Gospel Story Finder

Karina’s smile faded. She began to sweat—and not because it was unusually hot that week. She looked around for help. But in spite of the crowd at the open house, no one seemed to notice her alone with the reporter and all her questions.
Until that moment, 17-year-old Karina had enjoyed volunteering at the Kyiv Ukraine Temple open house. Now, with the newspaper reporter waiting expectantly, her tongue seemed stuck.
Karina was afraid that because of past mistakes she was trying to overcome, God wouldn’t help her.
Growing up in the Church, Karina had dreamed of a temple marriage. But like many teens, she craved acceptance.
She wanted to be beautiful and popular like her older sister. She dreamed of standing out and being admired, but she was afraid of sticking out and being ridiculed. Wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps at the police academy only increased the pressure. Out of 2,000 students, there were only 70 women. She both enjoyed the attention and dreaded it.
In her desire to fit in, she made some poor choices. “The pull of the world was strong,” Karina says. “People around me drank and smoked. They pushed and I gave in. I enjoyed being part of a group that felt so carefree.”
She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she wasn’t thinking about where her choices would lead as she followed the crowd away from God (see Matthew 7:13–14).
One day a young man she liked said he respected her church’s beliefs.
Ashamed that she wasn’t living those beliefs better, Karina finally stopped to consider the path she was on (see Haggai 1:5–7). She realized that her decisions were leading her away from God, the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and her dream of an eternal family.
The only way to change her direction was to change the decisions she was making each day.1 But she wondered if she was already too far down the wrong path. Was it too late to change?
Karina decided to begin changing by praying and reading the scriptures daily. She started writing in her journal, which helped her recognize Heavenly Father’s help each day. She changed the topic if conversations turned bad.
Her most difficult decision was to choose no friends for a time rather than choosing friends with a negative influence. She began looking for friends with higher standards.
Over the months that followed, the adversary threw doubt and fear in her face at every decision. Sometimes she wondered if the effort to follow the Savior was worth it. Who she wanted to be seemed out of reach.
But as she watched how her parents and others with strong testimonies lived, she learned that there is something more powerful than doubt and fear—she learned that because of repentance, there is hope.
“I saw it was possible to live the right way,” she says. “We aren’t condemned by our mistakes. Heavenly Father has given us the chance to repent and change direction.”
Turning away from her old choices and trying to follow the Savior each day have taught her that Heavenly Father is patient. “He has given me one chance after another to change and become a better person,” she says. “He has helped me through difficult times.”
Karina squared her shoulders and turned back to the reporter. Her smile brightened. Heavenly Father had done so much for her already that she knew He would help her now.
After the reporter finished asking questions, Karina smiled and waved. The reporter smiled back and walked away. Karina couldn’t remember much of what she said, but she would remember for a long time how she felt, knowing Heavenly Father is always within reach of those who choose to follow Him.

At home again, though I tried to keep active with a private study course and extensive reading, I found myself slipping into a major personal crisis. I had tried to go to church that summer, but I found it an ordeal. I was terribly self-conscious. I felt I was being stared at, and I became defensive about the smallest things. It was humiliating to have to be helped to take the sacrament. My reactions to people became paranoiac, and I invited feelings of worthlessness and guilt to enter my heart. I began to lose contact with the Church, preferring to stay in my little room in the back of the house. Here I withdrew into a world of isolation and depression. For five months I gnawed away at myself and demolished whatever strength I had acquired. The word cripple now applied to me both mentally and physically.
I neglected to pray as I should have, and I doubted the Lord’s forgiveness. I was not totally bitter, but in vain I tried to retain a spirit of hope. I know now that it was because of my ignorance of the sacrifice of Christ that I fell into this attitude.
Autumn passed into winter, and as the room became darker, so did my soul. I descended further and further into frustration and the feeling that I was as worthless a soul as had ever come into the world.
Then one night my mother came in and said that I had a visitor. The man who entered the room was tall and very self-confident—totally the opposite of my character. He introduced himself as Brother Howes from the local seminary. He had moved to town only recently, but he spoke about things as if we had known each other for some time. Though I didn’t know it then, this man would be one of the principal reasons for my returning to the gospel.
I expected that he would visit once or twice and that would be the extent of it, but these suspicions turned out to be false. Each week he came with the scriptures and began to nourish the spiritual side of me, which needed so much to be fed. With his help I began slowly to ascend once again to a point where some form of courage and hope became dimly visible. As time went by, I got interested enough to read the Bible and the Book of Mormon on my own; and through prayer I came to realize, for the first time, that I had something solid to cling to: the truth.

“Come on!” Vicky’s brother called. “Let’s go play with the Rowes!”
The Rowes were their new neighbors. They had moved to Bosnia and Herzegovina from the United States. They had kids the same age as Vicky and her siblings. But they didn’t speak Bosnian. Vicky was the only one in her family who spoke English. She translated so they could play together.
Vicky sat with Mrs. Rowe on the porch while the other kids played.
“Your family seems different,” Vicky said. “In a good way.”
Mrs. Rowe smiled. “Would you like to come to church with us? That might help you see why we’re different. Our church doesn’t have a building here in Bosnia, so we have church with our family at home.”
Vicky was curious when she arrived at the Rowes’ house on Sunday. First they sang a song. One of the children said a prayer. Then Mr. Rowe prayed and passed bread and water to each person. They said it was called the sacrament. After that their daughter Jessie gave a talk.
“Heavenly Father loves us. He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost,” Jessie said. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a peaceful feeling. Or sometimes He gives us a thought.”
The next day, Vicky walked to the store to buy bread. On her way home, she was about to pass by some trash cans when a voice in her mind stopped her. Stay away, it said.
Vicky stood still. Suddenly, a car came spinning around the corner. CRASH! It slammed into the garbage cans.
Vicky took a deep breath. She was so glad she listened to the voice!
Later, Vicky told Mrs. Rowe the story. “Was that the Holy Ghost?”
“Sounds like it. Sometimes the Holy Ghost warns us of danger.”
“God protected me,” Vicky said. “I’ll always listen to the Holy Ghost.”
Vicky kept going to the Rowes’ house for church every Sunday. Then Vicky shared the Book of Mormon with her mom. Soon her whole family was learning about the gospel from the Rowes. Vicky translated for everyone.
One day Mr. Rowe asked Vicky’s family a question. Vicky repeated it in Bosnian. “Will you follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized?”
Vicky waited. She wanted to be baptized. But she was nervous about what her family would say.
Finally, Vicky’s dad spoke. “Da.”
“Da,” her family said.
Vicky was so happy she felt like her heart was going to burst. “Yes,” she said to Mr. Rowe. “Yes, we will.”
A week later, Vicky and her family drove for five hours to the nearest Church building. Vicky felt happy as she stepped into the water to be baptized. She felt even happier when she was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Now she would have the Holy Ghost with her always.

For me, the key to choosing to serve a mission was gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon. When I was 15, living near St. Louis, Missouri, my seminary teacher challenged us to read the Book of Mormon not just once, but twice during the school year. As a reward, she offered a steak dinner. Eating a steak dinner with the girls I knew would take the challenge sounded very appealing to me.
For the first time in my life I began a committed attempt to read the entire Book of Mormon. I had tried many times before, but I always got stuck in the Isaiah chapters. I pushed past those, and within a few months I had read all the way through for the first time. When I finished, I thought, “This is a really good book! But is it correct?”
I started reading again with the intent of determining whether it was factual or fabricated. I checked for consistency in dates and calculated the ages of the various prophets to see if they were realistic. I found evidence supporting the reliability of the Book of Mormon as an ancient text. When I finished reading the second time, I was convinced that it was correct.
At this point I had reached the original goal to read the Book of Mormon twice. I was surprised to realize that I was no longer interested in the steak dinner—this was becoming too important, too sacred, for such a reward. I was now convinced the Book of Mormon was good and correct, but was it true? To answer that question, I read it for a third time.
Before I read, I said a short prayer, asking, “Father, is what I’m about to read true? If so, please tell me through Thy Spirit.” Then, when I was finished reading for the day, I’d close the book and ask, “Father, is what I have just read true?” I read it through this way the third time, and not long after that, the Spirit bore witness of its truthfulness in an unmistakable manner. I had found out for myself that the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 really works!

Wind chimes filled the outdoors with music. Telephone wires whistled with each gust of wind. Leaves could not hold on to their branches but danced in the air before floating down to cover the backyard like a big, lumpy, calico quilt.
The wind was teasing everything. It lifted Allison’s hat off her head and pulled her ponytail out in front of her. It pushed at her one way, then shoved her another.
“Stop it!” Allison shouted at the wind. “You’re too rough!”
But the wind didn’t listen.
Allison bounced her ball, but the wind snatched it away. She tried to jump rope, but the wind tangled it under her feet.
“Wind,” shouted Allison, “you don’t play fair!”
Again and again the wind interfered. When Allison tried to roller-skate, the wind made her wobble. When she tried to pedal her bicycle, the wind wheeled her the wrong way.
Allison stopped and thought. “Wind,” she said, looking up into the sky, “I know something that we both can play.”
Allison went into her house and brought out her kite. As she let out some string, the wind pulled the kite little by little high into the sky. Up, up it went, higher than the houses. It kept going up, up until it seemed to be playing tag with the clouds and there was no more string left to unwind.
Allison tugged on the string. The wind pulled on the kite. Allison giggled. The wind whistled. All afternoon Allison and the wind played.
“Al—li—son,” called Grandmother from the porch.
“Wind, I have to go,” Allison said as she tugged harder on the end of the string.
The wind pulled back.
“I really have to go now.” This time she tugged with both hands.
The wind pulled back again, but more gently as it began to die down.
Little by little the kite floated down. Down, down, up, down, zigzagging below the clouds. Down, up, down below the houses. Down, carefully, below the trees. Whispering now, the wind set the kite at Allison’s feet, then brushed across her face like a feather.
“Oh, Allison,” called Grandmother once more. “Come over here and let me see those great big apples in your cheeks.”
Allison giggled. She knew that she didn’t have apples in her cheeks. She had just been kissed by the wind.

I think of two women, once the closest of friends. The one, through an accident of which she was innocent, became in effect a party to the death of a child of the other. It is difficult to say which of those women suffered the most over the death of that child. The one who was not the mother, but who was involved in the accident that led to the fatality, has grieved and wept these many years, not only for the child who was lost and for her part in the tragic situation, but perhaps even more over the unforgiving spirit of the mother who lost the child. It is understandable why the bereft mother, mourning over the loss of her baby, felt bitter. But long since there should have been a realization on her part that her friend was innocent, that she too has wept, and that there should have been an outpouring of love toward her rather than recrimination. An absence of charity has cankered the soul of that woman, destroyed her happiness, brought only misery to her days and sorrow to her nights.

How often do you reach the end of the day, look back on it, and say, “There were just enough hours in the day today! There was time to do everything I wanted to, and a little time left to spare!”
If you’re like most of us, it’s not often. If you’re Gracious Shoko from South Africa, it’s almost never. On a typical day, she rises at 3:30 a.m. to do her scripture reading, personal prayers, check her weekly goals, and list what she needs to do by the end of the day. By 6:30 a.m. she’s off to drop her two children at school and get to work. After a full day’s work and dinner, when most of us would be getting ready to put our feet up, she gets out her sewing machine to sew curtains, duvets, and pillowcases for her part-time business. Around 10 p.m., when many of us would be getting ready for bed, she opens her study books.
Being a parent, working full-time, running a part-time business, and studying part-time simultaneously are “not easy,” says Gracious, who has been studying toward a certificate in management accounting for some years. “That’s the reason I’m going like a snail in my studies,” she says. She alternates late nights with earlier ones so that she can get an adequate amount of rest. “Sometimes I feel so tired that I sleep for an hour when I get home, then I start studying after that,” she says. But she keeps at it, and recently wrote an exam that will take her one step closer to completing her qualification.
“It will get rough out there,” we read in the self-reliance course under principle three: Be Obedient. “We will all have times when we are discouraged or overwhelmed, but our Heavenly Father hasn’t left us alone in the wilderness. He gave us a lifeline: the Holy Ghost. We can pray for direction, confirmation on our choices, the energy to perform the tasks at hand. But the answers will come only if we are being obedient to the commandments.”
Obedience to the commandments can help us develop self-discipline, the self-reliance course teaches. And that ability to “endure to the end” (see 2 Nephi 31), to keep persisting toward a goal despite difficulties, is inherent to success.
The course gives a few practical tips for improving self-discipline, and by extension, our ability to be obedient and therefore succeed.
1. Visualise your motivation. Why are you choosing to keep this habit? Examples might include that you want to live with your family forever, or be more Christlike. When the going gets tough, it’s important to refer back to your greater purpose. Psychologists teach that it helps you deal with stress and stay focused as you encounter difficulties in your task as well.
2. Identify and practice good habits daily. “Behavioral scientists will tell us in order to succeed we need to control the things we can control,” says the course.
“This is the art of developing healthy habits: going to bed at a decent hour, rising early and preparing for the day with scripture reading and prayer, and then organizing your day; being honest; being kind; making time in your schedule to practice good habits daily. As you do, you’ll find your self-discipline increasing, making it easier to be obedient.”
And Gracious can attest to that. “I read my scriptures during the mornings,” she says. This gives her the focus she needs to stay positive.
3. Interview yourself at the end of the day. Identify what you did well and what you need to do better. Gracious does this regularly. She describes this self-interview as “kind of a push, a motivation—like if you talk to someone, and they say something positive, you feel like: ‘Oh yes, I will get there.’”
4. Pray. Be grateful for the opportunity to grow. Ask for guidance on important decisions. “When we have a load, we must just offload it on Him,” she says. “I feel like by so doing it gives me that strength to do what I need to, and my load becomes lighter.”
As long as she stays obedient, Gracious knows she can achieve her long-term desire of turning her part-time business into a full-time endeavour.
“You just give yourself to the Lord, and then you tell yourself that you’re just going to do what is right and you wait for the promises which He has made,” she says. “The important thing is having hope—you know that He’s not going to let you down.”

In very beautiful paper, I wrapped a Bible; a copy of the Book of Mormon; the pamphlets “Why Families,” “What of the Mormons,” and “The Prophet Joseph Smith’s Testimony”; plus a card showing where we have the local branches of our church here in Ibadan. I gave it as a Christmas present to the principal investigating officer in the general post office here.
I felt good giving this gift because this man was very kind and I felt he deserved to come to a knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I can say that my Christmas gift affected not only him but his entire family because of the card his wife sent me which included his handwritten note saying, “Your wonderful Christmas gift has been received. I am appreciative of your very kind gesture. Thank you.”
—Amuzie NwachukwuIbadan, Nigeria

When I discussed this concept with one of my sisters who had been a student here in the 1960s, she mentioned that she had a roommate at BYU named Carolyn who had had a personal goal to make a new friend in each of her classes. At the beginning of the semester, Carolyn would survey each classroom and choose someone she could make her friend. During the remainder of the term, Carolyn would take the time to become acquainted and get together. Her classmate would eventually become part of her circle of friends. I wonder whether any of those befriended by Carolyn during those years would today confess that she was one of the few friends they had during college.

To explain how this university blesses lives, I would like to begin my remarks by sharing a story about a young boy who grew up in the boundless, large, flat, and unforested grassland, known as steppes, in Mongolia.

On the far eastern edge of Mongolia, in a vast steppe where the horizon seems to stretch endlessly, a little boy grew up. In that wide-open land, when he was just seven years old, he began attending a school located 13 miles from his home. With no means of transportation other than his horse, he was required to ride to school through fierce snowstorms and bitter cold temperatures, sometimes reaching ?22°F and taking more than two hours to arrive.

Once at school, he lived in the school dorms, away from family, until the weekend, when he would ride home again. This continued for four years, until he was forced to leave school to help his parents herd livestock.

During summer breaks from school, the children from nearby families would come home, and joyful moments were shared with play and laughter—but these times always seemed far too short. When autumn arrived and school resumed, the neighboring children would return to the town to continue their education. Silence once again would settle in, and the boy would realize the endless loneliness of life in the middle of the boundless steppe. With no other choice, he learned to adapt to a nomadic life.

With no friends except sheep and horses, he spent his days with the herd, enduring wind and storms and protecting the herd from wolves. Yet, like other children, he imagined himself attending school, laughing and playing with many friends. For that dream, he offered prayers to a Higher Power—God.

He entered school shortly after Mongolia transitioned to a democratic society. Under the new government’s policy, the Cyrillic alphabet, which had been used for 50 years, was abolished, and the traditional Mongolian script was revived and taught to all children. However, soon after he left school, the policy changed again, reverting to Cyrillic. As a result, he suddenly found himself illiterate. It felt as if the door to his dream of returning to school had slammed shut before him.

Rather than giving in to despair, he decided to teach himself the Cyrillic alphabet. After long days of hard labor, by the dim light of a candle, he copied letters from newspapers, and during the day, while herding sheep, he practiced writing letters in the air. In this way, he continued to educate himself. Seven years after leaving school, at the age of eighteen, the boy passed the entrance exam for high school and reopened the door to his dream.

God promised in Joshua 1:5: “…I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” [1] Just as the Lord led Moses and the Israelites through the wilderness; He likewise guided the boy and blessed him far beyond anything he could have imagined.

After graduating from high school and moving to Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, to attend college, he met missionaries, accepted the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and at church, found his closest friend—his eternal companion. That little boy who grew up in the endless steppe now stands before you. My life is a clear testimony of how deeply Heavenly Father loves His children and how He blesses and guides us.

After learning about BYU–Hawaii and the IWORK program, my growing passion for education motivated me to set a new goal—to pursue higher education abroad in a safe and supportive environment. As a newly married couple and a young parent, meeting the university’s requirements and becoming financially prepared required sacrifice, patience, and faith. The preparation process took five years before I was admitted.

Obtaining an American visa tested our faith even further. By then, our family had grown to four, and we were denied at our first interview. With limited resources but renewed trust in the Lord, we paid the visa fee again and reapplied. One week before orientation, our visa was finally approved—a tender reminder that God’s timing is always perfect, even when the path feels uncertain.

The journey to BYU–Hawaii was not straight or easy, but it was guided. Looking back, I see the hand of the Lord shaping us through every delay, rejection, and sacrifice, strengthening our faith and preparing us for the blessings that lay ahead.

President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once told of applying for Officer’s Candidate School in the United States Army. He said:
“I was summoned before the board of inquiry. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America.
“The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Nearly all of them centered upon my beliefs. ‘Do you smoke?’ ‘Do you drink?’ ‘What do you think of others who smoke and drink?’ I had no trouble answering these questions.
“‘Do you pray?’ ‘Do you believe that an officer should pray?’ The officer asking these questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he prayed very often. … I wanted to be an officer very much. …
“I decided not to equivocate. I admitted that I did pray and that I felt that officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. …
“More interesting questions came. ‘In times of war, should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?’
“… I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’
“I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers would … surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School!”
And then President Faust, realizing how small decisions can have large consequences, said, “This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.”4

Contrast this woman with the Latter-day Saint girl who climbed the heights of self-control as she forgave the man who disfigured her lovely face. Let the United Press newsman, Neal Corbett, tell the story as it appeared in the pages of the San Francisco newspapers.

“‘I would think he must be suffering, anybody who’s like that, we ought to feel sorry for him,’ said April Aaron of the man who had sent her to a hospital for three weeks, following a brutal … knife attack. April Aaron is a devout Mormon, 22 years of age. … She is a secretary who is as pretty as her name, but her face has just one blemish—the right eye is missing … April lost it to the ‘wildly slashing knife of a purse snatcher,’ near San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park while en route to an MIA dance. … She also suffered deep slashes on her left arm and right leg during a struggle with her assailant, after she tripped and fell in her efforts to elude him just one block from the Mormon chapel. …

“‘I ran for a block and a half before he caught me. You can’t run very fast on high heels,’ April said with a smile. Slashes on her leg were so severe [that] doctors feared for a time it would need amputation. The sharp edge of the weapon could damage neither April’s vivaciousness, nor her compassion. ‘… I wish that somebody could do something for him, to help him. He should have some treatment. Who knows what leads a person to do a thing like this? If they don’t find him, he’s likely to do it again.’

“… April Aaron has won the hearts of the people in the San Francisco Bay area with her courage and good spirit in face of tragedy. Her room at St. Francis hospital was banked with flowers throughout her stay and attendants said they couldn’t recall when anyone received more cards and expressions of good wishes.” (Cited in The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 294.)

Let me tell you about one shining example named Hillary, a Beehive living in Lagos, Nigeria. Some of her classmates were mocking her standards, particularly her modest clothing. She made the decision to always carry two small copies of For the Strength of Youth with her. When someone gives her a bad time, she hands them one of the copies to keep and explains the standards and why she follows them. The other copy she keeps as her personal reminder to be obedient to the standards.

But I was to go through a lot during my investigation of the Church. I fasted, I prayed, I read the scriptures. I wanted to get baptized. I was only 17, and my parents thought I was going through a teenage phase. They said I should wait. The elders challenged me to build my testimony anyway.
A few months later when I was 18, I was finally baptized. Little did I know that in 14 months I would go on a mission too.

Our obedience and our faith in our leaders is put to the test through callings and releases. I recall an occasion when I was tempted to ask for a release from my calling as branch president. On my way to talk to the district president, I stopped at the post office to pick up my mail. Among the mail was the latest issue of the Liahona. As I looked over it, my eyes fell on a short message by President David O. McKay, in which he told how much the first leaders and missionaries of the Church had to suffer for the gospel. His words touched my heart, and I realized the foolishness of my decision. I kept my appointment with the district president, but never mentioned my original reason for coming. Instead, I took the opportunity to ask for additional counsel concerning my calling.
Years later the brother who had been district president asked me, “Brother Davila, what did you really want to talk to me about many years ago when you came to my house in Bogota?” I told him I had come to ask for a release. Then, with love and a smile, he said, “I knew what you were going to tell me. From the time you called me to make an appointment until you arrived at my house, I was praying that something might happen along the way that would change your mind.”
This experience has helped me to testify that our leaders are inspired, and that we should follow them humbly and willingly accept callings and releases that they extend to us.

Some years ago when one of my daughters was a small, exuberant child we were all sitting around the fireplace as families do at the happy Christmas season. It had been a good, satisfying, full holiday, and the stress of the hustle and the bustle of the day was behind us, leaving the warm after-glow of this happy day. Fathers, mothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles all chatted quietly by the fire, and into this large group of people who loved each other bounded my child with the exclamation, “Look who’s here, everybody!”

Our curiosity was piqued by this enthusiastic announcement. We looked beyond her with interest and inquired, “Who is it?”

And she returned our questioning glances with sparkling eyes and a face wreathed in smiles and announced, “Me!”

It was not what we had expected, somehow, but I shall never forget that moment. This little bit of a girl taught her older kinfolk an important lesson. In a sense she was saying what the central figure represents: “There is no one more important than the individual.” The individual human being is the most important entity on the face of the earth.

One of the stories President Monson uses comes from his days as a deacon. He and the other members of his quorum were apparently assigned to be Eskimos in the ward’s road show. President Monson’s sister was playing the part of Lady Liberty. When his sister came down with a severe case of laryngitis just at the critical performance time, it was feared that she would not be able to speak her lines and the show would be impaired. The “Eskimos” decided to do something about this situation. They gathered in the room in the basement of their meetinghouse and knelt in prayer. They sought the Lord’s intervening Spirit in behalf of President Monson’s sister. At the appointed time, Lady Liberty was able to deliver her lines with a clear voice. President Monson’s sister remembered the experience as being a miracle in her life and was grateful for those Eskimos.

The Teton Dam has burst! Get out for your lives!" The speaker on top of a car blared this message up and down each street on a beautiful, quiet, June morning.
Almost all the children in the Rexburg, Idaho, area are Mormons, and they knew what to do—they looked to their parents for instruction. Most families had a brief prayer.
Some people had to get into cars immediately and drive to higher ground. Others had a few minutes to get precious things like church records or baby brother’s teddy bear.
Eight days after the disaster, President Kimball and Elder Boyd K. Packer talked to the parents and children and gave them hope and encouragement.
During the day, the children could not go with their parents to clean up the messes left by the flood. The mud that was in their houses was full of germs. There were sharp pointed boards and broken glass everywhere.
The children painted a big rainbow to brighten the childcare center. Although the days were long while their parents cleaned, things seemed brighter.
Many of the older children tended the younger boys and girls. They read stories, played games, and did other activities with them.
The children had faith. They knew everything would be all right!
June 5, 1976, began early for the Ashcraft family in Wilford, Idaho. It was Wayne’s twelfth birthday, and it turned out to be an unexpectedly eventful Saturday for him and thousands of people in and around Rexburg, Idaho. By evening of that same day the Ashcrafts had lost their new three-month-old home, and their land and farm equipment were ruined when later that morning the Teton Dam broke, spreading disaster throughout the valley. But the Ashcraft family was safe.
Sister Ashcraft, Cara Lynn (4) and Greg (2) were in Salt Lake City, visiting relatives.
Meanwhile in Wilford, sprinkler pipes for irrigating had to be moved and ditches dug that day so Ronald (13), Wayne (12), Kaleen (11), Cynthia (10), and Renee (9) helped.
The girls had never moved pipe before. “I really didn’t want to help,” Kaleen admitted. “I wanted to go to a Primary activity instead. But Dad came and got us up, and by nine o’clock we’d moved all the pipes and were digging ditches.”
“Dad had told me to take a shovel and clean out a ditch, and I was just taking my time,” Wayne shyly admitted. “I figured I’d be through before Dad got back to the pickup. He had to check the water and everything first.
“Later when I was done, I met Dad and we got on the tractor and headed toward the road.
“Our neighbor, Roger Weber, was out in the field chasing his horses. He started shouting something, and Dad shut the tractor off so we could hear. Roger told us the dam was breaking.”
“We thought we had about an hour,” Ronald added, “so I took the tractor down to the other end of the field. Then we all got in the pickup and headed home.
“We were about a mile from our house when another neighbor said we couldn’t go any farther. Dad said, ‘Oh, surely I can make it home.’
“Our neighbor said, ‘You’d be foolish to try.’ But Dad wanted to try anyway.
“We went about a quarter mile and just around the corner we saw Virgil Wad’s spud pit go. Turning the pickup around, we saw Dean Dawes’ place being covered by the water. We headed next for Bischoff’s spud pit, then decided to go for higher ground.
“We started for the hill on one side of the valley, but the water began coming, so we went to the other side. We had to hurry because the road was in the valley.”
From that hill the Ashcraft family watched the water go around them and then hit their home. Stunned by what they were seeing, Wayne suggested that he and his brother and sisters go off by themselves to pray. Cynthia said, “I got in the back of the pickup, knelt down by a tire, and prayed. After that I thought, Everything’s going to be OK. The water will start to go down.”
But it didn’t.
Just then some airplanes flew over the area. One of the planes spotted the families below stranded on the hill. The pilot flew back to the airport in St. Anthony and returned in a military plane that landed in a grainfield. The Ashcrafts and others climbed aboard and were taken to St. Anthony.
The Ashcraft family lost their home and all of their earthly possessions except a little football belonging to Greg that they found downstream from their home several miles. But today they are happy they are alive and together and are thankful for all the help they have received.
The people of the Idaho flood area feel blessed. The Church through its welfare program has provided them with food, clothing, and shelter. Church members have opened up their homes and their hearts to the stricken families.
The Ashcrafts plan to return to their once fertile land, now covered by many feet of sand and gravel. There they will live in two trailer houses until they can build a new home.
This family will always remember one important lesson—to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. When Cynthia asked her father why he insisted on taking them with him that Saturday morning, he said he had a feeling that he should take them.
And Cynthia understood!
Steven (8) and Douglas (11) Brown, and Kevin (8) and Kimball (11) Galbraith were neighbors in Sugar City, Idaho. On Saturday, June 5, 1976, they were planning to go fishing at their secret spot on the Teton River after Steven and Douglas had finished mowing their lawn.
Ordinarily the boys used a power mower but for some reason that day they used the hand mower even though it took longer. Word about the dam breaking came before they finished the lawn.
Doug said, “If we had used the power mower we’d have been at the Teton River and Dad doesn’t think that he could have gotten us out and we probably would have drowned.”
Twelve-year-old Paul Packer, who also lives in Sugar City, had planned a bike ride to the river while his parents were shopping but something interfered. “If my ride hadn’t been delayed,” he said, “I wouldn’t have gotten out of there. My two sisters would have gone with the neighbors without me.”
One month later Steven, Douglas, Kevin, Kimball, and Paul went back to see their homes. (see photographs)—
Jodi Carlson (10) and Shaun Orr (7) hurried to Jodi’s grandparents’ grocery store in downtown Rexburg to warn them of the coming flood. Jodi’s grandparents decided the store would be the safest place for them during the flood. They went upstairs to the office and watched the flood enter and submerge the ground floor of the store. Within four hours the water was as high as the fifth step below the office door.
“The back wall had holes in it,” Shaun explained later, “and started to break. The water hit the door, broke the lock, and pushed the door over to the wall. A tractor and a cow washed in and lodged under the office where we were. The cow’s body prevented the office floor from collapsing.”
Four hours later their many prayers were answered when they were rescued by the National Guard.

“Nothing ever goes right!” Jason shouted, and he slammed the model car he was making down on the table. Pieces of it flew in all directions. He picked up the pieces, shoved them into the box, then tossed the box onto the shelf in his bedroom and went outside.
Jason’s little brother, Kent, ran up to him. “Do you want to play catch with me?”
“I suppose,” Jason replied. He tossed the ball to his brother. Kent tried to throw the ball back, but it flew straight up into the air. It didn’t come anywhere near where Jason was standing.
“Learn to throw, will you!” Jason exploded.
Kent tried again. This time the ball bounced a couple of times and stopped far away from Jason.
“Oh, forget it,” Jason groaned. “I’m going to play ball with some of my friends.” He went down to Miller’s field, where his friends were standing together talking. Something important must be going on, he thought and ran over to them. “What’s happening?”
“Bad news,” Robert said. “Tomorrow’s Blazer B picnic has been called off. Brother Gilbert can’t take us because his father’s shed burned down and he has to help clean up the mess.”
“Nothing ever goes right!” Jason grumbled.
At lunchtime he hardly nibbled his egg salad sandwich.
“What’s wrong, Jason?” his mother asked.
“Oh, Mom, what a rotten day! Everything’s going wrong, and we can’t even have our picnic tomorrow because of a dumb old fire.”
His mother put her hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I know how you feel, Son. We all have what we call terrible days. But sometimes it helps to remember Heavenly Father’s goodness to us. Remember the scripture in Psalm 118:24 [Ps. 118:24]: ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it’?”
Jason sighed. “I remember, Mom, but how can I be glad when everything goes wrong?”
“Sometimes things go wrong because we don’t use the gifts that Heavenly Father gave us to try to make things go right.”
Jason just moaned as he went outside and sat on the front steps, still feeling glum. He knew that his mother was trying to help him, but what was happening to him wasn’t his fault at all. The pieces of the model car were cut wrong; that’s why he couldn’t put it together. And it sure wasn’t his fault that Kent couldn’t throw a ball or that Brother Gilbert’s father’s shed had burned down.
He watched Kent trying again and again to throw the ball straight. But every throw was wild. The kid didn’t follow through with his arm. He jerked each throw with a twist of his wrist.
“Let me show you how to do it,” Jason said. He took the ball from Kent. “Watch my arm.” The ball made a nice arc through the air.
“That’s a great throw!” Kent said admiringly.
“Thanks,” his brother said. “If you go get the ball, I’ll show you again.” After a few more throws, Jason let Kent try. Kent’s arm motion was smoother this time, and the ball went pretty far.
“Oh, wow!” Kent yelled. “That’s the best I’ve ever done.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “It was good.” It made him feel good to see his brother so excited.
“Let me practice some more by myself,” Kent said. “Then we’ll have a real game of catch.”
Jason wandered into the house. He couldn’t think of anything to do. Mom was in the kitchen, doing the lunch dishes. Jason went in and picked up the towel and began to dry them.
“Well, thank you,” his mother said, surprised.
Jason grinned. “When we get the dishes done, you’d better sit in a chair so you don’t fall down because I’m going to take out the garbage.”
Mom looked so startled at Jason’s pronouncement that he had to laugh. And the laughing made him feel good too. After he took out the garbage, he felt good enough to try working on the model car again. He took out all the pieces and looked at them carefully. Then he looked at the directions. He felt silly when he saw that he had been trying to put a piece where it didn’t belong. No wonder he’d thought that the pieces weren’t cut right. Now that he was using the gifts that Heavenly Father had given him, as his mother had put it, things were going right. He had even made Kent and Mom happy by helping them.
At least today is turning out pretty good, he decided. But what about tomorrow? All the guys had planned on the picnic. Mom had already bought the hot dog buns and mustard that he was supposed to bring. The Blazers had planned to go swimming, and Brother Gilbert was going to show them how to play water basketball.
Well, there was no sense moping about it. There was no way that the boys could go on the picnic without Brother Gilbert, and he had to help his father. Suddenly Jason put the model car down. Maybe …
He raced out of his room to find his mother. “Do you know where Brother Gilbert’s father lives?”
Mom looked surprised. “He lives about five or six miles out in the country, on Highway 27. Why?”
Jason told Mom his plan, and she thought it was a good one.
It took Jason a while to round up the other boys and for them to get their parents’ permission, but when everything was arranged, Jason called Brother Gilbert on the phone. “We’re sorry to hear about your father’s shed,” he said. “All the Blazer Bs want to help you clean up. My mom will drive us out there right after supper. Is that OK?”
“Is it OK? It’s terrific!” Brother Gilbert said. “If we all work together, we can probably get the whole job done this evening and go on our picnic tomorrow as planned.”
Jason smiled as he told his mother what Brother Gilbert had said. “You know something, Mom? My terrible day turned out to be terrific! When things go wrong, sometimes we can do something ourselves to make them better.”

I have never really enjoyed talking to others about the gospel very much, mostly because I felt I was incapable of doing so.
Then I had the opportunity to share the gospel with some of my cousin’s friends. They asked me questions. They knew that I was a member of the Church, and they had lots of questions. For example, “How are you baptized for the dead? What’s that all about?” and “You have a living prophet?”
I didn’t know quite what to say. If I’m honest about it, I was a little bit afraid inside. But for the first time, I wanted to talk about it. So I said to myself, “I’m going to have to have the courage to tell them something, so I might as well do my best.”
The entire time I was talking to them, I could feel the Spirit telling me how to explain things to them. I explained principles of the gospel, using the right words so that they could understand, and they were delighted because they were able to find answers for the questions they had.
From this experience, I learned that the Spirit can help us to find the right words to explain the gospel to people who have the desire to learn about Jesus Christ. If we have the courage to speak, the Spirit will be there to help us.
Julie J., France