his ears. He, Joseph, was now responsible for the plates and must guard them with his life if need be, for the angel Moroni had told him that wicked men would use every evil scheme possible to steal them.
The last part of Moroni’s instruction comforted Joseph—that if he were faithful to his trust the plates would be safe. But fearful that someone might have seen him, Joseph searched the woods for a temporary hiding place. He found it in a fallen birch log. Joseph cut out part of its decayed interior and hid the plates inside, covering the opening with bark and leaves.
Supposing that the plates were safe for the time being, the next day Joseph went to work in a neighboring town. But that very day Father Smith overheard some men plotting to steal the plates. Alarmed, he hurried home to tell Lucy and Emma.
Concealing her own fear, Emma was reassuring: “If Joseph is to keep the record, he will and no one can stop him.”
“Yes,” Father Smith answered solemnly, “he will, if he is watchful and obedient; but remember that for a small thing, Esau lost his birthright and his blessing. It may be so with Joseph.”
Emma went for her shawl and bonnet, her dark eyes flashing. “There’s no time to be lost. I’ll ride immediately and warn Joseph!”
By afternoon Joseph had retraced his way through the woods to the fallen log. Shadowy light filtered through the branches overhead and a lone birdcall accentuated the stillness as he took the plates from their hiding place. Carefully he wrapped them in his linen frock.
For a time he traveled the open road, but then thinking there might be danger, he returned to the woods. His pounding heart seemed to thunder from tree to tree.
And, indeed, as he hurried through the woods with his precious burden, his fears were realized. Three times Joseph was attacked on his way home. But each time, clutching the record tightly to him, he gathered all his strength and with powerful muscles threw off his enemies. He wasn’t even aware he had broken his thumb in the struggles until he sank down, panting and utterly exhausted, in his own front yard. But the plates were safe.
Joseph had been called to translate the plates, to establish the gospel of Jesus Christ once again on the earth. He was to be a prophet. And Joseph knew, with a mighty surge of exultation, that no obstacle, no temptation, no persecution could keep him from his appointed destiny.

When we were transferred in 1989 from the Germany Hamburg Mission to East Germany to preside over the Dresden mission, the time was not convenient for our family. Our children had just adapted to their new school in Hamburg and now had to become acquainted with the socialistic school system in East Germany. One child could not even come with us because she needed to finish school in the West. However, we have learned from this experience that what seemed to be hard for us in the beginning eventually turned into a great blessing for all of us. The Lord had His own way to take care of our challenges.

Illustration by Elizabeth Thayer
The young women were excited. In fact, the entire ward in southern France was excited. To encourage greater unity, leaders were planning a ward social, with dinner and entertainment. Knowing that the Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels had already been learning songs and dances during some of their activities, the leaders invited them to provide the evening’s entertainment.
And so the ward’s young women began practicing in earnest—all of them but one. Manon would not be able to perform. She had been undergoing cancer treatments for more than two years.
Manon C., age 16, still came to meetings and activities as often as she could, and she always shared a bright smile despite what she was going through. But during chemotherapy she was sometimes too weak to do much more than rest. Ward members had fasted and prayed several times on her behalf. No one expected her to practice or to dance.
But she could attend the dinner. So why not dedicate the evening to Manon?
The idea quickly caught on.
“We wanted Manon to feel the ward’s love and support for her,” explains Emma S., 16. “If our ward wanted to become more unified, what better way to do it than by working together to show our love for Manon?”
The entire ward became involved in the preparations. Families received assignments to bring food for the dinner; the Relief Society helped make costumes for the young women; the young adults provided technical support (lighting, sound, and background videos) for rehearsals and the final performance; and priesthood brethren helped set up tables and chairs.
All of this work was done by ward members spread out over a large area. “The youth in the ward are very close in spirit, but we live far apart,” says Aiolah V., 16. “We don’t see each other in school because we live in different parts of town, so we make an extra effort to ensure that no one gets left off to the side.”
“We also stay in touch all the time, thanks to cell phones,” says Inka S., 15. “We teach each other by sharing our different experiences. We know we can count on each other, and we try to set good examples for each other.” The young women, who love being together whenever they can, found that rehearsals for the dinner show provided additional opportunities to deepen friendships.
“Before we started rehearsing, I was quite shy,” Inka explains. “I was afraid of making a mistake. But when we danced as a group, I put my shyness aside. I knew it was time to show the ward how hard we had worked.”
Manon, for her part, was both humble and gracious. “When they told me about the dinner and show and that I’d be the guest of honor, I thought I’d be bothered that they were making a fuss,” she recalls. “On the other hand, I was excited to be there!”
Soon the evening arrived, and it was a perfect occasion to offer love and support for Manon. “The food, of course, was excellent,” Aiolah says. “This is France, after all!”
And then the entertainment—called a spectacle in French—lived up to its name. Games, vocal presentations, and dances delighted the audience. Then the young women, as a combined choir, provided the highlight of the show. They dedicated a song to Manon, a song Emma wrote and composed herself. The lyrics in the chorus sum up the love and support everyone wanted Manon to feel:
Please don’t give up,
’Cause we believe in you,
And don’t forget who you are,
’Cause we believe in you.
As the young women performed the song, it was as if everyone in the ward were singing along, at least in their hearts. It felt like Emma’s simple song was transformed into an unsung chorus that resonates in the hearts of Latter-day Saints wherever they are—an anthem of courage and compassion; family and friends; unity, faith, and hope; a never-ending prayer that is heard in heaven.
The leaders’ intent in organizing the social was to unify the ward. Dedicating the evening to Manon not only helped to accomplish that goal but also generated an enduring sense of support for Manon and her family and an understanding that every child of God is important. “It is the goal of the Church to help us be closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” Aiolah says. “We know that They love us and that we are never alone.”

My brother Henry and I were taking care of our neighbors’ pet chinchilla while they were away on vacation. We liked to feed him raisins and banana chips. One day while we were feeding him, he got out of his cage. We were having a hard time finding him. My brother finally found him under the couch, but every time we tried to grab him he ran away and hid again. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us catch the chinchilla. We worked together and finally caught him. I am grateful that I can ask Heavenly Father for help when I need it.Emmett Lytle, age 5, with help from his mom, Middlebury, Connecticut

Some time ago a father of six children who had the sole responsibility for raising the family, beginning when the youngest was in diapers, told of the struggles of doing so alone. One night he came home from work faced with the problems of being both father and mother and felt unusually burdened with his responsibilities. One of his appreciative daughters, age 12, approached him eagerly after having laid on his dresser a rock that she had painted at school. On the flat portion of the rock, she had written, “Happiness is having a dad who cares.” This painted rock and its sublime message instantly and permanently lightened the burden of this father.

There is a big bush in his corner, and a few smaller bushes.
Some weeds grow there too. Ben’s corner is shady and cool, even when the sun is very warm.
When Daddy gave him the corner, he said, “Ben, you can do anything you want to in your corner of the yard. You can dig a hole big enough to jump into, or plant a garden, or make roads for your trucks. You can do whatever you want to there.”
“Thank you,” Ben said. He sat in his corner of the yard and thought and thought about what he wanted to do with it. Digging a big hole might be fun.
Planting a garden might be fun. He liked watching things grow.
Making roads for his trucks might be a lot of fun.
But any of those things would certainly change his corner of the yard.
He thought some more.
“What did you do in your corner today, Ben?” His father asked when he came home from work.
“Nothing yet,” said Ben. “I’m thinking about it.”
The next day when he went out to his corner, he saw a little bird building a nest in the very top of the big bush. He was careful to walk quietly so that he wouldn’t frighten the bird. Maybe she thought his corner was her corner too.
He saw a hole under one of the small bushes.
Was it a snake hole? He thought it was too big for a snake.
Was it a mouse hole? He didn’t think so. It looked way too big for a mouse.
He sat cross-legged in his corner, as still as a mouse himself, and waited.
The little bird continued to build her nest. She sang a song as she worked.
Ben was very good at waiting. He watched the busy little bird. He waited … and waited some more. Then he heard a little noise.
He didn’t move, but his eyes got big and round as a little rabbit nose poked out of the hole. Fuzzy gray ears came next. Soon a whole rabbit hopped out of the hole. Maybe Ben’s corner was the rabbit’s corner too.
It was hard to sit so still, but Ben didn’t move. The rabbit’s nose wiggled this way and that way, smelling Ben’s corner. And smelling Ben.
Ben sat very, very still.
The rabbit hopped right over to his tennis shoe and sniffed it all over. He wished that he could touch the rabbit, but he knew that that would scare it away.
He sat very quietly until the rabbit finished smelling his shoe and hopped away under the hedge at the back of the yard.
Then Ben smiled. He knew what he was going to do with his corner of the yard.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.