Gospel Story Finder

When the family returned home and began rebuilding their lives, this Japanese woman started searching for answers about God. She gradually kindled a belief in Jesus Christ and the need to be baptized. However, she was concerned about her loved ones who had died without a knowledge of Jesus Christ and baptism, including her mother, who died giving birth to her.
Imagine her joy when two sister missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to her house one day and taught her that people can learn about Jesus Christ in the spirit world. She was captivated by the teaching that her parents could choose to follow Jesus Christ after death and accept baptism performed on their behalf in holy places called temples. She and her family were converted to the Savior and baptized.

Brother Thach had joined the Church in 1971 while on a South Vietnamese air force training assignment in the United States. He made Latter-day Saint friends, attended Church meetings, accepted the missionary discussions, and was baptized. On his return to Vietnam some nine months later, his suitcase containing his copy of the scriptures was stolen. At the time, he was not aware of any Church organization in Vietnam, although a branch did exist in the capital city. But he did receive a twelve-month gift subscription to the Ensign, the English-language Church magazine. Reading and rereading the twelve copies of the magazine sustained him spiritually during the next ten years. When the government changed in Vietnam and “foreign” printed materials were viewed with suspicion by the authorities, he cherished his copies of the Ensign even more and hid them for safe-keeping.

Now, some of you older sisters may ask, “Haven’t I heard every Relief Society lesson? What point is there for me to go to Relief Society each week?” The answer to those questions may best be given by relating the story of a young piano student. His mother, wishing to encourage him, “bought tickets for a performance of the great Polish pianist, Paderewski. The night of the concert arrived and the mother and son found their seats near the front of the concert hall. While the mother visited with friends, the boy slipped quietly away.
“Suddenly, it was time for the performance to begin and a single spotlight cut through the darkness of the concert hall to illuminate the grand piano on stage. Only then did the audience notice the little boy on the bench, innocently picking out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’
“His mother gasped, but before she could move, Paderewski appeared on stage and quickly moved to the keyboard. He whispered to the boy, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And then, leaning over, the master reached down with his left hand and began filling in the bass part. Soon his right arm reached around the other side, encircling the child, to add a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice held the crowd mesmerized.
“In our lives, unpolished though we may be, it is the Master who surrounds us and whispers in our ear, time and time again, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And as we do, He augments and supplements until a work of amazing beauty is created. He is right there with all of us, telling us over and over, ‘Keep playing.’”

Among the momentous times for Sister Kemp in the branch’s history was the period between 1986 and 1988 when the members worked together to build a meetinghouse. “We did everything you could think of,” she explains. “We had rummage sales, cake sales, car washes. Every Saturday we did something to raise money. And we worked on the grounds clearing the growth. We grew together spiritually, and we grew to love each other.”

When my grandmother was about 19 years old, she developed a disease that caused her to be very ill. She later said, “I couldn’t walk. My left foot was all out of shape after I had been in bed for several months. The bones were soft like a sponge, and when I touched my foot to the floor it felt like an electric shock.”12 While she was confined to bed and at the height of her suffering, she obtained and studied pamphlets from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She was converted and later baptized. Many times a particular challenge helps prepare us for something vitally important.

An invitation to face her fears came in 1868, when President Brigham Young asked Eliza to help organize Relief Societies throughout Utah. “I want you to instruct the sisters,” he said. The idea was so frightening that Eliza described her heart skipping a beat.3 But she found the courage to do her best, and over time she learned that accepting challenging callings filled her with strength beyond her own.

In March of 1976, my wife, my two children, and I were baptized. We were very happy, feeling that we were starting a whole new life. That summer for our holiday, we rented a log cabin in Jotunheimen, one of the most scenic areas of Norway.
In a little sod-roofed cabin, surrounded by Norway’s highest mountains, my family and I had some wonderful days together. Although we lived almost fourteen kilometers from our nearest neighbor, we never felt lonely. We felt very strongly the spirit of the Lord with us. That summer we had an experience that even today makes me tremble with humility and gratitude for the great love the Lord has for his children.
Early one beautiful, cloudless morning, we started on a long hike. We saw deep ravines and snowy mountain peaks reflected in blue mountain lakes. The hike was a little more difficult than we had anticipated, but we enjoyed the solitude and the magnificent scenery. Three or four kilometers from our destination, we needed to cross a steep, narrow ridge called Besseggen to get to a mountain called Veslefjeldet. I felt we could cross it safely, but a still, quiet voice within me seemed to whisper that we should not go that way. I had been baptized only four months before, and was still unfamiliar with the promptings of the Holy Ghost, so I took no notice of the warning.
As we got closer to the mountain, I again heard the voice warning me, so I stopped and studied the map. If we did not make the short climb over Besseggen and Veslefjeldet, we would have to walk around a mountain and a lake. It would take until midnight to reach our destination. I thought about our tired legs and empty food bag and decided that we should continue the way we were going.
When we reached the foot of the mountain, the small voice clearly repeated, “Hans, you must not go over the mountain.” Again we stopped and looked up toward the narrow mountain ridge. The sun was shining and the air was calm, and I still saw no reason to heed the warning. We began to climb.
I led the way while my wife, Lise, came last, keeping the children safely between us. We experienced little difficulty climbing, yet I still felt that I was doing something wrong. Halfway up, we stopped to admire the view. On our left was a sheer drop of 150 meters, while on our right, the mountainside dropped away abruptly for 500 meters.
Lise and the children were excited about the stillness and the wonderful view, but I continued to feel anxious. Suddenly I felt a gust of wind from the north, and I heard a rushing sound that grew louder. Within minutes we were in the middle of a howling storm. I cried out to my family to lie down and hold on tight. We each clung desperately to the mountain, trying to dig our fingers into the earth, but the gusts of wind were so violent we were slowly being blown toward the edge.
Suddenly I understood what I had done. The missionaries’ words about the Holy Ghost’s quiet whisperings came back to me, and I realized that during the last half hour I had ignored the Holy Ghost three times. I prayed that the Lord would save my wife and children. Full of remorse, I cried for forgiveness.
Then, through the storm’s howling, I heard a deep and powerful voice within me telling me to go back down the mountainside. The voice warned me that he who does not obey the voice of the Lord shall be cast out from His presence.
Suddenly a calm stillness replaced the storm. Amazed, I pushed myself to my knees to give thanks and to acknowledge the Lord’s power. My wife and children shouted for me to hurry so we could climb to the top of the mountain. But now I knew better. We must go down, I commanded, immediately! Without knowing why, my family obeyed. As we reached the foot of the mountain, we again heard a rushing noise, and in a few moments the storm was gusting even stronger than before. I told my family what had happened to me on the mountain ridge. Together we knelt to thank the Lord for preserving our lives.
To this day, more than ten years later, I cannot think about this experience without great emotion. On that summer day, while I clung to a Norwegian mountainside, the Lord taught me and my family the value of listening to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

In April 1986, a little over a month before Kirill was born, a terrible nuclear accident occurred at Chernobyl, 96 kilometers from Kiev. Many children were taken in buses from town to camps to protect them from radiation. Kirill’s mother went to the country, too. She was afraid he would be born with serious problems. When he was born a month early, his mother asked the doctor, “Does he have hands and legs?” She was relieved to learn that he did. Tanya has trouble with her eyes and has had three operations on them. Her mother doesn’t know if this was caused by the Chernobyl accident or not.

For example, in wartime missed messages between commanders and soldiers at the front have resulted in great confusion and serious loss of life. In World War I the 308th Infantry was ordered to the front in a desperate attempt to take and hold part of the Argonne Forest at any cost. The battle was so fierce that the supporting troops on the right and the left of one battalion withdrew, and the battalion was surrounded and isolated. Because headquarters lost communication with them, they became known as the Lost Battalion.
The battalion communicated with headquarters by carrier pigeons that flew from the battalion’s location to headquarters with messages. However, as soon as these pigeons were released, they were shot down by the opposing forces. The Lost Battalion’s own artillery, not knowing where they were, opened fire on their position and inflicted heavy casualties. The battalion ran out of food and water, but they held their ground and did not surrender despite their great losses. Finally, one carrier pigeon called Cher Ami, even though it was shot, got through to headquarters carrying the message that identified the battalion’s location. The survivors of the battalion were rescued because that one crucial message got through.

Sometimes I get upset about my disabilities, but I try not to show this. Usually I’m a happy person, and I just don’t show my frustrations to others.
When I was a teenager, however, there was a time when I was depressed.
I didn’t want to go to church. I asked God, “Why am I this way? Why can’t you make me better? Why don’t I have good relationships with others?” These questions discouraged me and made me feel really sad, and I didn’t know how I could change my situation, so I thought that maybe ending my life was the answer.
But then I thought about my mother and how she would react. I thought that she would probably feel really sorry and feel that she did something wrong or did not do enough to help me. That’s when I decided that I was going to live and keep going.
In the end, I feel that I’m a pretty happy person.

Spencer found a note in his brown paper bag at lunchtime. It was from Mom. The note said, “You are a super smart boy.” He looked at the words and smiled.
His friends took the note and read it. They said, “No, you are a super silly boy.” They laughed at him. Spencer felt sad. When he got home he told Mom what happened. She felt sad too.
“Words can hurt,” Mom said. “But they can also make people happy. You can always choose to use kind words.”
Spencer didn’t want to go to school the next day. He didn’t want his friends to laugh at him. Mom drove him to school.
“Try using your words to make someone else happy,” she told Spencer. “Go say something kind to that teacher standing by the front doors. See what she does.”
He looked at the teacher. He thought for a minute. Then he jumped out of the car. He didn’t know the teacher, but he wanted to use kind words. “I hope you have a great day!” he said.
The teacher smiled. “You made my day!”
Spencer felt great. He felt the power of good words. He walked to his classroom with a smile on his face. He colored at his desk. His friends didn’t laugh at him at lunchtime. But even if they had, Spencer knew he could choose to use kind words.
After school Mom picked him up. She asked him what he learned that day. “Good words can make someone’s day better,” he said. “I want to be kind to someone every day.”
Mom smiled. “You are a super good example.”

That strength is given to those who are older as well as the young. I know a widow more than 90 years of age. She is in a wheelchair. She prays as you do, pleading for help to solve problems beyond her human power to resolve. The answer is a feeling in her heart. It draws her to keep a commandment: “And behold, ye shall meet together oft.” So she finds a way to get to her meetings. People who attend there have told me, “We are so glad to see her. She brings such a spirit with her.”
She partakes of the sacrament, and she renews a covenant. She remembers the Savior, and she tries to keep His commandments. And so she takes His Spirit with her, always. Her problems may not be resolved. Most of them come from the choices of others, and even the Heavenly Father who hears her prayers and loves her cannot force others to choose the right. But He can send her to the safety of the Savior and the promise of His Spirit to be with her. And so I am sure that she will, in the strength of the Lord, pass the test she faces, because she keeps the commandment to gather often with the Saints. That is both the evidence that she is enduring well and the source of her strength for what lies ahead.

I was heartbroken when my uncle passed away in a tragic accident. His loss weighed heavy on my mind, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I was saddened that he had not had the opportunity to learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ as taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. However, I realized that he might still be baptized vicariously through the ordinances in the temple.
A few months after his passing, I started having dreams about him. In my dreams, he always appeared in front of the Caracas Venezuela Temple. In one of the dreams, I had the impression that I was talking to him and explaining that I wanted to have his temple work done. At that moment, I saw him filled with happiness and it filled my heart with peace to see him so joyful.
Finally, I was able to have my uncle’s work done, and it felt like a significant moment in my life. I felt like I was a missionary, serving my family on the other side of the veil. This experience was deeply spiritual for me, and I felt the confirmation of the Holy Spirit, assuring me that my feelings were confirmed.
This experience tested my faith, but it also strengthened it. I know that Jesus lives, and because He lives, we will all live again.

I had an experience when I was 13 that I will never forget. I was hanging out with some friends in my room when one friend asked me about my brothers. So I took them over to my 17-year-old brother Matt’s room, right next to mine. He was not home at the time.
Matt was so cool. I showed them all of his things: his cool shoe collection, the things he had made by hand, and all of the pictures on his mirror of his high school friends. My friends were impressed.
Then, something horrible happened. I heard a crunching sound under my foot, so I lifted it up and saw a small pouch. Immediately, my heart sank. Right away I knew that inside this pouch was one of my brother’s most prized possessions, an expensive pair of sunglasses.
I panicked. I put the pouch under a pair of jeans on the floor, and we quickly left the room. The rest of the day was a nightmare. I tried to forget about it, but I knew he would find out. All I could do was wait.
The next morning I stayed in bed, still haunted with anxiety. I knew I could not outwit fate. Then it happened. He had found the broken sunglasses, and he was furious. I could hear him downstairs in the family room talking to my other brothers, demanding that the perpetrator confess his crime.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew he wouldn’t stop until someone confessed. So I grabbed all the money I had earned from my newspaper route and slowly walked down the stairs. This was one of the longest walks I have ever taken.
Finally, I came up to my brother. Matt slowly turned to me, and I handed him the wad of cash. “I did it,” I said. No one said a word. I just turned around, walked up the stairs, and got back in bed.
I felt awful for what I had done. I did not know what my brother was going to do. I felt helpless. I didn’t expect Matt to forgive me, but I hoped he would. Then, I heard his voice say my name.
“David, I know you didn’t mean it,” Matt said. He placed the money I gave him on my nightstand. “You earned this money, and I can’t accept it.”
Filled with emotion, I said, “I’m sorry, Matt!” He replied with the most sincere words I have ever heard: “I forgive you.”
We both wept. This was the first time in my young life that I understood how it felt to be truly forgiven. It may be the most powerful human experience one can have, and I praise those who have the courage to give forgiveness.

She was always there, like a great stone face looking down on them from the prominent pinnacle of her own importance. She was the vast image superimposed on their horizon, the ever-present shadow on their youthful, sunburned shoulders. She was Bobby’s mother, Sister Eustacia M. Broderick, stake Relief Society president and stalwart Mormon matriarch par excellence. She was also the first person Kelly Sue thought of whenever she felt guilty, and in spite of Peru and Bobby’s new haircut and all the excitement of anticipation, Kelly Sue felt guilty now.
It wasn’t, certainly, that Bobby was unworthy of his mission, or that Kelly Sue had somehow sullied his honorable intentions by some inappropriate word or deed. Thank heaven she did not have to answer for anything like that! Outwardly she had given Bobby nothing but encouragement about his mission. And discounting a gentle arm across the shoulder, an affectionate clasping of hands, and an occasional kiss usually stolen beneath the birch tree that dominated the south corner of Bobby’s yard, their friendship had been what it was always meant to be, innocent, fresh, uncomplicated.
Except that for as long as Kelly Sue could remember, Bobby had been there, across the cedar fence which separated their back lot gardens, shooting marbles at eight, baskets at ten, and leaning on the gate at seventeen to tease and flirt and finally win the heart of the girl next door. And now the boy next door was leaving, going clear to Peru for 18 months, while his mother, Sister Eustacia Broderick, stood valiantly by, eager for him to fulfill the Lord’s call, as firm and resolute as Kelly Sue was miserable, as vocal as Kelly Sue was silent, as proud as Kelly Sue was ashamed. Bobby was marching off to serve the Lord, and Kelly Sue wondered gloomily if she might ever be forgiven for being so unhappy.
“There was never any question about whether Bobby would go on a mission,” said Sister Broderick from the pulpit. It was Bobby’s last Sunday at home, and the pews overflowed with family and friends and well-wishers, and Kelly Sue sat transfixed by Bobby’s new pinstriped demeanor. He sat to the right of his father with his new set of scriptures on his knee, looking oddly mature for his 19 years. “The prophet has decreed that every young man should serve a mission,” Sister Broderick declared. “Every young man. And Bobby has never considered doing otherwise.” Kelly Sue spotted the natural arch of Sister Broderick’s left eyebrow and noted how it always seemed to be raised in judgment, even when she smiled. Kelly Sue had always been in awe of this woman, Bobby’s mother, and now her words rang convincingly across the chapel pews. “There was never any question,” she repeated, “about Bobby following the advice of his leaders, about his going into the mission field to serve the Lord in bringing the gospel to others.”
Sister Broderick paused for only an instant and then stepped back to begin anew. The arch of her brow seemed higher than ever to Kelly Sue and her tone did not soften. “There is a birch tree in the south corner of our yard,” she said, “as straight and tall and fine a tree as any backyard could wish for. Through the years we’ve carved notches in the bark of that birch to mark the growth of our son Bobby.”
Kelly Sue saw Bobby’s shoulders stiffen proudly against the back of his chair as he watched his mother and knew what she might say. Kelly Sue stiffened too, but her pride in Bobby was overshadowed by the cold ache she felt and could not smother in spite of Sister Broderick’s stirring words. “There’s a mark on that tree about this high,” she declared, measuring up from the floor with her hand. “That’s the day Bobby started Primary 16 years ago. There’s a special notch a little further up that we made the day he was baptized, and another to mark his being ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood.” Sister Broderick paused again, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin before she continued, “We carved the latest notch in the birch tree last week when Bobby was made an elder. He’s grown so tall I had to stand on tiptoe to see the mark was straight.”
Kelly Sue closed her eyes and envisioned the little family ceremony in her mind. Bobby had stood self-consciously but proudly against the tree with his dog Max yapping happily around his feet, while his mother had indeed reached on tiptoe to mark the tree just at the top of his head. His father had snapped pictures of the two of them and then had carved a more conspicuous notch in the tree with his pocket knife. “I remember the day Bobby started Primary,” Sister Broderick had told Kelly Sue, rubbing her fingers across the first notch. “He bawled like a baby and didn’t want to go, can you imagine?” Her fingers lingered momentarily at the notch, but she moved away when she caught Kelly Sue’s eye. “Yes, he did,” she said. “He cried like a baby.”
“Seems to me,” drawled Brother Broderick, “he did the same thing when he was eight. He was scared to death of the baptismal font. Cried all the way to the stake house.”
Bobby, who was pleasantly taking all of this while leaning against the tree with his arm draped around Kelly Sue, looked casually at the new notch nearby. “I won’t cry over this one,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited in my life.”
Back in the chapel Kelly Sue decided that Bobby’s mother was pretty excited too. “That birch tree has always pointed to the stars,” she was saying, “and so do the notches measuring Bobby. He has grown into as straight and tall and fine a young man as any family could want, and as a mother I could not be more proud to send him to Peru and follow the voice of the prophet!”
Sister Broderick sat down, but for Kelly Sue the remainder of the meeting was a blur. Even Bobby’s farewell speech, so sweet and determined and sincere, left her feeling weak. She longed to escape the reality of his leaving. She longed for a return to those warm summer evenings, walking hand in hand with Bobby around the lilac bushes or through McCarty’s orchard as they took a shortcut from school. She longed for the feel of laughter by the lake, the burn of wind on the ski lift, the taste of homemade ice cream on the patio in July. She wanted to be chased across the ball field, to end up rolling in a wild, bruising tackle executed by either Bobby or usually Max, yapping at the top of his canine lungs. She yearned to stroll around the birch tree alone with Bobby and carve her own memories into its pale gray trunk. She yearned for all these things and felt ashamed and guilty because of them. Sister Broderick was right. Bobby’s bent was toward the stars; how could she ever want to hold him, clinging to the past?
“It’s not that I don’t think he’s doing the right thing,” Kelly Sue said to her mother the morning Bobby was scheduled to leave for the Mission Training Center in Utah. “I know he is.” She was watching from the front window as Brother and Sister Broderick were busily loading their car with Bobby’s luggage and books. Bobby himself, carrying a garment bag containing his new suits, waved to her from the street and motioned for her to join him. Kelly Sue was planning to go with him to the airport, but she hesitated now, pondering the car through the window, the car with all of its trappings of imminent departure, and Sister Broderick valiantly standing by, orchestrating the whole affair as if she had planned it for a lifetime. And indeed she had.
“I know he’s doing the right thing,” Kelly Sue repeated, and her mother joined her at the window, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “But I’m young, and I’ll miss him,” she added, suddenly releasing a flood of emotion. “I’ll miss him so much that down deep in my heart I wish he weren’t going, and I feel terrible about it, just terrible.”
“We’ll all miss him, Kelly Sue,” her mother whispered, pressing a finger to the girl’s cheek to catch an errant tear. “You needn’t feel guilty about that.”
Kelly Sue faced the window again, focusing her eyes on Sister Eustacia Broderick as she efficiently packed the last piece of luggage into the car. “She’s so strong,” Kelly Sue breathed. “How can she always be so strong, so faithful? Bobby adores her. He wishes I were more like her. I know he does.”
“Sister Broderick is a wonderful woman,” returned her mother quickly. “I’ve seen her raise Bobby from a child into a fine young man, and I’m sure she loves him, but people show love in different ways, just as Bobby loves you for yourself just as you are.” Kelly Sue’s eyes were still on Sister Broderick standing across the drive, and her mother’s final words, though lovingly said, cut into her heart more painfully than she could imagine. “Try not to feel anger or resentment toward Sister Broderick for somehow taking Bobby away from you and sending him on a mission. She’s really not to blame.”
The words tiptoed through her mind for the remainder of the day. She remembered them as she stood with his family and waved him out of sight amidst the farewell chorus of a dozen familiar, happy voices. And at the center of it all was Sister Broderick, straight and determined and tearless, bidding her only son good-bye, and Kelly Sue suddenly knew that her mother was right. She had resented Sister Broderick, just as she had been intimidated through the years by her constant presence in the backyard of Bobby’s life as well as her own. Her steadfast attitude regarding Bobby’s mission was the final straw. Surely there was some room for wistfulness, for nostalgia, for the longing and ache that is naturally part of a long farewell. Yet, Sister Eustacia Broderick displayed a need for none of these, so firm was her faith in what Bobby was doing.
Kelly Sue said her prayers early that evening. Alone in her bedroom, still fully clothed, with the last rays of an orange sunset still flooding her window, she knelt down to come to grips with her feelings. She was determined not to cringe in Sister Broderick’s shadow for the next 18 months, not to be burdened by her presence, not to let anything negative come between herself and the yard across the back fence. Finally, in the midst of her prayer, she knew she wouldn’t have to. She imagined Bobby in Peru, saw him greeting people and loving them. She saw how his unique charm was brightening their lives, as it had hers for as long as she could remember. And suddenly she was proud, too, proud to share her own best friend with all those people who needed him.
“Thank you, Sister Broderick,” she said aloud, as the warmth of understanding and reconciliation swelled within her and a genuine smile played along her lips for the first time in days. “You knew it all the while, didn’t you?” she added triumphantly, still speaking to the woman from the house next door, who was no longer a threat but an example.
From across the fence, Kelly Sue heard the Broderick’s back door open and knew someone had come out. With new resolve she bounded down her own stairs, determined to complete the reconciliation by telling Sister Broderick how she felt, by apologizing, by making peace at last, if only within herself.
She hurried through the grass by her own yard, past the garden and the clothesline, straight to the gate of the high cedar fence, hoping to keep the light for a few minutes more. She moved quietly through the gate and looked curiously toward the house which seemed veiled and silent, even gloomy in the twilight. No one seemed to be around. Even Max had apparently retired to his favorite corner of the garage.
“He never was a very good watch dog,” Kelly Sue laughed inwardly, happy now in the warm evening air. She looked over Bobby’s backyard, filled with so many memories, for one last time, just as the darkness settled in, and she was about to turn again to her own gate when she was caught short by an odd sound coming from the south corner, through the lilac bushes, by the birch tree.
It began as a whimper and at first Kelly Sue thought a kitten may have become tangled between the fence slats at the end of the yard. She moved silently now, not wishing to disturb the house, and it was only as she neared the birch tree that the form huddled against the trunk became apparent in the shadows. It was Sister Broderick, slightly illuminated by the silky white bathrobe she wore, so that even in the gathering darkness Kelly Sue could see the woman’s cheek pressed against the bark of the tree as her fingers ran gently over a notch of memory carved nearby. Sister Broderick was weeping, softly, controllably, but most assuredly weeping, as though her heart would crack. And the silent old tree stood beside her, straight and unswayed in the darkness.
Kelly Sue crept quietly back to her own gate, her own yard, her own bedroom. From a window there she viewed Bobby’s birch tree for the next 18 months, standing straight and tall in the corner of his yard, realizing somehow that she was no longer very young anymore.

The river eddied fast and smooth around the raft and was a muddy gray color. The air was cool and smelled of snow. It was early spring, May 20. In Canada that’s a holiday celebrating Queen Victoria’s birthday, and for the LDS Branch in Banff, Alberta Province, it’s time for the annual trip down the Kootenay River.
Erwin Oertli is a member of the Banff Branch. He is also a professional river guide who has a government concession to run raft trips in Canada, and on the same weekend each spring he invites the entire Banff Branch, all interested families, on a three-day raft trip down the Kootenay River. He also invites several nonmember friends.
“It’s the best way I know of to introduce them to the Church,” he explained.
The trip began early Saturday morning. The rafts were unloaded on the river bank, inflated, and lifted into the water. Under Brother Oertli’s direction, metal platforms were placed in the rafts and lashed to the sides. Each family loaded and secured its food, supplies, and equipment onto the platforms. Brother Oertli gave final instructions on safety, the river, and handling the rafts. The river runners then buckled on life jackets, and at last the first raft was launched.
The first section of the river was fast and smooth. This gave the oarsmen a chance to get the feel of their rafts. The river reflected gray and liquid silver in the bright sun.
At noon the rafts were beached and Brother Oertli led the group up an old mining road to a ridge that overlooks the river. Below them the Kootenay snaked its way through the high Rocky Mountains of British Columbia. The tops of the mountains were still iced with snow. The long, ivory fingers of glaciers twisted down the slopes of the higher peaks.
After lunch the rafts were launched again. The river dropped faster now, turning sharply around the high slopes that walled it in. These rough-cut river canyons are bordered with stands of columnlike lodge pole pines. There were several sections of rough, white water, but by evening, with the exception of the girl who fell in, the rafts made it to the campsite with little trouble.
Equipment was unloaded and the rafts were pulled onto the shore and tipped over, allowing the water to drain out. In the blue-gray light of evening, tents were set up near a line of jagged pines that shouldered the beach. Fires were built, and the sounds of laughter and voices mixed with the savory aroma of burning pine and of frying steaks and potatoes.
The following morning a testimony meeting, held in the pines, was directed by Harlen Cahoon, a counselor in the Banff Branch presidency. In the meeting nearly everyone from the branch stood and expressed the strong feeling of closeness they felt for each other and for their Father in Heaven.
Brother Cahoon later explained that the testimony meeting on the trip was something everyone looked forward to every year.
“It’s the highlight of the trip,” he said.
After the meeting some of the families spent the afternoon hiking to a ridge that overlooked the river, while others sat by the river or in the shadows of pines, enjoying a steady flow of conversation. Fires were built with wood gathered the night before, and dutch ovens filled with chicken were buried in hot coals for dinner.
Toward evening, high-piled clouds drifted across the sky and the mountain peaks were fogged with gray-white wisps. Rain fell lightly, cooling the earth and scenting the air with the pleasant smells of wet leaves, pine, and aspen. The sky partially cleared as night came.
A cream-white moon, full and large, rose above the river, flooding it with shimmering, silver light that danced on the waves. A large bonfire was built on the beach. The group gathered around its warmth, watching fiery sparks sail up with the moon and the stars. Their soft singing filled the night air.
The next day, late in the afternoon, it was over. Under a fierce barrage of water fighting, the rafts glided into shore where the river intersected a road. The rafts were pulled onto the bank, deflated, and rolled up. Equipment was loaded into waiting cars and trucks, a prayer of thanks was said, and everyone drove for home feeling warm from the sun and from the closeness they felt for each other. Looking forward to the next trip, they left the Kootenay.

“Let me tell you about a man named Emmanuel Ninger. The year is 1887, and the scene is a small neighborhood grocery store. A distinguished looking gentleman in his late 50’s or early 60’s is buying some turnip greens. He hands the clerk a $20 bill and waits for his change. As she starts to make change, she notices that the ink is coming off on her fingers which are still wet from handling the turnip greens. She is shocked and pauses to consider what to do. She thinks, ‘This is Emmanuel Ninger, a long-time friend, a neighbor, and a customer. Surely he would not give me a bill that was anything less than genuine.’ So, she gives him the change and he leaves.
“Later she had some second thoughts because $20 was a large amount of money in 1887. She sent for the police. One policeman was confident that the $20 bill was genuine. The other was puzzled about the ink that rubbed off. Finally they obtained a warrant to search Mr. Ninger’s home.
“In the attic they found the facilities for reproducing $20. As a matter of fact, they found a $20 bill in the process of being printed. They also found three portraits which Emmanuel Ninger had painted. Ninger was an artist, and he was a good one. He was so good, he had hand painted those $20 bills. Meticulously, stroke by stroke, he had applied the master’s touch so skillfully that he was able to fool everyone until a quirk of fate in the form of wet hands of a grocery clerk exposed him.
“After the arrest, his portraits were sold at public auction for $16,000—over $5,000 each. The irony of the story is it took Emmanuel Ninger almost exactly the same length of time to paint a $20 bill as it took him to paint a $5,000 portrait.
“This brilliant and talented man was a thief in every sense of the word. Tragically, the person he stole the most from was himself, Emmanuel Ninger. Not only could he have been a wealthy man if he had legitimately marketed his ability, but he could have brought joy and benefit to his fellowman. He had a choice, and he compromised his integrity” (Vital Speeches of the Day, pp. 40–41).

My sister speaks Russian. Since she came to live with us, I have learned the Russian words for ice cream (morozhennoye), cat (koshka), and thank you (spasibo).
My sister’s name is Sophie, and she is four years old. When she lived in Kazakhstan, her name was Nasipzhan. Mama and Papa changed her name after we adopted her and she came to America to live with us.
Sophie doesn’t look like me or my brother. We have red hair, freckles, and a gap between our front teeth. Papa says we look like peaches with nutmeg and cream.
Sophie has black hair, no freckles, olive-colored skin, and eyes shaped like almonds. Papa says Sophie looks like a porcelain doll. When she smiles, there’s a dimple in her cheek.
We look different, but Sophie is still our sister. We play soccer together. We ride scooters together. We eat popcorn and drink chocolate milk together. We even wear chocolate milk mustaches together.
My brother and I want Sophie to be part of our forever family. So do Mama and Papa. Soon we will go to the temple. We will wear white and meet together in a beautiful room. We will become a forever family.
Until then, Sophie will come to my soccer games. We will go on long walks. We will eat popcorn and chase the cats and make lots of chocolate milk mustaches together.
And I will tell Sophie how much I lubit her. Because lubit is the Russian word for love.

He soon revived and was on his way with 500 of the Saints under the care of Captain Daniel Thompson of Fillmore, Utah. William’s journal paints a vivid picture of the means of transporting travelers across the plains in those days:
“Eighty-four sturdy wagons pulled by ox-teams met us there on the Missouri. They were accompanied by splendid teamsters and a very fine captain dedicated to his calling. When all was loaded up, including my own things, we departed for The Valley, but not before we knelt and prayed to the Almighty. The days, weeks, and months to follow were filled with events the heart and mind shall never forget. The evenings were filled with singing and dancing which caused the mind and body to forget the hardships of the day. There was also sickness and death of the fragile which grieved us.”
William chose not to dwell on the subjects of sickness and death; nor did he choose to mention much about the “walking blisters” he doctored every night by the light of the campfires. He certainly had found a good use for the healing salve he’d brought all the way from England. He would remove his “foot soldier boots,” wash out his socks, and soak his feet in a bucket one of the good sisters loaned him. His soaking bucket was not exclusively his, however, as there were others who needed it too. After the soaking process, the bucket was gratefully returned to its place in the back of a wagon until the next evening. William took pity on another young fellow with the party whose shoes were in much worse shape than his own. One evening he took his dress shoes from his bag and gave them to his friend. He would get another pair when he reached his destination, after he had worked and earned enough to buy them. Slits had to be made in the sides as they were too narrow for the boy’s feet, but they were a welcomed gift, nonetheless. Not long after that incident and near the end of the journey, someone noticed blood oozing from William’s boots, leaving a marked trail on the sand and rocks behind him. He was ushered to the back of one of the wagons and made to ride for the remainder of the day. It was his first ride, and he felt guilty and uncomfortable for accepting it. He knew the oxen were already pulling their limit and hated to add to their burden. The soles of his boots were gone, but they had served him well as his father had said they would. He would finish the journey with gunny sacks wrapped around his swollen, bruised feet.
He was not one to complain. Instead he wrote: “I was among the best of company. I was treated like a son and brother, which indeed we were brothers and sisters in the gospel. When tragedy or discomfort struck one, and it did many times, it struck us all.”
Emmigration Canyon was ablaze with her fall attire of reds and golds as the weary but rejoicing Saints descended her well-cut and marked paths that first day of October in 1866. The travelers were warmly received by others who fully understood all that had transpired over the past three months for they, too, had endured and conquered the obstacles that arose between the point of departure and the scene of arrival. Now they stood together in the winners’ circle, ready for the next challenge. William must write home to his family who were anxiously awaiting the news that “Zion had been reached!” Little did he know that they had heard his ship had gone down and were grieving his loss. Oh, how welcome his letter would be! It would inspire new faith and hope.

The Prophet Joseph Smith had a most remarkable way of handling a problem between himself and his wife. David Whitmer tells of an incident in the lives of Joseph and Emma Smith as follows:
“One morning when [Joseph Smith] was getting ready to continue the translation, something went wrong about the house and he was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went upstairs and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went downstairs, out into the orchard, and made supplication to the Lord; [he] was gone about an hour—came back to the house, and asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came upstairs where we were and then the translation went on all right.” (B. H. Roberts, Comprehensive History of the Church, 1:131.)