Gospel Story Finder

Angelo grabbed the paper and headed for the door. The tournament was the last thing he had to complete before becoming a blue belt! As he rode his bike home, he only wished his grandma could see him compete. Abuela Ana was serving a mission in faraway Romania.
...
He reached for the photograph and read the words she had written on the back.
“The work is hard here. We give lots of discussions, but no baptisms yet. Last week we went to the orphanages and arranged for children to have needed medical care. They were so grateful. I knew that whatever sacrifice I had made to come here was nothing. I’m following the Savior, so everything will be all right! Te amo, Angelo. I love you.”

The summer before my freshman year of high school, my family moved from a small town in California, USA, to northern Virginia, right outside of Washington, D.C. As I walked through the high school doors on the first day, the hallways were jam-packed with students going every which way to get to their classes. Over 2,000 students were crammed into an old, overcrowded building, but I felt alone as I walked the halls. I didn’t feel like I fit in, I struggled in my classes, and I began to think things would never improve. To make matters worse, as I attended church and seminary, and as I participated in gospel discussions at home, it also became obvious to me that I didn’t have a testimony of my own.
Lying in bed one night, I thought that if the gospel really is the source of peace, hope, and joy, then I needed to know for myself if it was true. I figured the best way to do that was to read the Book of Mormon and accept Moroni’s invitation to ask God with a sincere heart, with real intent and faith in Christ, if it is true (see Moroni 10:4–5).
As my freshman year came to an end, I began to seriously read the Book of Mormon for the first time in my life. Throughout the summer, I read and prayed every day. It took a while, but about a month or two into my sophomore year, I had read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover.
One night, I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon and the Church were true. I was sure I was going to get an answer, but if I was expecting some kind of miraculous spiritual manifestation, I was disappointed because nothing happened. I felt confused and frustrated. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayer? Despite my disappointment, I continued to study and pray.
One day, I explored the woods behind my house. It was fall, and some of the leaves had already turned red and gold. The air was cool, the sky was blue, and beams of sunlight shone through the trees. I found a big rock by a stream to sit on, and as I watched the water flow by, I opened my heart to God again.
Suddenly I had an impression, as if God were asking me, “Eric, what has happened in your life since you started reading the Book of Mormon and praying every day?”
Immediately, I thought of my friends. I had made friends that summer who are still dear to me today. My anxiety about school had subsided, and my grades had improved. I realized that I was a lot happier and that I had strength beyond my own to face the challenges that had been so difficult the year before.
Then it happened.
I didn’t hear a voice, but the Spirit filled my heart as these words came to my mind: “Of course, it’s true!” An overwhelming feeling of peace, joy, and assurance came over me. I knew I had finally found my answer.
“It’s true! It’s true!” I said to myself over and over again as I walked home.
President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) once said, “There is a power in the [Book of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book.”1
That day in the woods of northern Virginia, I came to know that President Benson’s words are true. I realized what a difference the Book of Mormon had made in my life, and I also realized that because the Book of Mormon is true, then Joseph Smith is a prophet, we have a prophet today, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is God’s kingdom once again established on the earth.
When I remember my special spiritual experience, a scripture always comes to mind: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, I will impart unto you of my Spirit, which shall enlighten your mind, which shall fill your soul with joy” (D&C 11:13).
I am grateful for the undeniable influence of the Holy Ghost that told me, “Of course, it’s true!”
I have been blessed ever since.

The Lord is ever aware of our needs and eager to help. One sister relates how she prayed to Heavenly Father and was blessed by the power of the Atonement: “I had no one to turn to, no place to go, except on my knees. I prayed as I had never prayed before. I fasted faithfully, meaningfully, and often. I read and studied the scriptures from cover to cover for the first time in my life. … And he was there. He heard my humble pleadings. He put his arm of love around me. He forgave me of my sins and showed me a better way. I was amazed at the happiness, success, and opportunity that came into my life” (“After Divorce: Clearing the Hurdles,” Ensign, August 1985, 50).

Former Primary General President Joy D. Jones recalled that as a young couple, she and her husband were called to visit and minister to a family who hadn’t been to church for many years. It was immediately clear in their first visit that they were not wanted. After the frustration of additional failed attempts, and after much sincere prayer and pondering, Brother and Sister Jones received an answer to the why of their service in this verse from the Doctrine and Covenants: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.” Sister Jones said:
“We realized that we were sincerely striving to serve this family and to serve our bishop, but we had to ask ourselves if we were really serving out of love for the Lord. …
“… We began looking forward to our visits with this dear family because of our love for the Lord [see 1 Nephi 11:22]. We were doing it for Him. He made the struggle no longer a struggle. After many months of our standing on the doorstep, the family began letting us in. Eventually, we had regular prayer and tender gospel discussions together. A long-lasting friendship developed. We were worshipping and loving Him by loving His children.”

I don’t know how many times people had told us to make friends, but one day in Miss Cocks’s third grade class, that was exactly what Aubrey, Shanae, and I did. We actually “made” a friend.
At first our friend didn’t have a lot of personality. She was a little bit flat and colorless because we made her out of sheets of white drawing paper that we taped together and cut out into the rough shape of a girl. Then we drew a face on her, propped her up in a chair, and slid her up to the desk.
Shanae, Aubrey, and I didn’t actually need a friend. We just needed a body, someone or something to take up space so that Miss Cocks wouldn’t assign another someone to sit with us.
All of the desks in the classroom were arranged in groups of four. There was an odd number of students in the room. Two groups had only three students, and Aubrey, Shanae, and I felt lucky to end up together with no one sitting in the fourth desk.
We really didn’t want anybody else joining us. So when Shanae took a note to the office for Miss Cocks and saw a new student, she hurried back to class with the awful news.
“Brittany,” she whispered to me, “there’s a new boy in the office, and I think he’s coming to our room. What if we get stuck with him?”
“A boy will ruin everything,” I muttered.
That’s when Shanae, Aubrey, and I decided to make our friend. We had to work fast, but we had her propped in the empty chair when Mr. Yost, the principal, escorted Jesse to our classroom.
Miss Cocks’s gaze settled first on our group. We all giggled. “Our group is full,” I announced. “We made a friend during art, and she’s sitting right there—see?”
“I didn’t know that you girls could make a friend so quickly,” Miss Cocks said, trying to hold back her own smile. She was sort of used to Aubrey and me, because she was the Primary president in our ward. She shrugged. “I guess Jesse will get to sit by Melissa in the other group.”
After Jesse was properly introduced to the class, Shanae, Aubrey, and I fixed up our friend, carefully using our scissors to give her a better shape. We got out our crayons and colored her face and glued on yellow construction-paper hair. We also painted a dress and shoes on her.
Later, when Miss Cocks started our social studies lesson, she turned to us. “Oh, by the way, Brittany, you girls haven’t had a chance to introduce your friend to the class. After all, she’s new, too.”
She caught all three of us by surprise. At first we just sat there. Then I got an idea. My favorite cousin’s name was Kerstin, so I took a deep breath, stood up, and pointed at our homemade friend. “Class,” I explained, “this is our new friend, Kerstin.”
“Where did she live before she came here?” Miss Cocks wanted to know.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, she lived in a big, dark forest. In fact, I think she was a tree.” I grinned.
Shanae stood up next to me and added, “And we hope all of you will be especially nice to her. She’s not used to being around so many people.”
“She doesn’t talk very much,” Aubrey joined in. “She’s very shy, so if you’d like to tell her something, you’ll have to talk to one of us.”
Most of the guys in the class rolled their eyes and the girls mostly snickered. Miss Cocks raised her eyebrows but only said, “Kerstin, I’m glad that you were able to get out of the big, dark forest. It’s nice to have you in our class. And,” she added solemnly, “I hope some of your quietness will rub off onto your three friends.”
That’s how Kerstin came to be our friend. We might have forgotten all about her, wadded her up, and thrown her into the trash at the end of the day. But as Miss Cocks was passing out our social studies crossword puzzle, she skipped Kerstin. Shanae raised her hand and pointed out, “You didn’t give Kerstin one.” She covered her mouth to hide a grin.
“Does Kerstin know how to do crossword puzzles?” Miss Cocks asked. “Coming from the big, dark forest, she probably doesn’t even know what the states are, and a person has to know the states in order to do this crossword puzzle.”
“Kerstin is a little slow,” Aubrey spoke up.
“But we’ll help her,” I volunteered. “That’s what friends are for.”
Miss Cocks considered a moment, then set a crossword puzzle in front of Kerstin. “Kerstin,” she said slowly, “if you have any questions, just ask one of your three very silly friends.”
Shanae, Aubrey, and I hurried through our own puzzles. As we worked together on Kerstin’s, we carefully explained to her what we were doing and why. The rest of the kids in the class shook their heads and muttered under their breaths.
When it was time for recess, I raised my hand.
“Is it all right if Kerstin stays in during recess? She has a bad cold.”
“That’s why she’s so pale,” Aubrey joined in.
“Besides,” Shanae added, “she doesn’t have a coat.”
“Then I think Kerstin had better stay in,” Miss Cocks agreed. “She can keep me company.”
When we returned from recess, Miss Cocks announced, “Only one person had a hundred percent on the crossword puzzle. Our new student Kerstin got every one of them correct.”
“If she got a hundred,” I protested, “the rest of us had to get a hundred, too.”
Miss Cocks shook her head. “Well, you missed 7-Across, Shanae missed 17-Down, and Aubrey missed 22-Across.” Miss Cocks smiled at Kerstin. “Maybe tomorrow you can help your friends a little with their work. They seem to need it.”
The next day Kerstin was still sitting patiently in her chair, just as we had left her.
During language arts, when Miss Cocks was explaining the difference between singular and plural nouns, Kerstin answered a question and Reggie Burke muttered loudly, “Kerstin’s got to be the ugliest, dumbest looking girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t you ever talk about our friend that way,” Shanae fiercely burst out. “She can’t help the way she is. Maybe if you had grown up in the middle of some trees, you’d look just like she does.”
Aubrey and I nodded and glared at Reggie. Miss Cocks smiled and added, “That’s right, Reggie, we don’t want anyone in our class speaking unkindly about anyone else.”
He sank down in his seat. “It’s only a dumb paper doll.”
After that, a few more boys tried to make fun of Kerstin, but we stood up for her. We even redid her face so that she’d be prettier. We changed her clothes and said nice things to her. When Bobby Rice pointed out how skinny she was, we decided that from then on, we’d take her to lunch with us. We made her a paper jacket and took her out for recess. We even picked out an imaginary birthday for her that was a week away and posted it on Miss Cocks’s “birthday board.”
The day of Kerstin’s birthday, when Mr. Yost announced students’ birthdays over the intercom, he said, “And we have a new student in Miss Cocks’s class who is having a birthday today. Happy birthday, Kerstin!”
Kerstin was one of the most wonderful things that happened to us in third grade. Each day we thought up something new to do with her, and Miss Cocks and the rest of the class played along with us. Kerstin even won the math game. She was voted the best-behaved student in class. Hers was the best art project.
It seemed as though Kerstin had always been with us. So it was a shock one Monday morning to discover that Kerstin was no longer at her desk.
Miss Cocks motioned for us to follow her outside the classroom. “Kerstin moved away,” Miss Cocks said softly. She held up her hands and shook her head when we started to protest. “It happened rather suddenly.”
“You mean we can’t have her in class anymore?” Shanae asked sadly. “We’ll try not to be so silly.”
Miss Cocks shook her head. “It isn’t that. Kerstin wanted me to tell you all how much she appreciated your special kindness these last few weeks.” She looked at Aubrey and me. “Do you remember in Sharing Time yesterday how I talked about treating others the way Jesus Christ would want us to treat them?”
Aubrey and I nodded.
“Well, I thought of you three girls and Kerstin when I was saying those things. I think that you’ve learned that lesson well.”
Miss Cocks was quiet for a moment. “Kerstin wanted to ask a special favor of you three. I think it’s the same favor Jesus would ask if He were here. There’s another girl coming today. She’s a bit shy. She isn’t from a big, dark forest—she’s very real. Unfortunately she doesn’t live with her mother and dad. She lives in a foster home. Life hasn’t been easy for her. More than anything, she needs a safe, kind, loving place to go to school. Kerstin thought that this was the very best place in the world, and she was sure that no one could find three better friends than Shanae, Aubrey, and Brittany. Of course, I agreed.”
For a long time we were all quiet, truly missing Kerstin, but happy about making a new, real friend. It felt good to look forward to new people, rather than try to avoid them.
Aubrey asked, “What’s her name?”
“Brandy. And if you treat her the way you treated Kerstin, she will think that this is the most wonderful place in the world.”
“I guess we’d better get her desk ready. When will she be here?”
“I think that Mr. Yost will be bringing her in a few minutes.”
“If I were a new student,” Aubrey said, “I don’t think I’d want the principal to escort me to class. I’d want my three new best friends to go to the office and get me.”
Miss Cocks smiled. “I think you’re right. I think that Brandy would want that very much.”
That is how Shanae, Aubrey, and I made our second friend in third grade. And as we brought Brandy to our room, helped her with her assignments, took her to lunch, and protected her from the boys’ teasing, I sometimes thought of the One who is a very special Friend of us all.

Although only about 3 percent of the student population at South Pasadena High School is LDS, those who are hold a high number of student government positions. Kevin Ning, Daniel McNairy, Chris O’Neil, Jason Postelwait, Christina Cortez, and Suzanne McNairy, all members of the South Pasadena Ward, California Pasadena Stake, have left their marks as leaders in class, student body, and pep club.
Through their examples, these students have left favorable impressions on both their classmates and their teachers. In fact, one teacher commented that “it would be a good year with so many Mormons in office.” She wasn’t disappointed.
All of the students are active in ward and stake activities, and all of the young men are currently preparing to go on missions.

I am grateful to President Grant and other prophets for teaching the principle of tithing to my parents and to them for teaching it to me. My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: “Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.”

Later I went into the mission field with a similar commission to feed my Father’s sheep. Again I experienced the joy of opening the gate by declaring that winter had passed, that the gospel had been restored, that new truth was springing out of the earth, and that by following the Good Shepherd, each child of God could personally feast upon that truth.
Important as it was for me to declare the message I had received from God, I soon realized how much more important it was for me to lead the investigator into a personal study of God’s word, where he could seek and learn and come to know within himself, through the power of the Holy Spirit, that the gospel is true.

Think you can’t live without television? Youth in the Penasquitos First Ward in San Diego, California, went on a television “fast” for a month. Here’s what three of the young women said about the experience:
“Although I missed some of my favorite shows, I didn’t miss some of the bad influences usually shown on TV.”—Anne Hansen, 16

The year was 1951. The place was New York City. The Brigham Young University basketball team was in town to participate in the National Invitational Tournament (N.I.T.).
Coach Stan Watts and trainer Rod Kimball had just made their nightly bed check to make sure the players were all right. Shortly after, two older players slipped out of bed, dressed, and left the hotel by a side entrance. They were attracted by the big city night life and wanted to look around.
They were silent as they headed for the bright lights of a Times Square that was safer and cleaner in those days than it is today. Finally one stopped and said, “Do we really want to be doing this?” His friend replied, “You know, I’m having the same feelings. I’ve got too much respect for this team to be doing what we’re doing.” The first one said, “Let’s go back.” Both players returned to the hotel. Incidentally, BYU gained national honors that year by winning the N.I.T. for the first time. The New York press was high in its praise, and the team returned to Utah with a hero’s welcome.

My missionary companion and I were having difficulty getting along well together. I still do not know all that lay at the root of our difficulties, but after we had been together only a few weeks, walking the streets of a small Brazilian town, resentment, pride, and petty differences began to darken our relationship. Our prayers together became more and more perfunctory, and resentment more and more frequently broke out in sharp words. Almost unnoticed, the Spirit began to slip away from us.
One afternoon, after one of many unfruitful days of tracting and visiting members, and with what promised to be a barren afternoon stretching before us, we decided that we could fill some of the empty spaces on our daily activity records by visiting Antonio. Antonio was a nonmember whose wife had joined the Church several years before but had been only marginally active. He respected the missionaries and several times had shown sufficient faith to ask them to administer to him when he was ill. My present companion and I had administered to him twice, and I knew that earlier elders had done so. All of that took place before we learned that Antonio was dying of an abdominal cancer and had only a few months, perhaps weeks, to live.
When his wife answered the door that day, she looked drawn and worried. She took us into her kitchen, from which an open door led to Antonio’s room. Through the door we saw Antonio threshing in agony on a narrow bed, unconscious that we were even there.
We were suddenly at a complete loss for what to do or say. Antonio’s wife looked at us silently. We looked at each other, at Antonio, at the floor. We had no idea what to do, and worse, without a word being spoken between us, we knew that we were both thinking that we were in no spiritual condition to do anything. Finally, one of us asked if there was a room where we could be alone for a while. Antonio’s wife showed us to a bedroom, and we closed the door behind us.
We knelt and took turns praying, at first asking the Lord to make known to us his will concerning Antonio. In the silence that answered our first prayers, the knowledge of our unworthiness to receive an answer fairly shouted at us. Then, at first awkwardly and cautiously, and finally pleadingly, we began to confess to the Lord and to each other our sin in allowing vanity and pride to rob us of the power to act in our priesthood. We pleaded that Antonio not be denied release from his suffering because of our unworthiness, that the Lord would forgive our sin and bless us with faith and power to bless Antonio, or that he would bless Antonio without us.
We must have prayed for half an hour, taking turns, before a peace came to us. We agreed that we should go out, lay our hands on Antonio, and let the Spirit guide us.
When we went out, his wife asked, “Did you pray?” We said yes, and she said, “He has gone to sleep.”
We left the house subdued and chastened. Permanently and profoundly recorded in our hearts was a hard-learned lesson in the foolishness of allowing personal differences to cut us off from the source of the power to bless.

When Verity broke her brother’s toy boat, she said, “Sorry.” She helped fix it with glue.

An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a refugee camp near Seattle, Washington. While trying to learn English so he could live in the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and an address on it. He kept it for some reason. Later, when he was asked where he wanted to live he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to live with a Latter-day Saint family in Salt Lake City where he learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he showed the card he had been given in the refugee camp. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.

Venezuela, or “Little Venice,” was named nearly 500 years ago when Spanish explorers discovered an Indian village built on stilts over Lake Maracaibo. The village reminded them of Venice, Italy, where the streets are canals, and soon the name was applied to the whole country.

Elizabeth Davis, 16, works at a Pepperell fast-food restaurant. She’s cleaning tables as a tape deck blares in a back room. She says work has been good for her.
“I need to work. I need the responsibility—having people who depend on me to come in and be on time.
“Some days you get in there and say, ‘I don’t want to do this. This is so boring.’ And you’re grumpy at the customers and they are getting mad at you and you realize you have to cut that out.
“It’s helped me deal with people. I used to get kind of flustered around people I didn’t know. But now I can talk and even smile.”
As a rule, it is best to pay your tithing as soon as you receive your paycheck. “If it’s sitting around I might spend it,” says Elizabeth.

In Holland during World War II, the Casper ten Boom family used their home as a hiding place for those hunted by the Nazis. This was their way of living out their Christian faith. Four members of the family lost their lives for providing this refuge. Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsie spent horrific months in the infamous Ravensbrück concentration camp. Betsie died there—Corrie survived.
In Ravensbrück, Corrie and Betsie learned that God helps us to forgive. Following the war, Corrie was determined to share this message. On one occasion, she had just spoken to a group of people in Germany suffering from the ravages of war. Her message was “God forgives.” It was then that Corrie ten Boom’s faithfulness brought forth its blessing.
A man approached her. She recognized him as one of the cruelest guards in the camp. “You mentioned Ravensbrück in your talk,” he said. “I was a guard there. … But since that time, … I have become a Christian.” He explained that he had sought God’s forgiveness for the cruel things he had done. He extended his hand and asked, “Will you forgive me?”
Corrie ten Boom then said:
“It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
“… The message that God forgives has a … condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. …
“… ‘Help me!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’
“… Woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. As I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
“‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart.’
“For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.”6

There was no obvious reason for the prickle of alarm that raced up Snow Wolf’s spine when he saw the dead horse, but he decided to leave the snowy trail anyway and investigate. The Indian youth had been taught that to survive he must trust his instinct even more than his sharp eyes and keen ears.
The corpse was not that of an Indian pony. There were thick callouses caused by straining against a harness. One foreleg was broken. Mercifully, the suffering animal had been shot. It died about ten days ago, he decided after studying the signs. Deep wagon ruts led eastward. So the settlers could not have gone very far with only one horse to pull such a heavy load.
Snow Wolf looked around and strained to hear above the howling wind. Swirling snow narrowed his dark eyes to slits. Threatening clouds and a sudden drop in temperature had halted his hunt. Sensing that a blizzard was coming, he was loping back toward his village. Now, although he saw no danger, he proceeded more cautiously. Because of past incidents, there was a mutual distrust between his people and the settlers.
The youth picked up the faint scent of wood smoke. He hesitated, then turned aside to follow it. It could be a hunter from his village. But unless a brave were injured, he would not make a fire and camp so close to home in such threatening weather. The coming blizzard would rage for several days.
When he saw the crude shelter and a wagon, Snow Wolf stealthily made his way from one tree to another. It was a white man’s camp! He circled the clearing and saw that only a mud and stone fireplace and three log walls had been thrown up and roofed. It was not enough shelter for the raking blizzards common to this area where snow piled in fifteen-foot drifts. Three walls were nothing more than a windbreak. The settlers will not survive the coming storm! he thought.
A white woman huddled close to a meager fire with two small children wrapped in quilts. The oldest child’s face was red with fever. Both were wracked with constant coughing. There was no cooking pot over the fire. They had no food! Snow Wolf’s conscience felt the weight of the three fat rabbits dangling from his belt. His family had venison, buffalo meat, and fish they had dried in the fall. But will it be enough to outlast the blizzard? he wondered.
A horse plodded into the clearing, dragging a log. It was led by a tall man, who staggered with weariness and whose face was gray with fatigue. Snow Wolf knew that the man could not finish the remaining wall alone before the storm hit with its killing temperatures—not without food, at least. And building the cabin had robbed him of time to hunt.
The youth was deeply troubled about the plight of the little family. He was willing to share his food and to help build the wall, but he was hesitant about approaching them. It could be dangerous if they misunderstood his motives. A series of deep, croupy coughs from one of the children made him decide to risk the danger.
The frightened parents whirled and stared with dread and disbelief as Snow Wolf stepped out from the pine trees. He shouted his tribe’s word for friend and stood, waiting tensely, ready to leap back into the forest if anyone reached for the gun he saw leaning against a wall.
They didn’t understand the word, but their fear vanished when they saw the rabbits Snow Wolf held out toward them. An enemy would not bring food to his victims. The youth smiled as the blond woman took the rabbits and nodded her thanks. He walked to the log and lifted one end, to show his willingness to help.
Snow Wolf led the father to a ravine where floods and erosion had downed many tall trees—trees that would provide logs faster than felling them with an axe. The youth used the horse to drag them to the cabin site, while the white man trimmed them and notched the ends so they could be lifted into place. Chinking the gaps between the logs with moss instead of mud was easier and faster. When the wall was waist high, Snow Wolf motioned the woman and children inside. The wall was closed with canvas and a quilt was hung over the doorway to provide more protection while the men continued working.
The last log was in place, and the father was making a door from one side of the wagon bed, when he realized that both his horse and the Indian youth had vanished! He felt betrayed. Snow Wolf had hauled in a giant pile of firewood and given them food. He had worked hard to help build the wall. Did he help us only for an opportunity to steal our remaining horse? The man sighed in disappointment. Losing the horse was bad, but losing what he had thought was a friend was far worse.
The man nailed the door into place and straightened his aching back. He stood back and looked with pride at the snug cabin. His family could not have survived without it, and he could not have finished it without Snow Wolf’s help. The youth earned the horse, so I won’t begrudge it, he decided.
Smoke curled from the chimney and was snatched away by the wind as the full force of the blizzard struck. The father filled his arms with cut logs outside and came reeling into the warmth of their new home. The smell of rabbit stew was tantalizing. He decided that he would not mention the loss of their horse to his wife, who was already so worried about the children.
After supper, he split logs and made two sleeping platforms for beds. He tried not to hear the choked coughs and labored breathing of the little girls as he worked on benches and made a long table. But fear clutched at his chest nevertheless. The children were restless and feverish as their mother hovered over them, her face white and drawn. She was so worried that she hadn’t even thought to ask about Snow Wolf. How alone they were!
Suddenly there was a loud bump; then snow swirled into the room as the door burst open. The couple stared incredulously as Snow Wolf and an elderly Indian woman entered, bringing food and buffalo hides. How could they have found their way in such a blinding blizzard!
Sarah hesitated only a moment, then moved aside to let the Indian woman bend over the sick children. Expertly the Indian woman crumbled herbs into the water boiling on the hearth, and soon the cabin filled with steam and an aromatic scent. She warmed a pungent salve and rubbed it on the feverish children, then raised their heads to give them sips of the herbal drink to stop their coughing. Soon the children drifted off to sleep.
How quiet the cabin seemed, even with the lashing wind outside. The two women needed no words as they sat together near the hearth, occasionally nodding at each other in perfect understanding.
Snow Wolf and the father carried in more supplies, then stacked cut logs to the ceiling on both sides of the fireplace. Together they made a brush shelter for the horse.
The children slept, no longer struggling for each breath. They were almost cool when their mother walked over and tenderly touched them. Her lips quivered and her eyes were misty as she looked around the cabin, so cozy now in the firelight, and then into the faces of their new friends.

Another former missionary says, “Texting, listening to messages, and even taking phone calls can wait. Do it in your private time rather than in front of others.” He said, “My mission president had a cell phone, but he kept it on silent and never answered it in a conference or interview. We always knew we were his priority at the moment.”

While translating, Joseph Smith and his scribe Oliver Cowdery read about baptism. Their desire to receive this blessing for themselves prompted the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood on May 15, 1829, under the hands of John the Baptist.

There followed the restoration of the Melchizedek Priesthood, which was bestowed on Joseph and Oliver by the Apostles Peter, James, and John, who held the keys. After centuries of spiritual darkness, the power and authority to act in God’s name, to perform sacred ordinances, and to lead His Church were once again upon the earth.

Thank you so much for the June 1995 special issue. I really enjoyed reading it, and I especially enjoyed the poem “I Hold His Book” by Julie Batty. The poem reminded me of my own situation. I never really used to read the scriptures unless I had to. But now I read them every night. The article “The Scriptures—Written for You” made me appreciate the scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon. Thank you again.
Sue-Anne DixonEast London, South Africa