Gospel Story Finder

Fritz Engels walked into the huge Frankfurt/Main train terminal, his heart pounding so loudly that he was sure everyone could hear it.
“Herr (Mr.) Schiller, I’ve come to ask for the job as errand boy,” said Fritz, rubbing his damp hands on his best lederhosen (leather shorts).
“So you think you can load a food wagon and roll it to the train?” the station manager asked. “Can you be prompt? Always on time?”
“Ja (Yes), Herr Schiller,” Fritz answered, nodding his head.
“Do you know what makes a perfect day for me?” the manager asked, looking directly at the young boy, but without waiting for an answer. “The day no trains are late. You must do your part to help the trains leave on time. A food cart has to be on each train so that the attendant can deliver it to the next station.”
“I’ll work quickly,” Fritz promised, “and I’ll always remember how important time is.”
“Good boy! You can start work today.” Herr Shiller called to a boy about seventeen years old. “Ludwig, take Fritz and show him what he is to do.”
As the two boys walked into the huge terminal where trains waited in long rows, a voice over a loudspeaker announced the departure of some of the trains. Fritz loved to hear the voice switch languages, from German to French to English.
“When I grow up, I want to be a train announcer,” said Fritz.
“Then study hard, because you must speak at least three languages well to get that job,” said Ludwig. “Hurry along, now. We have to load the cart for the Berlin D-Zug (Express).”
The boys arrived at a room where small carts were parked in rows. “Place crackers, sandwiches, chips, soft drinks, and cookies on one of these carts,” explained Ludwig, “then roll it down to the departing train. Turn the cart over to the boy on the train. He’ll take it to the next town, selling as much as he can, then get off and board a train coming back to Frankfurt.”
“Do you sell much?” asked Fritz. He understood something about the vending process because he had been watching for months, hoping for a job.
“Most Germans pack a lunch,” Ludwig explained as he filled a shiny cart, “but since few trains have dining cars, the tourists usually buy from us.”
“How do I know when to load a cart?” asked Fritz, still nervous about his new job.
Ludwig pointed to the huge white display boards that lined the depot waiting room. “Those are the departure times and the gate numbers for each train.”
Fritz nodded and recited his duties for Ludwig’s benefit: “I check the board for the time the next train leaves, and I must be at the right gate at the right time with a loaded cart. An older boy, like you, will be waiting to take the cart aboard and ride with it to the next station.”
Ludwig patted him on the shoulder. “You are a smart lad, Fritz. Now we must hurry. The train I sell on leaves in five minutes. When do you have to be ready for the next one?”
Fritz’s eyes rounded in shock. “The Amsterdam train leaves in eight minutes!” he cried, grabbing supplies and filling his cart.
“Good-bye and good luck,” called Ludwig. “See you later.”
Fritz worked so fast that he dropped several packages of chips and had to stop and pick them up. He glanced at the large clock in the waiting room. He had three minutes to get to the platform. Pushing the cart as rapidly as he could, he steered his way through the crowd.
The aroma of knockwurst, a thick round sausage served on a yeast roll and covered with mustard, drifted by. Fritz didn’t stop as he usually did to watch the knockwurst twist on spindles over a charcoal fire.
“Hi, Fritz! So you got the job, did you?” called Fraulein (Miss) Greta, who ran the magazine and refreshment stand. “Want a free knockwurst?”
“I can’t stop now. I must get to the train on time,” he called back, waving to her with one arm and steering with the other.
Fritz skidded onto the platform ramp just as the announcer began the last call for passengers to board, Happily he handed the cart over to the blond-haired boy who was anxiously awaiting it.
“Good work,” said the attendant, lifting the cart onto the train. “See you later.”
The train whistle blew, and the Amsterdam train began rolling down the track and out of the terminal. Fritz stood watching, pleased that he had not caused it to be late.
All afternoon Fritz worked, never failing to get a loaded cart to the right place at the right time.
Fritz enjoyed the sounds of the terminal. Trains hissed, people spoke rapidly in different languages, and everything echoed in the high-ceilinged building.
“Fritz, what are you planning to do with all the pfennige (pennies) you’ll be earning?” asked Fraulein Greta.
“Help Mutter (Mother) pay for things we need,” he answered shyly. Fritz could think of many things his mother needed now that his father was ill and out of work.
Things went smoothly, and Fritz was loading a cart for the Paris train when the stationmaster came by to see him. “You’re doing an excellent job, Fritz. However, don’t get careless and be late,” warned Herr Schiller.
The happy boy grinned as he wheeled the cart down the concrete walkway. “I won’t,” he promised.
Suddenly he heard a cry, then the sound of someone falling. He looked up to see elderly Frau (Mrs.) Wagner, his neighbor, lying on the steps. She had slipped and fallen, and oranges and canned goods from her shopping bag rolled across the platform. People hurrying to board departing trains stepped over the food.
Fritz glanced at the clock. The Paris train would leave in just three minutes. Should I stop and help Frau Wagner, or should I pretend I don’t see her? he agonized.
Even if he lost his job, Fritz knew that he couldn’t just leave Frau Wagner there on the steps. He stopped the cart, locked the brake on it, and ran to help her. Taking her arm, he asked, “Frau Wagner, are you hurt?”
“Nein, nein (No, no), but I’m going to miss my train. My daughter is sick, and I must catch the train to be with her in Paris.” Tears began to run down her face. “My food! My food! I was taking it to her.” She gestured at the scattered groceries.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get everything back into the shopping bag,” Fritz said, scurrying to gather the things up. Tossing the last runaway orange into the bag, he took Frau Wagner by the arm and led her quickly to the train.
“Bless you!” she cried, smiling and waving from the train steps. “Auf Wiedersehen (Good-bye).”
The stationmaster’s whistle blew, signaling the train’s departure, just as Fritz arrived at the ramp with his cart. He raced along the loading ramp beside the slow-moving train until Ludwig could grab the cart handle and swing the cart aboard.
Turning to leave, Fritz heard his name called.
It was the stationmaster. “Fritz, did you cause the train to be late?” asked the man, pretending to be stern.
“Nein, Herr Schiller, but I almost did. I’m very sorry.” He swallowed hard. Am I going to be fired? he wondered.
Herr Schiller patted him on the shoulder and said, “I saw what happened, Fritz. That was a kind thing you did. Everyone else ignored the poor lady in their hurry to catch the train.”
“I could not leave her,” said Fritz.
“That, my boy, is what makes you special. A lad with a kind heart will be good for my train station. That lady was more important to you than your job.” He winked at Fritz. “Who knows, one day you might even be a stationmaster!”

Last October my family moved from Minnesota to my grandmother’s house in Utah. My father stayed in Minnesota to fix up the house before we sold it. Things weren’t going as quickly as we had hoped, so my mother traveled to Minnesota to help him. At 17 and the oldest, I was put in charge of my younger sister and three younger brothers until my parents got back. My grandmother was visiting my aunt, so it would be just us kids for a while.
I had been left in charge before, and it would be no big deal to take care of the children for a couple of weeks. It was summer, so I didn’t have to worry about school or homework, and my parents left the minivan so I could bus my siblings around. The first night, we ate a quick dinner, watched some TV, and I finally managed to get them into bed. I was very tired when I crawled into bed, but I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what I was going to do the next day. I heard a creaking sound, but houses always creak at night. Normally, I wouldn’t have noticed, but I wasn’t used to sleeping in this house. Not only that, but I was in charge of keeping my younger sister and brothers safe. After a few more creaks, I convinced myself that someone had opened the door and was walking around inside. I was wide awake now. I said a quick prayer and tried to dismiss the creaking sounds as regular house sounds.
After a few minutes I was on edge again. This time I sat up on my bed to bow my head and fold my arms. I prayed that my sister, brothers, and I would be safe while my parents were gone and that I would be able to feel peaceful that night. Afterward I was calmer, but I still couldn’t sleep.
I prayed again, and this time I received the impression that I should check the house. I got up and went to the door of my room and stopped. I could picture myself opening it and finding a burglar with a gun. I did not want to open the door but, remembering my impression, I went into the hall and turned on the light. I opened every door and checked every room. Then I checked the door locks. Everything was fine. I went back to bed and fell asleep.
Later I realized the reason for my prompting. I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to know that He was keeping us safe. He wanted me to know that my prayer had been answered. I have a testimony that God will answer our prayers, even over little things like being scared at night. He will take care of us if we trust Him.

Tally walked home from school, her shoes crunching through dead leaves. She loved this time of year. The day after tomorrow her class was having a party. They would make crafts, play games, and eat pie. The day after that, her cousins were coming for Thanksgiving dinner. She couldn’t wait! Tally’s good mood made it easy to feel grateful, even with the cold wind whipping through her hair.
But the next day, Tally woke up feeling awful, especially when she swallowed. Mom used a flashlight to look inside Tally’s mouth. “We’d better go see the doctor,” she said.
All the way there, Tally prayed, Heavenly Father, please help me get better so I don’t have to miss the party.
The doctor used a cotton swab to swipe the back of Tally’s throat. Then she left the room to go test the swab for an infection called strep throat. Tally prayed she didn’t have it.
When the doctor came back, she said, “It looks like you don’t have strep.”
Tally beamed. Did this mean she could go to school tomorrow?
“I’ll do a second test to make sure, but for now go home and rest,” the doctor said.
The next morning it still hurt when Tally swallowed. Maybe if she went to school, she’d have so much fun she wouldn’t notice the pain. She was getting dressed when the phone rang. Soon Mom came into Tally’s room.
“I’m sorry, Tally, but the doctor just called. The second test showed that you do have strep throat. The first test was wrong.”
Tally’s heart dropped. “But can I still go to school? I promise I won’t breathe on anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Tally. That wouldn’t be fair to the other kids. No matter how careful you are, until you’ve taken medicine for a day, your infection could still make other people sick.”
Tally tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, but it hurt too much. It wasn’t fair!
While Tally rested in bed, feeling bored, she thought about her classmates making crafts and playing games. When she took her yucky pills, she thought about her friends eating pie. They probably didn’t even notice she was gone. She knew Thanksgiving should help her remember her blessings, but it was hard to feel grateful when she felt so sad and left out.
That afternoon the doorbell rang. Tally heard her teacher’s voice when Mom answered the door.
“We sure missed Tally today,” her teacher said. “The class made some crafts for her. And we saved her some pie too. Please tell her we hope she feels better soon. Happy Thanksgiving!”
Tally came out of her room to find paper turkeys and a clay cornucopia on the kitchen table. She could tell someone had worked hard on them. She was grateful for such good friends.
“Do you want some pie?” Mom pointed to the treat Tally’s teacher had left.
Tally took a bite. When she swallowed, her throat didn’t hurt quite as much. She was grateful that after resting and taking medicine, she was starting to feel better in time for the family party tomorrow.
Heavenly Father hadn’t healed her right away, like she’d asked, but He had blessed her to feel comforted. And she was beginning to feel a little better. Tomorrow her cousins were coming, and she could show them the crafts her class had made. Maybe they could even make some crafts together.
Tally smiled. It was easy to feel grateful with so many blessing to count.

I believe peer pressure is one of the more difficult problems to deal with in high school. It’s sometimes very scary to be different than the average person. No one wants to be rejected. But you would be surprised at how many of your friends would rather not drink, smoke, or take drugs, but are scared to admit it.

There were five hundred students in my high school, and I was one of only three Latter-day Saints. I sent out fifty invitations to a party for my sixteenth birthday. On the bottom I put, “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” When I gave those invitations out, my parents and I were afraid that no one would come to the party. However, thirty-five out of fifty invited did come.

About a month later, I received an invitation to a friend’s party. On the bottom it read, “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” I received many similar invitations over the next two years.

What you have to do is decide now what you will do and then stick to it. True friends will accept you for who you are. They may continue to smoke or drink, but they won’t pressure you once you’ve politely said, “I don’t smoke” (or drink, or whatever). If they do continue to pressure, find a new set of friends who accept you for you and what you stand for.

Michelle Seibert, 21Merritt Island, Florida

Elder Steven Hanks and Sister Jean Hanks are serving in Liberia and are living in Kakata, a village outside of Monrovia. They recently had the joyous opportunity and privilege of helping two young men in their mid-20’s, John Gbakoya and Baby Ya, receive new wheelchairs.
Elder and Sister Hanks left their apartment one morning at seven and drove to Bong Mine, an old mining town 30 miles northwest of Kakata, out into the bush, to pick up the two men with medical conditions requiring wheelchairs. Their current chairs were running on the rims and falling apart.
The Teerlink family, in collaboration with LDS Charities, had recently shipped 350 new wheelchairs to JFK hospital in Monrovia. It was a 3-hour drive through country roads and snarled African city traffic jams to the hospital where John and Baby were measured and fitted with brand new chairs.
The Hanks disassembled the chairs, loaded them and the men back in their truck, drove back to Bong Mine and then reassembled the chairs. John’s wheelchair took a little work, but they got it done, thanks to some bicycle-repair experience.
John and Baby Ya were overjoyed and so thankful. Their community gathered to rejoice with them. Everyone in town knows them and everyone was thrilled they were given these beautiful new wheelchairs.
It was a beautiful, sweet day. Special thanks to LDS Charities, the Teerlink family for their generosity, and to the Hanks for serving in Liberia and being just the right people to bless these young men and assemble their chairs.

President Henry B. Eyring shared an incredible witness and reminder that covenants can banish fear, doubt, and uncertainty that can otherwise stifle our efforts to become what God wants us to become. While entering into sacred temple covenants with his eternal companion, Kathy, President Eyring was taught by a prophet of God, President Spencer W. Kimball, to strive to keep his covenants in such a way that he could “walk away easily”16 from other pursuits when the call to greater consecration came. As President Eyring observed:

The loving counsel given by President Kimball in the temple to be able to “walk away easily” became a reality. Kathy and I received a call to leave what seemed an idyllic family situation in California to serve in an assignment and in a place that I knew nothing about. However, our family was ready to leave because a prophet, in a holy temple, a place of revelation, saw a future event for which we were then prepared.17

Ephraim Hanks was one of those early pioneers, but his pioneering continued long after his arrival in the valley. On a fall morning in 1848, President Brigham Young drove to where Ephraim was building an adobe house inside the old fort in Salt Lake City. Looking over the completed foundation, Brigham quizzed Ephraim concerning the thickness of the rock wall.

“Eight inches,” replied Brother Hanks.

“Tear it down and build it twice that thick,” Brigham declared and then promptly drove away before Ephraim could respond. To do as President Young requested would mean hauling in more rock and doing twice as much work as Ephraim thought necessary. Nevertheless, Ephraim widened the foundation to 16 inches, as the prophet had suggested. A month later a heavy rainstorm caused widespread flooding in the valley, resulting in considerable damage. Hanks’ reinforced foundation and walls, however, stood firm against this deluge, preventing a possible collapse of the entire structure. Many other homes in the valley were not so fortunate. From this experience Ephraim learned that when the prophet spoke, he would listen.

Not long after this incident, Ephraim once again received unsolicited counsel from President Young. At a dance in Salt Lake City, Brother Brigham saw Ephraim and told him to go home and shave his face. Ephraim, like most of the men of his day, had worn a beard virtually his entire adult life. His beard extended almost down to his waist. Somewhat puzzled by this strange request, he left the social and rode home, where he shaved off his beard. Ephraim returned to the dance wearing a newly trimmed moustache. When Brigham saw him, he brushed his hand across Ephraim’s face and said he had meant a clean shave. Excusing himself a second time, Brother Hanks complied with the prophet’s strange command and shaved off the moustache as well. It was perhaps this type of obedience to counsel that prompted President Brigham Young to later say of Ephraim Hanks, “Here was a man always ready to lay down his life for the authorities of the Church as well as for the cause of Zion and her people.”

On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith.

Later, as passengers were leaving the aircraft, this woman’s husband spoke to me. He said, “I’m sorry my wife was so terrified. The only way I could comfort her was to tell her that ‘Elder Nelson is on this flight, so you don’t need to worry.’”

I’m not sure that my presence on that flight should have given her any comfort, but I will say that one of the realities of mortal life is that our faith will be tested and challenged. Sometimes those tests come as we face what appear to be life-and-death encounters. For this frightened woman, a violently rocking plane presented one of those moments when we come face-to-face with the strength of our faith.

Julia could hardly close her eyes to sleep. She was so excited she wondered how she could ever keep still until morning. Tomorrow was the day she had thought about for a year—the day she would finally be baptized, just as her twin sisters had been a few years earlier.
Glancing across the room, she could barely see her new, white dress glistening in the dark. Julia had gone to bed the night before listening to the sound of her mother’s sewing machine. Her mother was still sewing when Julia had gotten up for a drink of water around midnight. She felt bad that her mother was missing her sleep just to finish her dress.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” her mother said. “Tomorrow is such a special day for you, and I want you to look beautiful.”
As she lay in bed, Julia thought back to the twins’ baptisms. They had been asked to sing a duet for the baptismal program. Julia remembered how nervous they had looked when they first got up in front of everyone. But they had squeezed each other’s hand for courage and had sung “Love One Another” beautifully.
When Sister Jacobsen, the stake Primary president, called Julia a few weeks ago, it surprised her. “Your sisters did such a wonderful job that we wondered if you would prepare a song for us also,” Sister Jacobsen had asked.
Before giving Sister Jacobsen an answer, Julia thought about it for several days. Her sisters were a lot more outgoing than she was, and they had lots of friends. Julia had a couple of good friends, but she usually just sat quietly in Primary and at school activities and seldom shared what she was thinking.
Once Julia had overheard her mother’s friend call her shy. Her mother had replied, “Oh, she’s not really shy—she’s just a good listener.” But from then on, Julia thought of herself as being shy.
Dad had told Julia that after baptism she would be given a special gift, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and it would bless her in many ways. It would even help her gain more confidence. He said that it was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Julia wondered if she would feel the same. She didn’t really understand how it worked, and she wondered how it could help her with her shyness. But she knew that the Holy Ghost is also called the Comforter, and the name sounded like that of a good friend.
One night, after praying and receiving a good feeling, Julia told Sister Jacobsen that she would sing at the baptism. Every night for two weeks she practiced “I Know My Father Lives” with her dad, who would accompany her on the piano. She memorized both verses, and her dad even learned them, too. It was fun to sing together before going to bed.
As Julia lay in the darkness, the words of the song went through her head. “I know my Father lives and loves me too. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true, And tells me it is true” (Hymns, 1985, no. 302). She loved how the song made her feel, and as she softly hummed it, she finally fell asleep.
After breakfast the next morning, Julia dressed quickly in her new white dress. Everyone was happy and excited for her and listened one last time as she sang “I Know My Father Lives” without one mistake.
After changing into her baptismal clothes at the church, Julia and her dad took their places at the front of the chapel. There were five other children being baptized that day, and Julia knew most of them from school. She was surprised to see how many friends, parents, and relatives filled the chapel. A sick feeling of nervousness suddenly came over her as she thought about standing in front of everyone and singing. She wished she hadn’t accepted, after all.
Julia tried not to think about the song and listened to the talks being given about the promises she was making. All too soon Sister Jacobsen announced her name and the song she would sing. Nervously she stood up at the podium and looked down at her dad, who smiled warmly at her from his place at the piano.
I can do it, she thought to herself. I’ll just pretend I’m singing in my living room, and I won’t look at the crowd.
“I know my Father lives and loves me too,” Julia sang in a shaky voice. As she continued, she glanced down at the people who filled the chapel. There were so many of them, all looking at her, and all at once her head felt hot and dizzy. The words stuck in her throat, and then she couldn’t remember where she was in the song. There was nothing to do but stop singing.
It seemed to her as if she stood there forever, crying in front of everyone, her hands covering her face. Julia had never been so scared, and she didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone, in spite of all the people there, and she wanted to run out of the church just to get away from everyone.
But the piano was still playing, and through her crying she could hear a man’s voice softly singing the words. It was her dad. He was singing the end of the first verse. Julia wanted to sing along with him, but she was crying too hard. He started the second verse in a clear, strong voice: “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can, And tells me that I can.”
By the end of the song, Julia had stopped crying and had her eyes on her dad. She realized that the song was over and that her singing of it had been a failure. Embarrassed and still sniffling, she walked to her seat and took her place on the front row. When her dad slipped in beside her, she couldn’t bear to look up at him. She had disappointed her whole family and ruined the entire program. Oh, why did I ever think I could do it? Julia wondered. I’m just too shy.
Julia felt her dad’s strong arms lift her up onto his lap. As she slowly looked up at him, she saw that he didn’t look disappointed in her at all. In fact, he had a big smile on his face.
“Oh, Julia,” he whispered excitedly. “This is how I can explain to you exactly how the gift of the Holy Ghost works. When you stopped singing and started to cry, you felt scared and alone, didn’t you?”
Julia nodded, puzzled.
“Well, after you receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, you need never be alone again. When you are scared and don’t know what to do, if you listen very carefully, you will hear another voice coming through. Heavenly Father will send the Comforter to help you, just as I did by singing the rest of the song when you couldn’t finish it. The Comforter will help you make the right decisions. Most important, he will comfort you, if you just listen and keep the commandments. Julia, he will always be your friend.”
A warm feeling came over Julia as she placed her small hand inside her dad’s. She no longer felt embarrassed about not completing the song. For the first time she understood why the gift of the Holy Ghost was such a great gift. My own special Comforter, she thought happily.
“Maybe I am a little shy,” she whispered to her dad, “but I am a good listener.”

As you struggle in studying, researching, writing, and test taking, be aware that the Holy Ghost will help you and teach you along the way. I wish to testify that this principle is true and to give you a personal example to this effect. When I was completing my doctoral work at the University of Utah, I also struggled with time and responsibilities. I had four small children and was the ward Relief Society president. I was finishing my degree part-time, but even then some days were incredibly hard. One particular term was coming to an end when I suddenly got a bad case of the flu. I had studied very hard, but on the day of the final I was so sick with a high fever that I was dizzy and nauseated when I tried to get out of bed. I pleaded with the Lord for his help, then got dressed and headed for Salt Lake. As I walked to my classroom, I was so sick that I had to hold onto the wall so I wouldn’t fall. I sat at the back of the room to take the exam. I remember how difficult it was to read the test questions. My mind was fuzzy and I couldn’t think, but I nonetheless did my best. The next term I happened to meet that professor in the hall as I was going to another class. He stopped me and commented about my final. The Holy Ghost had blessed me more than I had ever supposed.

“Come on, Jennie. You’re an old slowpoke,” Tobie called good-naturedly to his little sister who ran to meet him every day after school. She could hardly wait to go to school with him and whenever Tobie declared that it wouldn’t be any time at all until she would be old enough, her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Most afternoons were so quiet that Jennie and Tobie could hear birds singing or wild geese honking overhead. But today there came a new and different sound. Tobie looked in the direction of the strange, rumbling noise and saw a group of men coming toward them, raising a cloud of dust as they traveled.
Quickly Tobie pulled his sister back into the bushes and warned her not to make a sound. A crooked line of tired soldiers soon came into view, shuffling by slowly like the ragtag end of a beaten army. Several mules were pulling old, creaky wagons filled with injured men who moaned hoarsely every time the wheels jounced over stones in the road. As the strangers passed, Tobie noticed ragged and torn uniforms, bandage-wrapped heads, crutches made of broken tree limbs, and sallow, staring faces, some not much older than his own. The men who could walk were silent as they trudged along, their eyes fixed on the dusty road before them.
When the last marcher disappeared around the bend, Tobie grabbed Jennie’s hand and they ran to their farmhouse among the trees. Mother was coming from the barnyard with a basket of eggs she had just gathered. “What’s wrong children?” she asked.
They told her about the men, and when Father came home from the fields later for their evening meal he listened carefully to their news. The previous day, a neighbor had told him that British troops had taken over the nearby city of Philadelphia after a victorious battle near the Birmingham meetinghouse several days before.
When Tobie described their woebegone appearance, Father knew the bedraggled men belonged to General Washington’s defeated army. Apparently the surviving soldiers were looking for a place to rest and care for their wounded companions.
“I’m sure we have nothing to worry about,” Father said. However, when bedtime came the doors were bolted securely and his rifle was placed within easy reach.
The next day was Saturday and Tobie got up early to help with the chores. Jennie stayed so close to her brother that he called her his “little shadow.” It was nearly noon when they saw a man approaching the garden where they were picking tomatoes. The boy pushed his sister behind him and grabbed a hoe that was lying on the ground. Trying to sound brave, he asked gruffly what the man wanted.
The stranger looked sadly at the two children and, probably thinking of his family so far from Pennsylvania, sat down wearily on an old tree stump. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, “I just need a drink of water and a place to rest for a while.”
Tobie put down the hoe and hurried to bring some water from a bucket near the pump. Looking more closely at the man’s ragged clothing, he could tell that the tall, thin figure was a soldier in the Continental army.
Jennie ran to the kitchen for her mother. When they returned, the soldier tried to get up but the effort was too much. “Ma’am, I sure hope I didn’t scare the young’uns,” he said, motioning to Tobie and Jennie.
Mother looked at the man’s tired, bearded face, and tears came to her eyes. “We’re glad you’re here,” she said. “We want to help you.” And within minutes she was busily cooking food for the hungry stranger.
As they watched him eagerly eat every crumb of food from the plate, he told them about his children in Virginia. When he finished eating, the soldier talked of the men who had passed by the farm the day before. “There will be thousands like them,” he said, “coming to camp in the hills of Valley Forge. They have very little food and many are sick or wounded. A few stronger ones like myself have come searching for help from the surrounding farms. Others are cutting logs to build huts for shelter. There is no way of knowing how long we’ll have to stay, perhaps all winter.”
Later when Father came home and heard about the suffering of the men in the army, he and the soldier rode toward the place where General Washington’s troops were struggling to build a camp, while Mother began searching for pieces of cloth that could be used for bandages for the wounded men. Tobie and Jennie laid clean straw on the barn floor and placed buckets of cool water inside the door.
As dusk crept over the rolling Chester County hills, Father returned with some of the wounded men. Before long they were lying on the comfortable straw, eating hot soup and having their dirty bandages replaced with clean strips of cloth. As the tired and homesick soldiers thought of their own children so far away, they smiled at Jennie and Tobie.
By nightfall all were cared for, quiet fell over the barn, and the weary family returned to the house. They were preparing for bed when suddenly they heard the sound of horses’ hooves followed by a knock. Cautiously, Father opened the door.
A man stood in the doorway—a quite different-looking soldier than those in the barn. “May I come in?” he asked quietly.
There was something about this man who walked so very straight and tall that thrilled Tobie. A long black cloak almost covered a threadbare officer’s uniform. An aide, holding the bridle of a beautiful white horse, stood outside while the stranger visited in the kitchen.
“I understand that some of my men are sleeping in your barn,” he began. “Did you give them permission to stay there?”
After he was told of the day’s events the tall soldier was quiet for several moments. Then he said, “For my men and myself, I am grateful to all of you. Thank God there are so many good people in this great land of ours.” And before anyone could answer he bowed to Mother, shook Father’s hand and left.
It wasn’t until the next morning that the men in the barn learned of their commander’s visit the night before. They were grateful that in spite of his many concerns during this trying period he came himself to see after their well-being. But no one could have guessed then that the night visitor, Gen. George Washington, would soon become the first president of the United States.

As Easter time approaches, let me share with you the tender story of an eleven-year-old boy named Philip, a Down’s syndrome child who was in a Sunday School class with eight other children.
Easter Sunday the teacher brought an empty plastic egg for each child. They were instructed to go out of the church building onto the grounds and put into the egg something that would remind them of the meaning of Easter.
All returned joyfully. As each egg was opened there were exclamations of delight at a butterfly, a twig, a flower, a blade of grass. Then the last egg was opened. It was Philip’s, and it was empty!
Some of the children made fun of Philip. “But, teacher,” he said, “teacher, the tomb was empty.”
A newspaper article announcing Philip’s death a few months later noted that at the conclusion of the funeral eight children marched forward and put a large empty egg on the small casket. On it was a banner that said, “The tomb was empty.”

A while back I became so focused on what others thought of me, I began to do things I knew I shouldn’t to show that I could be cool. I even considered leaving the Church—not because I had stopped believing in the gospel of Jesus Christ, but because I had such a guilty conscience. Fortunately, I realized I would be giving away my eternal, spiritual joy for a shorter, make-believe joy.
Because of support and lots of love from my friends in the Church, I got my thoughts in order and began a hard and painful period of repentance. I am so grateful my friends never left my side. This experience helped me realize Heavenly Father loves me and will help me.

One wintry day when I was eleven, Dad took me into the foothills between Blackfoot and Idaho Falls, Idaho, to buy a riding horse. We chose a coal-black yearling that fought and reared and was really wild. I was told that when he was roped by the cowboys, it was the first time he had ever been touched by human hands. We named him Champ.
I learned that Champ had royal blood running in his veins. His grandfather was the incomparable Man o’ War, the most famous thoroughbred racehorse of all time. Dad and I trained him patiently, and Champ and I became the best of friends and partners. He was the greatest animal I had ever seen. He was swift and strong, and no local horse ever came close to winning a race with him. As I saw the qualities he had inherited from his famous grandfather, it really made me think about my own potential as a child of God.
In 1948 we moved from Idaho to Moses Lake, Washington. The wide open spaces of the Columbia basin were perfect horse country. There was nothing beyond our farm for several miles in some directions. Range cattle ruled over the territory they had grazed on for generations. Now we were putting up fences around part of their range and growing lush and tempting alfalfa, potatoes, and corn. Our fences were good but not always good enough to keep out the white-faced red Herefords. That job fell to Champ and this eager twelve-year-old who had seen western movies about cattle drives by rugged cowboys.
Champ and I had memorable drives of our own, chasing away the cattle that invaded our fields or even grazed suspiciously close, Together we learned some tricks of the cowboy’s trade, such as singling out one animal and cutting it from the herd. We developed an extraordinary oneness. Sometimes I would ride without saddle or bridle. It was just Champ and me in perfect unison, racing at breakneck speed. Even at those speeds, without artificial harnessing of any kind, we were in complete control. Just a touch on his neck would turn him. A shift in my posture would slow him down or speed him up. He was totally obedient, completely responsive.
Champ was a good-looking horse with classic markings. He won first place at the county fair, and many people offered to buy him. But he wasn’t for sale.
One Sunday after sacrament meeting, I went out to feed Champ and he was gone. Searching for a black horse at night was not easy, and morning brought no comfort. There was no hungry, thirsty Champ at the corral gate. We searched all over the farm and far beyond with no success. It appeared that Champ had been stolen!
Heartsick and unwilling to accept the obvious, I asked my cousin Kay Lybbert to lend me a horse and go with me into the wastelands beyond our farm in search of Champ. I had caught glimpses of wild horses in this country, scattered bands of mares and colts, led by dominant stallions.
We rode for hours into rocky and treacherous lands. We were tired, hungry, and discouraged and were talking of turning back, when we thought we saw a shape on the horizon. We pushed on and eventually rode over a ridge and saw a herd of about fifteen wild horses. They were startled. Their nostrils were wide, pumping cool air into deep lungs. Heads high, tails flying, muscles tensed, they burst away in wild flight. To our amazement and joy, the magnificent Champ was before them all, leading the herd, as wild and elusive as the first day I saw him as an unschooled yearling.
I have often thought about that most vivid picture. Champ was rightfully mine. We had been the best of companions. We had had great times together. He had been a disciplined and precious soul. But now he was undisciplined, out of control, and determined to stay that way. Though he was their visible leader, he was really under the control of the group of wild horses with whom he had accepted company.
We were off on a race, not on the manicured track where his grandfather had won fame, but across wild and rugged lands where a tired horse burdened with a rider could stumble and fall. At stake was the future of my beloved Champ.
I doubted our ability to stick with the wild horses, because we had been traveling half a day and they were fresh. But somehow we turned them eastward and stayed close. In time we slid over a steep hill down into Mae Valley within sight of our own fences. The herd soon thundered past our place, the steam from their bodies rising above them in a cloud. With the help of neighbors, we were finally able to channel Champ into our corral, safely behind secure barriers.
Dad was the first to get to Champ. He called him by name and approached gently, moving without disturbing gestures or sounds, easing up to him, and putting his arms around the horse’s quivering neck. I watched him give Champ an embrace that only a horse lover would understand. We were all relieved that this prized animal was back where he belonged once again, and where he was loved, protected, and cared for.
Children, honor your father and mother. Follow the Savior, your Master. Listen to them. Learn from them, and stay faithful. They have given you a noble heritage, just as Champ’s parents gave him one.

An observant young man noted, “There are some missionary approaches that I’ve noticed don’t work, and some that I’ve noticed do work, and one that doesn’t work is saying, ‘This is what you believe, and it’s wrong.’ I did that a few times and wrecked some good chances. But now my younger brother and sister are taking a couple of Jewish friends to Primary with them, with the permission of their friends’ mother. So far they haven’t asked much about the Church, but we think that if we just don’t jump on them and try to push too hard that maybe they will come around.”

Let me speak of another experience where the heart of the widow was in full view. In Samoa, we labor with village councils to gain access for missionaries to preach the gospel. A few years ago, I had a conversation with a chief from a village where the missionaries had been prohibited for many, many years. My conversation occurred not too long after the paramount chief had opened the village to the Church, permitting our missionaries to teach those interested in learning about the gospel and its doctrines.

After so many years, to have this miraculous turn of events, I was curious to learn about what had happened to cause the paramount chief to take this action. I asked about this, and the chief with whom I was conversing replied, “A man can live in the dark for a period, but there will come a time when he will long to come into the light.”

The paramount chief, in opening the village, demonstrated the heart of the widow—a heart that softens when the warmth and light of the truth is revealed. This leader was willing to relinquish years of tradition, confront much opposition, and stand firm so that others might be blessed. This was a leader whose heart was focused on the welfare and happiness of his people rather than on considerations of tradition, culture, and personal power. He gave away those concerns in favor of what President Thomas S. Monson has taught us: “As we follow the example of the Savior, ours will be the opportunity to be a light in the lives of others.”3

At the heart of their celebrating, however, is the remembrance of Jesus Christ, and Finnish members use the season, like mission president Mel Luthy and his family, to live even more fully His teachings. On Christmas Eve in Finland, families often visit the graves of loved ones and leave lighted candles in the snow. An elderly sister, a widow, wished to travel from Helsinki to Porvoo so that she could visit her husband’s grave. She had, however, no means of transportation. The Luthys volunteered to share their holiday with her by driving her to the distant cemetery. It turned out to be a magical night—candles glowed and light danced. All was calm. All was bright.
Christmas had come to Finland!

My wife and I once boarded a train going south from Paris to Marseilles, a Mediterranean port. At Lyon, about halfway there, part of the train (the part we were in!) split off and headed east toward Geneva. As soon as we saw the Alps, we realized that we were off course. We got off in Grenoble, caught a train back to Lyon, then took a later train to Marseilles. Our minimal ability to discern between the Alps and the Mediterranean helped us to make a necessary course correction on a physical journey.

Many years ago, a non-Mormon scholar, told an interesting story on the BYU campus in Provo. It deeply impressed me with the strong connection between the first and second generations of pioneers and the present generation of young people and converts in the Church.

Before World War II, the respected musician Bruno Walter was the conductor of the famous Vienna Symphony Orchestra. This symphony was a unique musical organization with a spirit and unity and synergism that produced glorious music, powerful and unmatched by any other symphony.

When the Nazis took over Austria, the conductor fled to America. It was not until 1947 that he was finally able to return to Austria. Upon his return, his first priority was to visit his treasured Vienna Symphony.

As he approached the concert hall where they were rehearsing, he could hear the strains of their glorious music. Mr. Walter said that if he had been anywhere on the face of the earth and had heard that magnificent sound, he would have been able to identify it as coming only from his beloved Vienna Symphony. When he entered the concert hall, to his amazement, he discovered that although the exquisite musical quality was still there, not a single one of the musicians playing with the symphony then had played with it before the war, when he was its conductor. All of them were new, but the quality and powerful spirit of that remarkable orchestra remained unaltered.

I was recently asked to speak about what our family is doing to become a celestial family. My father suggested I speak on how to serve ice cream in a society made up of righteous families. Now maybe you are like me. I didn’t know there was any special way to serve ice cream in such a society until my dad explained it to me.
He first told me to research the subject in the scriptures. But, after failing to find anything about ice cream in the Bible or Doctrine and Covenants, I gave up. I didn’t even look in the Book of Mormon. That was a big mistake, for that is where you find the best discourse on serving ice cream in a truly righteous family. Actually it doesn’t talk much about ice cream. It hits that very lightly. But it does teach you a lot about proper technique in serving ice cream.
Maybe you could understand better if I told you how I used to serve ice cream and then explain the difference.
Since I am a teenager, when dad or mom would ask me to serve everyone some ice cream, the first thing I would do was find me a cereal bowl and stack the ice cream to the teenager level, which is about two inches above the rim. Then I would dish up the ice cream for the rest of my family. However, my brother and sisters are smaller than I, so of course the small ice cream dishes are just about right for them. Rachelle, my 11-year-old sister, thinks she should get a cereal bowl too, which is ridiculous because she isn’t even a teenager yet.
Well, my dad showed me in the Book of Mormon where it explains that my method wouldn’t have made the grade.
In 4 Nephi it tells what it was like after the Savior visited the people in America following his resurrection. After his visit, the people really lived righteous lives. And the way they lived can help us understand how to develop celestial families. It even teaches us how to serve ice cream.
The Book of Mormon, in 4 Nephi, [4 Ne. 1] says that the people had no jealousies, they were not envious, and they had no contentions or disputations among them. They had all things in common, and there were no rich or poor, and there was peace in the land. They went to sacrament and priesthood meetings to hear the word of the Lord, and they continued to fast and pray.
But let’s get back to ice cream! My dad gently explained to me that when I have the standard teenager’s portion, it makes Rachelle and Kristi, my number two sister, jealous and envious. When they get like that, they start giving me all kinds of reasons why they should have as much as I do. Of course, I have to explain to them, loud enough for them to understand, that teenagers need more nourishment than “little girls.” Then they always have a response for that. And I have to reply—in a slightly louder tone, of course.
Well, when I read 4 Nephi, I could see that we were having one of those “disputations” that Nephi was talking about; and the disputation had been caused by a “contention;” and the contention was caused by “envying.”
So you can see that there is a certain way that you have to serve ice cream in a family desiring to be more righteous.
Mom also pointed out something else. If everyone is allowed to have a fair share, according to their needs, then there are really no rich ice cream eaters and no poor ice cream eaters. Having no rich or poor means that everyone has as much as he needs, but he does not have so much more than someone else that they get envious and cause contentions which lead to disputations.
When these disputations are avoided, there really is “peace in the land.” At least there is peace in the family room, and everyone is happier!
When you think about it, this idea has some interesting applications when it comes to who is going to sit where in the car, or who is going to do what in family home evening, or which TV show to watch.
My serving of ice cream has changed since I read 4 Nephi, and I have discovered that to live like they did after Christ’s visit, we have to concentrate on the little things we do day to day and the way we treat each other or think of each other. And you know, it helps me to think of my brother and sisters as much as myself. Mom says there is something about that in the scriptures, too. I suppose I should find that scripture as well.