Gospel Story Finder

In Brother Oldham's Heredity class on the first day he said, "I can pretty much give you all your final grade today, but we'll go through the semester and by the end you will learn that I know most of you. The people here on the first two rows will get the A's. The people just above them will get the B's. All you people up there in the middle will get the C's and you people way up at the top, you will get the D's and F's." Of course, you can guess where I was sitting. I knew from my high school experience what kind of a student I was. I was sitting way up at the top but I said to myself that day, "He doesn't know me. He can't determine my grade on the first day. I'll show him." I worked my heart out to prove him wrong and got an A in the class from the back of the room.

It was hard, but I learned a lesson. I had never really realized how many distractions there are in a classroom between the back and the front. After that, I never chose to sit at the back of any college classroom. My GPA started to climb.

About eleven years ago our twins, Max and Mia, were two years old and we were living in an apartment while I was in graduate school. To my wife’s horror we discovered that there was a mouse in our apartment. We bought a mousetrap, put some peanut butter on it, and placed it next to a baseboard on the kitchen floor where we had seen the mouse. Two-year-olds and mousetraps don’t coexist very well, so we took Max and Mia into the kitchen, pointed out the mousetrap, and explained to them how dangerous it was. We told them to stay away from it, to keep their fingers out, and that it would hurt them. We even used our scary voices: “No. Don’t touch. Danger.” A couple of days later, while most of us were sitting on the couch in the other room, we heard a snap and then a scream. We hurried into the kitchen and found little Mia with her fingers in the trap and peanut butter on her lips.

Brothers and sisters, there are many sources of falsehood in the world. Please don’t put your fingers in those traps. Don’t turn to them in your quest for a testimony. There have been, and always will be, intelligent and articulate people in the world who will try to convince you that the Church is not true, that God does not exist, and that anyone who believes that there is a God is foolish and naïve. Don’t go to those sources. Don’t turn to people on the Internet who are seeking to destroy your testimony. Like with our twins, I want to point at those traps and tell you how dangerous they are. I want to tell you to stay away from them, to keep your fingers out, and that they will hurt you. I want to use my scary voice: “No. Don’t touch. Danger.”

Pa had always set great store in fasting and prayer. He never doubted that the Lord would answer a righteous prayer of faith. And my pa was a righteous man, so I never saw his faith go unanswered. But in the summer of 1876, during my twelfth year, his fasting and prayer brought about the most curious answer I’ve ever seen.
Whenever Pa was thinking hard about something, he would tug his left ear. He had been tugging that ear for three or four days, so I knew something important was on his mind.
He mentioned it to Ma that night at supper. “Emily, that upper five acres could mean the difference between meeting the payments at the bank and losing the farm.”
Ma stopped pouring the thick, frothy milk and looked at him. “What do you mean, Edward? You haven’t said anything before.”
“I can’t keep water on it, Em. No matter how I plot a course, the water either won’t flow across the field or it backs up and floods half the crop and leaves the other half dry. I don’t know what to do.”
Ma sat down heavily. “We could really lose the farm?”
“If we don’t get a good crop. And we won’t get a good crop unless I can figure out some way to irrigate that land.”
The next couple of days were really low ones for us. Pa would stand each morning, staring across those five acres, then tug his ear and walk off, glum-faced. Usually after supper he’d play with me and Baby Sam, read out loud from the big family Bible, or pick on his banjo. Now he just sat at the kitchen table, drawing figure after figure on pieces of paper—diagrams of an irrigation system.
It took me a minute to realize what was different that morning. There was no sound of sizzling bacon, no mouthwatering aroma almost lifting me out of bed. Then I remembered—we were going to fast today. I swallowed hard, wishing I had drunk one final glass of water before we had had prayer last night to start our fast.
The loft door lifted up, and Pa came in smiling and wrestled me out of bed. That kind of surprised me because Pa had been so quiet and preoccupied lately. I thought maybe he’d found a way to irrigate the cornfield, so I asked him.
“No,” he said, becoming serious again. “But we’re going to put it to Heavenly Father today during our fast. He knows how to get water to the crops. We just have to ask Him and have faith that He’ll give us the answer. I’ve done all I can.”
We knelt around the kitchen table for morning prayer, and I settled myself into a comfortable half-sleeping position, because Pa’s prayers can get pretty long sometimes. Suddenly my ears pricked up. Pa’s tone was different this morning, and his prayer was short and direct:
“Father, our crops are dying. I’ve tried everything I know to irrigate the land, but the water won’t flow on that hilly ground. We turn to Thee for help. We dedicate this fast to finding the answer we need. Please help us.”
After Pa finished, we knelt there quietly for a minute or two, then got up together. Pa looked relieved and ruffled my hair. I asked if he’d gotten an answer already. He smiled. “No, Son, not yet. But I will.” And much of that day he spent off by himself, praying.
The next morning Pa picked up a long stick as we walked out to the cornfield. Then he walked across the field, dragging that stick behind him! He didn’t turn to look until he was at the other end. And when he did turn to see that crazy wavy line, he stood a long time, tugging on his ear.
“Well, Son,” he said finally. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways, and this has to be one of His most mysterious.”
I couldn’t believe he meant what I thought he was saying! “You’re not going to follow that line to make the irrigation channel are you?” I asked.
Pa grinned. “If that’s what He wants me to do, then yes, I guess I am.” And he pulled the hand plow to the edge of the field. I stood at the side, watching his muscles bulge against his shirt as he plowed a deep, crooked furrow that looked more like a sidewinder’s track than an irrigation ditch.
This is one time, I thought, when Heavenly Father just hasn’t come through.
When Pa had finished plowing the furrows, he removed the board that held back the branch of the creek next to the field. The water rushed along his newly dug furrow, then slowed and found natural furrows that flowed throughout the corn patch and carried the life-giving water to every stalk of corn.
We had a successful crop that year, and I never again doubted the power of fasting and prayer. If ever my faith began to waver, all I had to do was remember my pa and the day that he plowed the crooked furrow.

When I was a kid, my friends and I played a game called “Jump or Dive.” Basically, all you need is a deep pool or lake and something to jump off of, like a diving board. To play, you launch yourself off the diving board. Right as you do, someone yells, “jump,” which means you need to enter the water feet first, or “dive,” which means you need to enter the water hands first, in a dive.
When you try to react in midair, you usually end up resembling a flapping pretzel or doing a very painful belly flop.
Life doesn’t have to be a game of “Jump or Dive.” You can make a lot of decisions much earlier and avoid a lot of spiritual belly flops. The Old Testament prophet Joshua didn’t say, “Choose just before it’s too late.” He said, “Choose you this day whom ye will serve” (Joshua 24:15; emphasis added).
Will W., 14, from San Francisco, California, USA, probably doesn’t do many spiritual belly flops because he believes in making choices before the last minute.
“If you make the choice to do or not to do something before it even comes up, it makes things a lot easier,” he says. “Say you went to a party and someone offered you a drink. If you had to choose right then to take it or not, you might be tempted to take it. But if you had decided a long time ago to say no if anyone ever offered you a drink, you’d feel a lot surer of yourself. You wouldn’t even have time to be tempted. You’d say no because you had already decided to a long time ago.”
The 2018 Mutual theme says, “Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23). For Will, peace means feeling confident as he chooses the right and not worrying about negative comments from others. That peace comes to Will from making the decision to listen to—and obey—Jesus Christ’s words in advance.
“Sometimes kids give me a hard time for what I do or don’t do, but it doesn’t really bother me because I decided a long time ago that that is how I would live,” he says.
One thing Will and his family decided a long time ago was to keep the Sabbath day holy. That got a little tricky when Will made an elite football team. But, like Nephi, his family believes that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
To Will, football is just about everything. As his mom says, “He eats, drinks, sleeps, and just loves, loves football. It’s his passion and he’s very good.”
So when Will made one of the highest-ranking teams in the area, he was thrilled. The only problem: the team played many of its games on Sundays. Most teams wouldn’t accept a player who would miss every Sunday game. Choosing not to play on Sundays could mean losing his spot on the team.
But Will had made that decision a long time ago. He would keep the Sabbath day holy.
Will and his family prayed together and told Heavenly Father of their desire to keep His commandments and asked for His help. Then Will and his mother talked to the coaches of the team about their beliefs. To their surprise, the coaches wanted Will on the team even if he didn’t play on Sundays!
“I know that when I honor the Sabbath, I am blessed,” Will says. “I may not get to play as many games as the others, but I’ve seen blessings, like Sunday games suddenly getting changed to another day. I also think I play better because I have a day of rest.”
It gets better. Will soon found out that one of his teammates was also member of the Church. After a few months of playing together, the other boy followed Will’s example and stopped playing on Sunday too.
If you feel like you are not receiving the blessings of obedience, that might be because you can’t see all that Heavenly Father has in store for you. Deciding to listen to Christ’s words and to serve the Lord is always the right decision, so make it now!
“I plead with you to make a determination right here, right now, not to deviate from the path which will lead to our goal: eternal life with our Father in Heaven,” said President Thomas S. Monson (“The Three Rs of Choice,” Liahona, Nov. 2010, 68).
Don’t make your life a game of “Jump or Dive.” Don’t risk spiritual or any other kinds of belly flops. Decide right now to follow Jesus Christ and enjoy the peace He brings into your life.

Not long after our friend Carolyn Rasmus joined the faculty of Brigham Young University, a group of her new teaching colleagues invited her to join them on a Saturday hike in the mountains above Provo. Carolyn was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she had felt particularly welcome in her new circle of associates. She eagerly joined them for the climb.
As the sun steadily rose, so did the hikers on the mountainside. Then, as the ten o’clock hour approached, the group began to find places to sit down. Carolyn thought, “This is wonderful. How did they know I needed the rest?” and she, too, looked for a comfortable spot to stretch out. But the participants seemed unusually earnest about this particular break, some pulling out pencils and notebooks while one intently dialed a transistor radio.
What then happened would be a turning point in her life forever. One of her friends said, “Carolyn, we need to explain something. This is the first Saturday in October, and for us that means not only lovely weather and bright fall foliage, but it also means a general conference of the Church. As Latter-day Saints, wherever we are or whatever we are doing, we stop and listen. So we are going to sit here among the oak and the pines, look out over the valley below, and listen to the prophets of God for a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours!” thought Carolyn. “I didn’t know there were prophets of God still living,” she said, “and I certainly didn’t know there were two hours’ worth!” Little did she know that they were going to stop again at two o’clock that afternoon for another two hours and then invite her to tune in at home for four more the next day.
Well, the rest is history. With the gift of a leather-bound copy of the scriptures from her students, the love of friends and families in the LDS ward she began to attend, and spiritual experiences we want all who make their way into the light of the gospel to have, Carolyn was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. The rest is, as they say, history. With her introduction to general conference that day sitting high atop Y Mountain, Sister Rasmus had seen her own personal fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic invitation: “Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”

Joe was seven and I was five when she was born. She was premature—that means she was born too early. She was so little that she had to stay in the hospital for a long time. We prayed and prayed for her to get big enough to come home, and finally she did. Dad says that sometimes almost losing something makes it seem even more special to you. I guess he’s right about that, because we sure love Mikey a lot.

Mark Madsen led the Stanford basketball team to the NCAA Final Four last year. He is a tenacious and aggressive player, and it would be easy to assume that basketball is the only thing that matters to such an impressive athlete. But Mark, who served a mission in Spain, says that it’s church, not sports, that gives him the anchor he needs in his life.
“Going to church at the student ward is a huge relief for me, especially after a road trip with the team,” says Mark. “After a few days in a strange city playing against tough guys, it’s nice to come and sing the opening hymn and be with my ward family. I love Sundays.”

Several years ago I became acquainted with a family who made some wonderful changes in their lives, and it all came about because of the faith of their eleven-year-old daughter.
The father of this family was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. However, some of his habits kept him from being active, and the mother was not a member of any church. Neither parent cared which church, if any, their daughter attended.
By the time she was eleven years old, she had been to a number of different churches in the community. Then one day she went to a Latter-day Saint Sunday School, and her life changed.
Every week after that this girl was in her Sunday School class where she learned all she could about the gospel. It was there that she began to understand the importance of asking a blessing on food and also why members of the Church fast one Sunday a month.
Soon her family was blessing the food before each meal and the parents knew that their daughter felt it was important not to eat breakfast on Fast Sunday.
One morning, however, the girl forgot it was Fast Sunday and ate the delicious breakfast her mother had prepared for the rest of the family. When she came home from meeting that day, she cried, “Oh, Mother, why didn’t you tell me that today was Fast Sunday?”
The mother didn’t understand much about fasting but she was so touched by her daughter’s deep concern and by her tears that she wanted to know more about the purpose for fasting.
The girl was able to explain the importance of the principle of fasting to her. She also told her mother many things about other principles of the gospel and how much the Church meant in her life.
All of this was amazing to the mother who asked her daughter’s forgiveness for not realizing how important it was to observe the fast. Then she prayed to the Lord that He, too, might forgive her.
The more the mother thought about what her daughter had told her, the more impressed she felt to learn more about the gospel. She began attending Sunday School and sacrament meeting with her daughter and young son.
The missionaries were soon invited to come into their home to teach the family. Before long the mother and her daughter were ready for baptism and the father had become active and worthy to perform this sacred ordinance. Later, when their son turned eight, the father baptized him.
In time the father was set apart as a counselor in the branch presidency. On the parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary, the family was able to go to the Los Angeles Temple where they were married for time and all eternity and their children were sealed to them. It was a glorious day for this family.
How true are the words of the prophet Isaiah, “… and a little child shall lead them.”

Ultimately, we also should be really grateful for this school. I know that each of you is somewhat of an adventurer in coming here. About 85 percent of you have travelled very far from home to come here. You need to know that this is a special place. Laie in old times was a place of refuge – almost a holy place. In 1864, when the Church was looking for a place to reestablish their headquarters in Hawaii, William Cluff entertained a daytime vision of Brigham Young who discussed with him that this 6,000 acres was the place. Francis A. Hammond, who was assigned by Brigham Young to come with George Nebeker to Hawaii immediately thereafter to formally purchase land for the Church, had a similar vision. This 6,000 acres of land was subsequently purchased in 1865. In Hawaii, Oahu is known as “the gathering place,” and Laie was certainly to become that for us, at least for part of our lives.

May I share with you an experience I had with a dear friend of mine, Louis McDonald. Louis never married. Because of a crippling disease, he had never known a day without pain nor many days without loneliness. One winter’s day, as I visited him, he was slow in answering the doorbell’s ring. I entered his well-kept home; the temperature in save but one room—the kitchen—was a chilly 40 degrees. The reason? Insufficient money to heat any other room. The walls needed papering, the ceilings needed to be lowered, the cupboards needed to be filled.

I was troubled by Louis’s needs. A bishop was consulted, and a miracle of love, prompted by testimony, took place. The members of the ward—particularly the young adults—were organized and the labor of love begun.

A month later, my friend Louis called and asked if I would come and see what had happened to him. I did and indeed beheld a miracle. The sidewalks which had been uprooted by large poplar trees had been replaced, the porch of the home rebuilt, a new door with glistening hardware installed, the ceilings lowered, the walls papered, the woodwork painted, the roof replaced, and the cupboards filled. No longer was the home chilly and uninviting. It now seemed to whisper a warm welcome.

Louis saved until last showing me his pride and joy: there on his bed was a beautiful plaid quilt bearing the crest of his McDonald family clan. It had been made with loving care by the women of the Relief Society. Before leaving, I discovered that each week the Young Adults would bring in a hot dinner and share a home evening. Warmth had replaced the cold, repairs had transformed the wear of years, but, more significantly, hope had dispelled despair, and now love reigned triumphant.

All who participated in this moving drama of real life had discovered a new and personal appreciation of the Master’s teaching “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”8

I want to share a brief personal experience with this I spent, Monica and I spent the first six years of our marriage in St. Louis, Missouri, where we attended a ward that gathered young couples and professionals who were going to graduate school in law and business and medicine at two elite universities. I saw over and over and over those who had the most time to fulfill their ministering assignments, to fulfill their callings, to sacrifice for others to live the gospel of Jesus Christ, were invariably the most successful in their studies. It was amazing to watch and shocking. How could you be number one in your class at Washington University Medical and the person who is always there to help and serve. Elder Rasband is teaching us how. When we give the Lord his time first, we will be blessed.

Clara and her family had just been baptized. Clara liked going to church together on Sunday.
One Sunday the Primary president said there would be a Primary program soon.
“Can you read a scripture and bear your testimony in the Primary program?” she asked.
Clara nodded. She was excited! But she was nervous too. What if she made a mistake?
Clara practiced her part every night. She didn’t know all the words in the scripture yet.
“You’ll do great,” Mama said.
Clara wasn’t so sure. This was her first Primary program. All the other kids had done this before.
“Remember, if you do your best, Heavenly Father will do the rest,” Papa told her.
The night before the program, Clara prayed for help. She stayed on her knees and thought about her part. She felt good about it.
On Sunday morning Clara prayed that she wouldn’t be scared.
When it was her turn, Clara walked to the front. She messed up one of the words in the scripture. But then she remembered how good she felt after her prayer. She smiled and bore her testimony. She talked about how much she loved Jesus.
Clara smiled as she sat back down. She knew Heavenly Father didn’t care that she didn’t say her part perfectly. He cared what was in her heart.

The day after my 16th birthday I went out to my mailbox feeling that I needed a spiritual push in the right direction. There were some mysterious packages, the kind you usually receive on your birthday, but the thing that really caught my interest most was my May 1976 New Era. It’s the best birthday present I have ever received. Inside were more beautiful gifts than I could imagine. Each article said something to me or helped me do something to improve myself. “Youth Speak Out on Standards” reminded me to keep my clothes to Church standards and not think that just because I am 16 I can be slack. “Teacher, You’re My Best Friend” reminded me of how last summer I put on a play with kids six to twelve years of age, and how much those kids benefited from it. I then realized that I couldn’t let those kids down this year, and I did another play that raised 80 dollars for a charity. “How to Gain a Testimony” really shot out at me, because as an investigator I really need to realize how important it is to gain a testimony, and since then I have been striving hard for one. “Soldiers of God” reminded me to stick to the morals and values that I chose for myself four years ago—that is, to be chaste. “A Service Project with a Special Meaning” reminded me of a close call with death from which I escaped with a stronger testimony that God lives. “Hong Kong School Girl” reminded me of my Chinese friend who thinks that “there are many paths to the kingdom of heaven, and no matter which one you take, you will still get there.” That made me realize that I should share more of the Church with her. She’s interested, so I hope I will be able to let her see for herself the truths of life that I enjoy. “A Fable” built my morale and my ability to withstand criticism. Oftentimes my family members or nonmember friends are hard on me about the Church, and this article really gave me encouragement and strengthened my will not to let anyone persuade me to stop living the gospel.

Most of the people who live in Iceland belong to the evangelical Lutheran Church, and Binni, Unnar, and Matthías are the only Latter-day Saints in their school. When the time came for his baptism, Binni decided to do some missionary work. He told his parents he wanted to invite someone special—his school teacher! His mother and father encouraged him to ask her but cautioned him that she might choose to not come. On the day of his baptism, however, she was there at the church! “She even stayed afterward, had some refreshments with us, and asked some things about the Church,” he said, very happy that she had accepted his invitation and that his first efforts as a missionary had been successful.

The girls in the Salt Lake East Millcreek Fourth Ward kept track of their acts of charity in a jelly bean jar. Each week the girls put a jelly bean into the jar for each act of service they had been involved in that week. As the jar filled with the sweets, the girls were reminded of the sweetness of service. When the jar was full, the girls selected a special family and presented the jar to them, explaining what the filled jar meant—each jelly bean represented a charitable act.

Joel was worried. He was almost sure he had started down the right canyon, but he should have been able to see smoke from their cabin long before now.
Mother was probably worrying because he was so late. She had reminded him when he left home that morning everything would look different if it should start to snow.
“I know you have to check the sheep today, Joel,” she said, “even if it is Thanksgiving. But with those black clouds building up behind Gap Mountain, there will be snow before noon.”
Joel tied a scarf around his neck and pulled on his gloves. “I’ll be careful,” he said, wishing his mother would remember he was eleven now and could take care of himself. “Besides, I’ve been up to the sheep range nearly every day this month. I won’t get lost.”
Mother still looked worried, though, when Joel opened the cabin door to leave. He turned to look back. The big room was bright and warm and already smelled good from the pies that were baking in the oven. On the sideboard three chickens were ready to be stuffed. Joel hoped Father would make it home from the settlement in time for the special dinner.
It was a long walk up winding Lost Canyon and across Nameless Ridge to the flat meadow where the sheep were kept. But Joel finally checked the sheep and then started home.
While he was walking home, he remembered how he and his father and mother had come to this valley three years before. Then they had only two horses, a few sheep, and no home. He had helped his father build the cabin. Now they had more than fifty sheep and four cows. Their garden grew well too.
Even the Ute Indians who lived in the valley on the other side of Nameless Ridge were friendly now. Joel remembered how Chief Kanosh had threatened them when they first moved to the valley. But that seemed a long time ago. Joel’s father and mother had done many things to help the Indians, and in return the Indians had helped them a great deal. Kanosh’s wife visited with Joel’s mother often, and Joel enjoyed watching them talk in sign language.
Joel stopped walking and bent his head back. If he only knew where the sun was, he would be able to tell whether he was going the right way, but dark weighted clouds filled the whole sky.
Which way was home? Joel looked in every direction. He knew he was going down a canyon, but how could he tell if it were the right one!
Before long big snowflakes began to strike his cheeks. Joel could scarcely see the nearby trees.
He remembered how his father always said, “Now don’t be nervous.” It helped Joel to remember Father’s calm voice.
Joel wiped snowflakes off his nose and began to walk very fast, looking to his left to be sure the slope of the hill was still there. If so, he was near Nameless Ridge and couldn’t be lost. Home was only half a mile east of where the ridge ended.
Joel began to wonder if he were really following Nameless Ridge. The pine-covered slopes looked alike through the thickly falling snow.
Joel walked steadily on. The swirling white snow that lit on the ground was beginning to pile up. Walking seemed to be harder with each step.
After what seemed a long time, Joel felt the ground under his feet begin to rise steeply. Although he couldn’t see ahead, he knew he should not be climbing. If anything, he should be going downhill to reach the clearing where the cabin stood.
Joel took a shaky breath. He stood still. Then he slowly turned around and around. The whole world was white. Everywhere he went looked exactly the same.
“I’m lost,” Joel said aloud. “I’m really lost.”
Blinking hard, Joel looked around once more, but it was no use. He didn’t know which way to go. But he couldn’t stop moving or he might freeze. The world was cold and silent. All he could hear was the crunch of wet snow beneath his boots.
Then Joel stopped as he heard another sound. Was something coming behind him? Or did something move to his left? He held his breath to listen, but the snow muffled sound and changed it.
Coming from the trees behind him, Joel caught sight of a dark moving figure and two others following behind. The frightened boy watched the figures plod steadily closer.
As they came closer, Joel saw it was Chief Kanosh and his wife and their little boy! Joel was so happy to see the big Ute chief and his family that he grinned from ear to ear.
“You go wrong way,” said Chief Kanosh when he reached Joel. He pointed to the right. “Cabin is over there. We go together.”
Joel didn’t say a word as he fell into step behind Chief Kanosh. The four people pushed through the snow. In a short time Joel saw a break in the trees. Dark smoke rose from the chimney of their cabin.
A wagon was behind the barn. Father was home too!
Later that night after everyone had eaten all the roast chicken and stuffing, creamed corn, and squash pie they could hold, Chief Kanosh and his wife pulled their chairs in front of the fireplace beside Joel’s mother and father. Joel sat on the floor by the Indian boy.
“Well, Joel,” said his father, smiling. “We certainly have lots to be thankful for today.”
“We surely do, Father,” Joel agreed. “And one of the things I’m most thankful for tonight is that Mother invited Chief Kanosh and his family here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Performing in public started when Candice was three in her hometown of Arcadia, California, where she and her family still live. The stake president called Sherma, Candice’s mother, to ask if three-year-old Candice would speak in stake conference. It was to be a tribute to grandparents. Her mother wondered if she had heard right. Surely the stake president didn’t want Candice. He must have meant nine-year-old Tasha who was well-known for her public speaking abilities. But no, he asked for three-year-old Candice.

Sherma remembers Candice’s first public performance. “She learned her talk and prepared to sing ‘In My Grandmother’s Old-Fashioned Garden.’ She always had a good memory if she could sing it. The day of stake conference came. It was a huge crowd stretching all the way to the back of the hall. Candice got scared. When it was her turn, she climbed onto the stool in front of the podium. She put her hands beside her eyes like blinders, so she wouldn’t see the people. She just froze. I stood beside her to help, but it was no use. Finally, I said, ‘Just sing your song.’ As soon as the music started, she put her hands down and sang.”

Candice soon got over any stage fright. She joined a group of little girls that performed in the stake. “I love dancing and singing,” said Candice. “It always came easy to me, and I like it.” And people love watching her perform.

It was Dale’s idea, as a Scoutmaster, to purchase boating equipment and float the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
The troop started river running about the time my three oldest sons were in Scout and Explorer troops in the Boise 15th Ward. I remember well how Dale involved the young troop leaders in planning. Few men know better the meaning of the phrase “preparation precedes power.” We started a year ahead. Every boy who wanted to go had to earn the swimming and lifesaving merit badges and be able to swim two-thirds of a mile.
The biggest challenge they had to meet was the “Duffy Battle.” This was hand-to-hand combat with Dale Duffy in water over their heads. He made it a real challenge to see what kind of substance the boys were made of under pressure. During this battle, I’m sure each boy found just how hard he could fight for his life if he had to.
There were also hours of classroom training prior to the first float trip, followed by the practical application of this training as the boys floated down the Boise River in preparation for the Middle Fork experience. Following are some of the things my boys remember and will never forget from this special training:
• You are never on the river without a life jacket.
• Every boy must have a razor-sharp knife in a scabbard on his hip, for use in case he falls in and gets tangled in the rope.
• When you fall in, you face downstream, your feet in front of you to parry off the rocks that are down river.
• When you fall in, always stay with the boat if possible.
• When you swim to shore, swim to the closest shore, diagonally downstream. This conserves strength, and once you are ashore you can be picked up by another boat.
• If someone in your boat falls in, the closest crewmen should immediately grab him and pull him back into the boat as quickly and with as much strength as possible.
• Never pass the lead boat.
• The rubber raft assigned to bring up the rear never passes other boats.
• Never panic, no matter what the condition. Think back on your training and you will recall a specific teaching point or principle that will pull you through.
• Whenever anyone is floating loose after being capsized, pick him up in your boat immediately.
Of course, this is only a small particle of the training the boys received from Dale Duffy. They listened because they respected him and knew that anything they did not understand might put their lives in jeopardy.
On every trip the boys would go to a point just below Dagger Falls and jump into the cold, chill water and float down about 50 yards. This was to take away the initial shock of falling into the water should they capsize. We assigned a crew to each raft, with one of the boys assigned as crew leader. This boy was given total authority while on the river. Usually we would have about six rafts, with three to five boys and their gear on each raft.
I well remember one trip when Scott, my fourth oldest son, was on the same raft with me and three other fellows. On the first or second day of our trip we capsized (which was very common), and the raft got caught in a backwash and was being pounded by tons of water. I came to the surface and watched for my crew members. I counted them. One boy came up, then another, and then a third—but no Scott. I started to feel real concern when I looked back and forth across the river and couldn’t see him anywhere. Fifteen or 20 seconds is an eternity when you are waiting for your son to come to the surface. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world. Finally I saw Scott come to the surface and heaved a great sigh of relief.
“What took you so long?” I yelled to him.
“My foot got caught in the rope, and I was being pounded around because the boat was caught in the backwash.” Then he said, “But I remembered Duffy’s instruction, reached on my hip, pulled my knife out of the scabbard, cut the rope tangled around my foot, and floated free.” I owe my son’s life to Dale Duffy’s training.
About three weeks after our trip another group of river runners went down. Their boat wrapped around a huge rock. All of the crew except one climbed onto the rock. The other crew member got caught in a 50-foot rope and couldn’t get loose. By the time those on the rock had pulled him upstream against the current and lifted him out of the water, he had drowned. This young man was 21 years old. Scott was 13. The whole difference was in training.

Little green swords had pierced the earth in countless numbers. Johnny took off his shoes and carefully pressed one foot down on the jade green points. He shivered, not because of the dew, but because the new grass tickled his winter-soft feet. Johnny put his shoes back on and walked along the pony path.
Betsy was still wintering in the barn. Her last year’s trail from the brook to the top of the pasture was plain to see.
When Johnny neared the ridge, he leaned against an aspen tree and with his toes idly rustled last fall’s coin-shaped leaves that hadn’t stuck to the ground from the weight of snow and rain.
From down the slope Johnny could hear his name being called.
The boy’s eyes followed the direction of the call.
“Johnny, want to help drive the horses?”
“Oh, boy, do I!” he called back and fairly flew down to the field where Dad sat on the seat behind the plow. His father held the reins of a perfectly matched pair of roans with sorrel manes lifting and falling in the breeze, their heavy fetlocks fluttering like tiny wings above the broken sod.
Johnny listened carefully to his father’s instructions. “When you come to the knoll on your left, guide the plow well around it and don’t let the horses step on it either.”
“Why, Dad?” Johnny was puzzled because his father always took pride in plowing a straight furrow, and these instructions were contrary to all the principles of good farming. He remembered his father telling him once that nothing is a beautiful as a row of grain standing in flawless line, so straight that even a sunbeam piercing the mist at morning does not appear more perfect.
“On that little mound of earth a meadowlark is making a nest. The reeds rising above it act as a cover,” Dad explained. “So the meadowlark feels that its family is safe. Survival of all creatures is one of nature’s laws that man must learn to respect.”
Johnny took his turn with the horses, holding the free ends of the reins as he sat on his father’s knee. As they approached the lark’s knoll, Johnny said, “Careful, Dad, don’t let the plow touch the lark’s nest.” And the two plowmen, with great care, curved the furrow that lay so straight behind them. When Johnny became tired he jumped down, turned the reins over to his father, and climbed to the ridge. He wandered along the same pony path that led back to the barnyard.
Several weeks later Johnny again came up the path, this time holding a bridle in back of him and an apple in his outstretched hand. “Betsy! Betsy!” he called. Then he stopped at a fence post and listened. He could hear the chirping of very young birds. He quickly dropped the bridle and apple.
Bracing one foot on the barbed wire, the boy heaved himself up so he could see the hole from where the tiny sounds came. But the nest was in a deep hollow. He tested the wood at the opening and carefully tore it away until he came within sight of the nest and the gaping bills of three featherless baby woodpeckers.
“Wow!” Johnny exclaimed, picking up the bridle and apple, “am I in luck! I can come up every day and watch them grow.”
The next morning Johnny was up early to eat breakfast with his father.
“Are you going to help with the milking?” Dad asked, smiling at his son.
“Oh, Dad!” Johnny said excitedly. “I found some little birds in a nest.” Then he told how he had fixed the hole so he could watch them each day.
“Johnny, I hope you didn’t touch the nest,” Dad said. “Birds don’t like to be disturbed.”
After breakfast Johnny hurried up the hill to make sure the birds were all right. He propped his foot on the barbed wire, and looked in the ragged hole. “They’re gone!” he exclaimed. He reached down into the nest to make sure. It was cold and empty. Only the soft, downy bed remained. Tears came to his eyes and he ran into the barn where his father was milking the cows.
“You had to learn for yourself, son,” Dad said quietly when he had heard Johnny’s story. “Do you remember what I told you when we were plowing on the sidehill and plowed around the lark’s nest?”
“Something about respecting nature’s laws,” Johnny answered.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Now you see that the woodpecker family chose that particular hollow post for a reason. The opening was just big enough for them, but not big enough for their enemies. When you changed that, any night owl could make a meal of the little ones. Maybe that’s what happened to your birds.”
“Dad, I didn’t want them to get hurt,” Johnny said.
“I know that, Johnny, I know.” He paused a minute before continuing. “It’s early in the year. Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker will probably raise another family in some new nest before the summer is over.”
“Honest, will they?” Johnny asked eagerly.
“Honest,” Dad assured the boy. “And when they do, we’ll both remember how important nature’s law of survival is. Then we’ll have meadowlarks and woodpeckers and boys all growing and respecting each other. It’s all according to plan, son. Do you understand?”
And Johnny did.

There is a story about a young builder who had just gone into business for himself. A wealthy friend of his father came to him and said: “To get you started right, I am going to have you build a ranch house for me. Here are the plans. Don’t skimp on anything. I want the very finest materials used, and I want flawless workmanship. Forget the cost. Just send me the bills.”
The young builder became obsessed with the desire to enrich himself through this generous and unrestricted offer. Instead of employing top-grade labor and buying the finest materials, he shortchanged his benefactor in every way possible. Finally, the last secondhand nail was driven into the last flimsy wall, and the builder handed over the keys and bills, totaling over a hundred thousand dollars, to his father’s old friend. That gentleman wrote a check in full for the structure and then handed the keys back to the builder. “The home you have just built, my boy,” he said with a pleasant smile, “is my present to you. May you live in it in great happiness!”