Gospel Story Finder

As a young man, shortly after returning from my mission to New York, I had the opportunity of traveling in chartered busses to Palmyra with 150 wonderful young women from BYU Provo and other Utah schools. These young ladies served as special missionaries to help put on the spectacular Hill Cumorah Pageant. On our return trip across the United States we visited several Church history sites along the old Mormon pioneer trail. One of these sites was the historic Mormon cemetery at Winter Quarters near Omaha, Nebraska.

As the girls and I walked quietly up the hill containing the graves of many Saints who died there, our spirits were subdued. Located at the top of the hill is that impressive Avard Fairbanks monument with which you are no doubt familiar. It is a statue of a pioneer mother and father, a shovel in his hand, standing before the open grave of their baby. At the base of the monument embossed in bronze are listed the names of most of the 600 pioneers buried there. Those 600 graves are just a tithing of the 6,000 graves of other courageous Saints who lie along the rest of the trail to the Salt Lake Valley. Without a cue or suggestion from anyone, the girls spontaneously began to sing "Come, Come, Ye Saints."

At first their singing was very strong and resolute, but as the words and the spirit of that stirring hymn sank deeper into their hearts, their singing turned more into sobbing. By the last verse I think I was the only one still singing. As I voiced the words “And should we die before our journey’s through,” I was scanning the alphabetical list of names on the bronze plaque. In the ‘F’s, two names caught my attention—Samuel Flake, age five months, and Frederick Flake, age one day. Then I stopped singing, too. Despite unfathomable hardships, the pioneers' faith could not be shaken.

This past summer my wife and I had two of our young grandsons staying with us while their parents participated in a pioneer trek activity in their stake. Our daughter wanted to be sure that the boys practiced the piano while away from home. She knew that a few days with the grandparents makes it a little easier to forget about practicing. One afternoon I decided to sit with my 13-year-old grandson, Andrew, and listen to him play.
This boy is full of energy and loves the outdoors. He could easily spend all of his time hunting and fishing. While he was practicing the piano, I could tell that he would rather be fishing on a nearby river. I listened as he pounded out each chord of a familiar song. Every note he played had the same emphasis and meter, making it difficult to clearly identify the melody. I sat beside him on the bench and explained the importance of applying just a little more pressure on the melody keys and a little less on those notes that accompany the melody. We talked about the piano being more than just a mechanical miracle. It can be an extension of his own voice and feelings and become a wonderful instrument of communication. Just as a person talks and moves smoothly from one word to another, so should the melody flow as we move from one note to another.
We laughed together as he tried again and again. His dimpled-cheek smile increased as the familiar melody began to emerge from what was previously a wild set of sounds. The message became clear: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.” I asked Andrew if he could feel the difference in the message. He responded, “Yes, Grandpa, I can feel it!”

Scouts and leaders from the Elk Grove Third Ward, Sacramento California South Stake, navigated 111 miles of the Sacramento River by canoe. The six-day trip allowed the young men to earn merit badges and several awards including the 50-Miler Award and the river runner’s patch.
Although no severe rapids were encountered, there was enough fast water and whirlpools to make the trip exciting. Each night a campsite was set up on the river bank, where the Scouts worked toward cooking, camping, canoeing, nature, swimming, pioneering, and wilderness survival merit badges. The group made special stops at a state historical park and at a fish ladder, adding to the excitement of the trip.
Scouts found opportunities to use their knowledge of knots and lashing when they erected makeshift sails to take advantage of the north wind that blew for two days.

At times a small mistake can fester and bring distress and heartache to him or her who harbors and dwells on the matter, leaving it uncorrected. All of us are subject to such an experience. Let me share with you an example with a beautiful ending. I recently received a note, with a key enclosed, which read:

“Dear President Monson, Thirteen years ago this summer my husband and I stayed at the Hotel Utah. As a memento of our vacation, I took this hotel key and have felt bad about it ever since. I know that the Church owns the former Hotel Utah, and so I am returning this key to you—to the Church—in an effort to set this right. I am so sorry for having taken the key. Please, please, forgive me.”

I thought to myself, What honesty; what a sweet spirit the writer must possess. I replied as follows:

“Dear Sister, Thank you for your thoughtful note and for the Hotel Utah key which you returned. My heart was touched by your sincerity. Though the key itself weighed very little, apparently this has been a heavy burden for you to carry for such a long time. Though the key was of very little worth, its return is of far greater value. I am honored to accept the key and know that you are certainly forgiven. Please accept the enclosed gift with my warmest wishes.”

The key was returned to her, mounted on an attractive plaque.

Hiking 50 miles in 8-degree weather isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time. And there were moments when Marlene Clark of Provo, Utah, was sure the 18-hour ordeal wasn’t going on her next not-to-be-missed list.
Marlene, a Mia Maid in the Edgemont Tenth Ward, was the only girl to finish the hike that included walking back roads, mountain trails, lake shores, and through the center of Provo.
Marlene and 71 other enthusiastic hikers started the 50-miles-in-20-hours Presidential hike on Friday at 6:15 P.M., and by 2:00 P.M. Saturday there were lots of tired feet and sore muscles—and only 30 hikers.
“It was all we could do to stay awake. Everytime you’d sit down, you’d almost fall asleep,” says Marlene. “Sitting down would also make my muscles relax. When I’d stand, they would get tight and bend. Then I’d be bent over trying to walk to stay warm.”
The group started out going three or four miles an hour; by the end of the hike they were down to barely one an hour. Marlene got blisters on her feet, but by the time she’d finished the hike, they’d popped. When she went to Sunday School the next day, she wore her dad’s slippers under a long dress.
Outdoor activities aren’t new to Marlene. Every year the girls in her ward go on “Puff’n Huff,” a 50-mile hike (but not in a 20-hour deadline) in the high Uintas. Last year as chairman, Marlene worked on collecting maps, raising money for tents, and suggesting pack equipment. The week-long outing ended with a 21-mile hike in the rain to reach cars and head for home.
Marlene has some great memories of camping with her ward. Like the trip when the girls had to borrow tents from the Scouts and then used bandaids to try and stop the water coming in through the holes. And leaving notes in a pitch-black, moss-covered cave for the Scouts who had discovered the cave the year before and who might return in the future. Her most vivid recollections involve a camping trip to Robber’s Roost Canyon in southern Utah. The group experienced desert flash floods and had to rappel off ten cliffs, some with 30-foot drops. They made it and had the rope burns to prove it.
It was Marlene’s Beehive adviser, Carolyn Rasmus, an associate professor in physical education at BYU, who got her interested in physical fitness. The Scouts had camped out nearly every weekend, including igloo camping in the winter. The Young Women decided that they wanted some of the fun, so they increased their activities to match.
A ninth grader, Marlene enjoys vaulting, skiing, and track events, as well as hiking. She enjoys individual sports because “you can blame yourself for failure.” And no matter how grueling the activity is at the time, “once you’re finished with it, it’s fun. It’s just when you’re there that it’s awful, and you only hope you will live through it.”

Weeks had passed since my adult daughter had moved to a new city, and each Sunday that she missed church brought me the same concerns. Would she ever return to church? I tried everything I could think of to get her there: encouragement, logic, pleading, acting as her personal alarm clock, prayer, fasting, even calling her bishop. Since we lived 2,000 miles (3,220 km) apart, it was difficult for me to attend with her, but I even tried that!
I continually imagined that if I could just tweak the situation a little, my daughter would reestablish her spiritual trajectory. I felt I just needed the right person—her visiting teacher, her bishop, a friend or family member—to be placed in her path to say or do just the thing that would steer her back. But nothing was working. My head spun with worry, and my heart filled with guilt and anguish that I had failed her as a parent.
My daughter has not yet returned to church. But our goals are clear; we are both working to stay close. We talk frequently, and I know her LDS upbringing has helped her to become kind, disciplined, and thoughtful. While I would never have chosen for her to take the path she is currently traveling, I am grateful for the lessons we are learning along the way. And I have found peace as I embrace our unique positions in our journeys back home.

A few years ago our son Russell was the USA Missouri State Wrestling Champion at 150 pounds. The finals were held on a Sunday. Russell was not a member of the Church then, and he had not had much formal Christian teaching. In the year after he won the championship, however, he joined the Church. During the championships that next year he won the semifinal match at 165 pounds on a Saturday evening and offered to wrestle his last opponent for the championship that same evening. His opponent refused to do so, and Russell walked away from the championship so that he could be in church, keeping the Sabbath holy, the next morning. Many people have told me that he shows exceptional character and devotion to his Heavenly Father. Russell has won many first-place medals, but for us, his second-place award for the state championship is by far his finest.

One evident blessing that immediately showered me during this project was the immense peace I felt—not only during the session but also in my life in general. To share a bit of my story, a few weeks before our pilot recording, I was still reeling from the aftermath of Typhoon Kristine. Our house was flooded, and many of our belongings were damaged beyond repair. Chaos and uncertainty surrounded me, leaving me restless and worried.

Despite all this, I never once hesitated to attend the recording session, knowing that I would be edified and strengthened as I gave my best efforts. Throughout the session, we enjoyed what we would consider as among the happiest times of our lives. We worked hard, but it didn’t feel like work: we laughed, joked around, and helped each other while recording the songs in Tagalog. Truly, the Lord is in the minute details of our lives. He knew I needed to step back and experience the peace His music offers, shared with wonderful people.

When the young man in my story bought my company, part of the sale was some mentoring from me to ensure a successful transition. On his first day, I told him to meet me for his first "lesson." He brought a notebook and was eager to listen. I looked at him and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yep," he replied.

I then said: "Lesson one: Dye your hair back to its normal color, get a pair of pants that fits you, and put the stock tires back on your truck. You will be working with millionaires and billionaires and asking them to trust you with their projects and their money. You will need to look the part. You can't look like a kid. Class dismissed."

This young man was a good-looking and normal 20-something. He had bleach-frosted spiked hair, wore designer jeans that were cooler than anything I own but tended to fall off his backside, and he had tricked out his pickup truck.

The next day, he came to meet me for lesson two, and I was impressed. His hair was back to its brown, normal color, and the spike was tamed. He had on a pair of Carhartt work pants, and he had put the stock tires back on his truck.

Many young people would have been put out by this first lesson, thinking, "This is what I paid for? Don't tell me what to do." He was teachable and prepared to receive this counsel. If he couldn't look the part, we couldn't transfer trust our clients had in me to trust we wanted them to have in him.

His positive attitude of seeing everything as an opportunity made teaching him easy, and his past experience with BYU-Idaho Dress and Grooming standards, mission rules, and For the Strength of Youth principles made this a non-issue as he was prepared to accept it.

“The young women of the Fort St. John Ward were inspired to undertake a 15K hike through the Peace River Valley. With 14 young women plus leaders, we set off. The weather cooperated, and we felt a growing feeling of camaraderie. We visually drank deeply from God’s creations and appreciated the fact that He created it all. We spoke of gospel principles, expressed our love for the Young Women program, the activities, and each other. We knelt as a group and prayed on behalf of every young woman in attendance and for those who were not with us. We then wrote our declaration of virtue with charcoal on a piece of fabric, fastened it to a stick, and raised our banners high. We shouted as loud as we could the following five declarations so that we would know and those listening would know what we stood for: I will dress modestly and be a symbol of virtue! I will not use vulgar or degrading language! I will not let pornography destroy my family and friends! I will defend the family and the importance of marriage! Calling for a return to virtue!

“We know there will be many occasions where we will be called to stand and fight for good and righteous aspects of life. We are prepared. We are ready.”
—Kara Strate

A few months ago after a meeting with new converts and less-active members, a reactivated gentleman about my age came up to me and said, “I am one who has been less active most of my life. I fell away from the Church early in my life. But I am back now, and I work in the temple with my wife.”

To let him know that everything was OK, my response was something like this: “All is well that ends well.”

He responded, “No, all is not well. I am back in the Church, but I have lost all of my children and my grandchildren. And I am now witnessing the loss of my great-grandchildren—all out of the Church. All is not well.”

The Lord not only knows who we are, He knows where we are, and He leads us to do good. One day a mother I know felt impressed to call her daughter. (This kind of thing happens to mothers all the time.) It was the middle of the day, and Mom was at work, which made the call out of the ordinary. To her surprise, her son-in-law answered the phone—he’s not usually home on a workday either. As he handed his wife the phone, he said, “It’s your mother with her usual inspiration.”

They had just been to the doctor. She came on the phone, close to tears, and said, “The ultrasound shows the cord is double-wrapped around the baby’s neck. The doctor says we have no choice but to do a C-section and soon.” Then came the real cause for the distress: “And he says I can’t lift anything heavier than the new baby for four weeks!” She needed reassurance before going into the surgery that the Lord knew her need and loved her—and that there would be help tending the three little ones at home, who were scarcely more than babies themselves. When mothers—and fathers—pray for the Lord to bless and strengthen their families, He often shows them the way.

Sister Gayle Clegg of the Primary general presidency and her husband lived for a number of years in Brazil. Recently she had a Primary assignment in Japan. As she came into the chapel on Sunday, she noticed among the Japanese Saints a Brazilian family. “They just looked Brazilian,” she said. She only had a minute to greet them and found the mother and children very enthusiastic but noticed that the father was rather quiet. “I’ll have a chance to talk with them after the meeting,” she thought as she was quickly ushered to the stand. She delivered her message in English, which was translated into Japanese, and then she felt impressed to bear her testimony in Portuguese as well. She hesitated as there were no translators for Portuguese, and 98 percent of the people would not understand what she said.

After the meeting the Brazilian father came up to her and said, “Sister, the customs are so different here, and I have been lonely. It is difficult to come to church and not understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off just reading my scriptures at home. I told my wife, ‘I’ll give it one more chance,’ and I came today for what I thought would be the last time. When you bore your testimony in Portuguese, the Spirit touched my heart, and I knew that this was where I belonged. God knows I am here, and He will help me.” And he joined the others in putting away the chairs.

Was it a coincidence that the only Portuguese-speaking member of the Primary presidency was sent to Japan instead of to Portugal? Or was it because the Lord knew someone there needed what only she could give—and she had the courage to follow a prompting of the Spirit? One of the great blessings of having a calling in the Church is that the Lord, through His Spirit, will inspire us to help those we are called to serve.

Each of us who pays a full tithe can testify that the blessings of the Lord come to us personally and meet our individual needs. The Lord has promised that if we pay our tithing, He will open the windows of heaven and pour us out a blessing so great that we will scarcely have room enough to receive it.

Many years ago John Orth worked in a foundry in Australia, and in a terrible accident, hot molten lead splashed onto his face and body. He was administered to, and some of the vision was restored to his right eye, but he was completely blind in his left. Because he couldn’t see well, he lost his job. He tried to get employment with his wife’s family, but their business failed due to the depression. He was forced to go door-to-door seeking odd jobs and handouts to pay for food and rent.

One year he did not pay any tithing and went to talk to the branch president. The branch president understood the situation but asked John to make it a matter of prayer and fasting so that he could find a way to pay his tithing. John and his wife, Alice, fasted and prayed and determined that the only thing of value they owned was her engagement ring—a beautiful ring bought in happier times. After much anguish they decided to take the ring to a pawnbroker and learned it was worth enough to pay their tithing and some other outstanding bills. That Sunday he went in to the branch president and paid his tithing. As he left the office, he happened to meet the mission president, who noticed his damaged eyes.

Brother Orth’s son, now serving as a bishop in Adelaide, later wrote: “We believe that [the mission president] was an eye doctor, for he was commonly called President Dr. Rees. He spoke to Dad and was able to examine him and offer suggestions to help his eyesight. Dad followed his advice, … and in due course sight was restored—15 percent sight to his left eye and 95 percent sight to his right eye—and with the help of glasses he could see again.” With his vision restored, John was never unemployed again; redeemed the ring, which is now a family heirloom; and paid a full tithing for the rest of his life. The Lord knew John Orth, and He knew who could help him.

Hearing Elder David A. Bednar’s talk on the Spirit of Elijah and how we youth know how to use technology got me all excited about family history work. I already had an LDS Account set up from a Young Women activity. After conference my mother and I sat down together at new.familysearch.org and looked to see what information I already had. I found out that someone had sent in a lot of information about my grandmother’s line, and I was able to link them together. I am so excited to start working on my family history, and I hope to find names that I can do baptisms for in the temple.
Ashley F., Washington, USA

Not only does this service bless the homes from which missionaries come, it blesses lives where missionaries go. One young lady who worked among the Indian people wrote: “The Navajo are a great people. Words can’t express my love for them. …
“The Navajo people accepted me, a white girl, as one of their own. They called me their white daughter. I had a hard time with the language, but I could teach by reading the lessons. I was very fortunate to have Navajo companions who could explain in detail. We could communicate with love. I learned that love is the greatest language to know. This people loved me and I loved them. We spoke with smiles, laughter, and sometimes tears. They were patient with my broken Navajo and helped me when I couldn’t think of a word. I left with a testimony in my heart and a feeling that cannot be described in words. …”
She concludes with, “In December I met a returned missionary. We fell in love and have been married in the temple.”

Then he recalled the words of President Mohamed Siyad Barre. He had told the students before they were sent out to participate in this literacy campaign, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn).”

Haroon had been sure he had much to teach the nomads. He was eager to take the skills of reading and writing the Somali language to the nomads who made up over 70 percent of the Somali people.

In August of 1974 the literacy campaign was taken to the nomads in the bush country. All schools, except technical schools and the senior classes, were closed for the year. Students fourteen years and older were sent into the bush to teach the nomads to read and write Somali.

Thousands of students were assigned to various sections of the nation. Haroon was one of these. He had stepped up to the official handing out the supplies. “Nabad miyaa,” he greeted.

“Haah waa nabad weeya,” came the cheerful answer. “Here is what you’ll need, Haroon: a blanket for cold bush nights; a folding blackboard that is also a box for the eraser, pens, pencils; a textbook; and a class register. Nabad gelyo. llaah ha ku barakadeya. (Go in peace with God’s blessing).”

Haroon began with great confidence, but he found the nomad chief was not interested in learning anything from a city youth who knew nothing about camels. Only the children and some women attended classes—sometimes.

Haroon longed for the comforts of his father’s house, especially plenty of water for showers. He longed for a chance to talk with friends, for most of the men here ignored him.

Just when he felt especially low in spirit, he met Osman, a former schoolmate, traveling with another group of nomads. Osman was bubbling with enthusiasm about the literacy campaign and all that he was learning from the nomads. “I even helped load the camels for this move,” he said with a grin. “I’d never touched a camel before. And what do you know?” Osman continued, stroking the flank of the animal near him. “This animal actually obeyed my command to get up after we had put on its load.”

After they parted, Haroon reflected on Osman’s words and obvious enjoyment of his experience. I guess I’ve just been thinking of one part of the president’s challenge. I think I know so much the nomads should learn that I haven’t thought about learning anything from them. He softly repeated the president’s words, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro.”

That night he moved closer to the men around the campfire. He was captivated by the stories Chief Abdi told of Somali heroes of the past. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, I ought to write those stories in Somali. But the next day there was no time for classes nor for story writing, for the clan had to move to find more pasture.

Haroon tried to be helpful. By the time they got settled in their new location, he was feeling as though he were almost a part of the group. However, he was also feeling sick with a fever. He did not complain, but when Chief Abdi heard about his sickness, he was concerned. He sent a young man to find a special plant that was used for a fever medicine. To Haroon he said, “Perhaps you want to return to your father. Life in the bush is hard.”

But Haroon was determined to remain, now as eager to learn as to teach. After his recovery, when the chief observed Haroon’s genuine desire to learn of the nomadic way of life, he became more friendly. He ordered his people to attend classes.

Sometimes in the afternoon when the youths gathered under the spreading branches of an acacia tree, the camels shared the shade. It was very different from the classroom in the city where Haroon had studied English. Here the blackboard hung on a tree. And the strong, acrid odor of camels hung on the dusty air.

Some of the nomads were keen students and helped others. Little children chanted the alphabet as they herded goats. They wrote the letters in the dust while goats nibbled whatever they could find.

One evening when the full moon shone over the settlement, Haroon read to the group a story the chief had told some weeks earlier. The men sat enthralled, realizing in a way for the first time that these marks could tell a familiar story.

Chief Abdi was thoughtful as Haroon finished. “That is good, Haroon,” he said. “If we write our history, our children will not forget. I must learn this writing also.”

He became an earnest pupil, and with his constant encouragement, others came more regularly.

Later in Mogadishu, there was a big celebration when Haroon and thousands of other boys and girls returned to the capital after eight months among the nomads. Crowds lined the streets to welcome them and to celebrate the completion of one more phase in the fight against illiteracy.

The schools opened and these youths returned to being students again. But there was a difference. The experiences in the bush had changed them and increased their appreciation and understanding about some of the problems their country was facing. Many now had a growing respect for the skills of the nomads who could survive in the harsh desert. They also had a greater appreciation for the Somali nomadic culture of their ancestors.

Mama wiped down the countertops in the kitchen while Nicole and her cousin Cassidi sat on the floor in the living room, playing quietly. Nicole and Cassidi were both five years old, but Nicole was small for her age.
Nicole and Cassidi agreed on a book from the bookcase, and Nicole began to read aloud. Cassidi sat across from Nicole with her legs crossed and listened closely to the story. The book had pictures, and each time Nicole finished reading a page, she faced the book toward Cassidi so that her cousin could see the picture, too. The girls were having a great time until halfway through the story. Then a look of sadness came over Cassidi’s face, and she began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked.
“Nothing,” Cassidi said quietly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“If you’re sad, it makes me sad, too, Cassidi. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Still sniffling, Cassidi nodded. “Nicole, you are so smart. You can read, and I can’t.”
Nicole lowered her head and closed the book. She felt very sad because Cassidi was unhappy. Mama wanted to rush in and comfort Cassidi; instead, she watched quietly from the kitchen.
Nicole’s eyes grew big, and a smile appeared on her face. “Cassidi, you are the best two-wheel-bicycle rider I’ve ever seen!” she said boldly. “I can’t ride a two-wheel bike at all,” she added, looking into Cassidi’s tear-filled eyes.
A big smile grew on Cassidi’s lips as she wiped the remaining tears from her face. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Nicole. They hugged each other tightly.
“I feel better now,” Cassidi said. “Thank you, Nicole.”
Nicole answered with a smile, and the girls continued to play.
Mama’s eyes filled with tears. She realized that the girls understood better than most grown-ups what it means to love one another as Jesus Christ would.

Shortly after Sister Cottle and I were married I was drafted into the United States Army and was sent to fight in the war in the jungle of Viet Nam. I was assigned to a twelve man “search and destroy” team whose mission was to stop the flow of enemy supplies on the system of jungle trails from the north through the Viet Nam central highlands. This team usually moved its ambush to a new location every day. On those days that we did not move to a new location our situation become dangerous because the enemy could find us more easily. Therefore, on the days we did not move we set up guard positions on the trail in every direction a short distance from where the team was camped. Each soldier took a turn being the guard, who was called the OP, military talk for observation post.

On a Sunday in August of 1970 my team did not move to a new location. Following proper protocol we organized the guard stations. I took the first turn as OP.

I moved up the trail about twenty five yards. I took two weapons with me--an M-16 rifle and a claymore mine. These slides show me with my M-16, helmet, and bandolier of extra ammunition magazines fastened around my waist and shoulder.

As I said, I went up the mountain trail about twenty five yards from the rest of my team. I then stepped off another fifty feet and set up the claymore mine as shown in the slide. A claymore mine is a slightly u-shaped, hard plastic bomb that is filled with 700 steel balls and C-4 explosive. I aimed the mine toward the trail where it went around a very large tree a short distance from me. I carefully inserted an electrical blasting cap into the top of the claymore mine and then unwound the electrical cord back to my OP position.

I attached the electrical wire to the detonating device which was a hand-squeeze “clacker.” The clacker generated just enough electricity when the handle was squeezed to set off the blasting cap, which in turn, set off the mine.

The claymore mine was such a dangerous weapon that the clacker had two safeties. It was necessary to release these safeties before the handle could be successfully squeezed; however, there was a problem with the double safeties. It was difficult to release these safeties when a soldier was frightened or under duress. In those situations a soldier often failed to release both safeties before squeezing the handle. This caused him to break the handle as he pressed on it, which resulted in his failing to set off the mine. By then, the soldier would be creating such a commotion that the enemy would see him and shoot him.

I sat down on the ground. I placed the clacker and my M-16 in front of me also on the ground and began my two-hour guard shift. I calculated that from where I had planted the claymore mine I had about two to three seconds to set off the mine before an enemy scout would walk beyond the blasting radius of the mine and be right in front of me.

I sat for about an hour and a half. It was hard to keep focused and alert when nothing was happening. It was at this time that a very distinct and clear thought came into my head. It seemed to linger there for several seconds. It captured my total attention.

It said, “Lyle, what would you do if an enemy soldier came around that big tree with his AK-47 rifle pointed directly at you?”

Obediently, I answered that question. I thoroughly reviewed in my mind, step-by-step, exactly what I would do. I would pick up the clacker. Then, I would release one safety with my left hand while simultaneously releasing the second safety with my right hand. Then, with my right hand, I would press down on the handle of the clacker and explode the claymore mine.

As soon as I finished this mental rehearsal I actually saw an enemy scout walk around the big tree with his rifle pointed directly at me! Automatically, and without thinking, I picked up the clacker and using both hands together, released the two safeties, and squeezed the handle.

Instantly, there was a deafening explosion that seemed to shake the earth. As the dust began to clear I thought I saw the enemy soldier crawling toward me. With my heart pounding I quickly fired my rifle until it was empty. I then reached for another ammunition magazine in the bandolier that was around my waist, but my fingers were shaking and I could not retrieve the new magazine. It was like a nightmare!

At that moment, three of my team members came up the trail to my position. They quickly checked to see that I was all right, and then proceeded up the hill to determine what had just happened. They soon shouted, “KIA,” which was army jargon for “killed in action.”

All went very quiet and I lay on my back reviewing what had just happened. I did not feel good. I had just ended a man’s life! War or not, it was not a good feeling. I questioned myself with, “You hold the Melchizedek Priesthood, you have been married in the temple, you keep the commandments, why didn’t you speak in tongues and convert the soldier instead of what you actually did?” It seemed that I pondered these thoughts for a long time. The heaviness of my thoughts was surprising to me and weighed down upon me. (It is even hard to tell you about it today.)

Soon my team members returned back to camp. As they passed by me they patted me on my back and said, “Cottle, good job! How did you do that so fast?”

“How were you able to react so quickly?” “It’s amazing!” I appreciated their words but the heaviness of my feelings was not lifted.

The next day my good friend, Woody Christiansen, from Bountiful, UT and I knelt in the jungle and prayed aloud for comfort and safety from the enemy who had increased his attacks against us. When we finished, we looked around to find several of our team kneeling in prayer with us. This had never happened before to us. Woody and I were the only Mormons on the team.

A few days passed. We returned to base camp. A company meeting was held. I was awarded a bronze star medal for the meritorious service I had rendered to the men in my team, to my company, and to myself. I felt that I had done nothing heroic. I had just done my job—I had acted to preserve my own life and the lives of my team members.

I took an opportunity to visit with the LDS church group leader in base camp. He helped me with some comforting words and I thanked him; however, the most comforting thing to me then, and over the many years since that terrible event, has been my remembering those thoughts that came to my mind just prior to my setting off the claymore mine--the question that came clearly into my mind, “Lyle, what would you do if an enemy scout came around that tree with his rifle pointed directly at you?” I remember that it was that question which prompted my mental preparation and allowed me to respond quickly, and accurately to preserve my life and the lives of others. I have come to the realization that the question was the voice of the spirit instructing me in all that I should do.

I am comforted by the words in the scriptures and Nephi’s unusual experience. I have a better understanding of what happened to him. And like Nephi, I was obedient to that voice, that spiritual prompting. I do not know the full reason why my life was preserved on that occasion, but I do know the scriptures are true and apply to our lives and are comforting to us in our times of trial.

In another stake, Relief Society president Mickie Neslen realized that financial security helps strengthen families. She and the stake presidency prepared a stake home, family, and personal enrichment meeting that traveled from ward to ward. It began with a spiritual lesson on finances. Afterward, the sisters were invited to visit five different stations with 15-minute presentations by knowledgeable sisters:
“Budgeting” featured various ways to keep track of and manage money with notebooks, envelopes, or software.
“Money-Saving Tips” consisted of simple ways to save money each day.
“Finances for Kids” demonstrated a variety of ways to teach finances to children, including interactive games.
“Preparing for the Future” reviewed information about disability insurance, assisted living, nursing care, and other retirement concerns.
“The Cost of Credit” pointed out the dangers of debt and how to avoid it.
These enrichment meetings helped educate and strengthen the sisters in many important ways.

One day at the hotel restaurant, another cook, for inappropriate reasons, tried to get dates with some of the waitresses there. He was mad because the waitresses, who were Latter-day Saints, refused to go out with him.
Remembering the missionaries I had met in Milan, I told the cook that the waitresses had a right to turn him down.
“So, are you a Mormon too?” he asked.
Because I liked the principles the missionaries had taught me and because I felt justified in defending the waitresses, I replied, “Yes.”
The next time the cook saw the waitresses, he told them I was a Latter-day Saint. They were excited. When we gathered for lunch, they began asking me questions about the Church in Milan. I told them about the city and that I had met the missionaries there. When our lunch arrived, I reached for a glass of wine on the table.
“What are you doing drinking wine?” one of the waitresses asked.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I said.
“Are you even active?” another one asked.
“In what sense?” I said.
“How were you dressed the day you were baptized?” they asked.
“I don’t remember,” I told them. “I was only a month old.”
They were extremely mad because they thought I was making fun of them. I assured them I wasn’t. I admitted that I wasn’t a member of the Church, but I told them that I liked the Book of Mormon and the gospel principles I had learned. Then I asked how I could learn more about their church.
The waitresses soon introduced me to the missionaries. They could hardly believe it when I finished the discussions and got baptized.

It was bedtime. But Sam wasn’t sleepy yet.
“Tell me an adventure, Mommy,” he said. “Tell me about when you were little.”
“OK,” Mommy said. She stroked his hair. She thought for a while.
“When I was little,” Mommy said, “we loved to build pretend towns. We made houses out of blankets and chairs. My brothers and sisters all had pretend jobs.”
“What was your job?” Sam asked.
“I ran the store. We made coins out of paper. You could buy food and newspapers. We loved playing together in our town.”
“What else did you do?” Sam asked.
“One time we built a zoo for our town. We used our stuffed animals.”
Sam held out his teddy bear. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” Mommy said. “People could come see the zoo.”
Sam snuggled his teddy bear. “Tell me more, Mommy.”
“We also wrote letters to each other. We put them in pretend mailboxes. Your uncle was the mailman. He brought the mail to our houses. It was fun to get letters.”
Sam wanted to write a letter! Maybe he could write one tomorrow.
“Sometimes we argued,” Mommy said. “But we said sorry and tried again. We learned to get along and have fun.”
“Like me and Ava,” Sam said.
“Yes,” Mommy said. “Just like that. You are learning to get along too.”
“That was a good story,” Sam said. “Will you tell me another adventure tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Mommy. “I’ll tell you about when your daddy was little.”
Mommy kissed Sam. She tucked his blankets closer.
“Good night,” Sam said. Then he closed his eyes and thought about zoos and towns and paper coins.