Gospel Story Finder

It was a crisp fall Sunday morning in 1971 when, as investigators of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my husband and I walked into the Douglas Ward meetinghouse, which at that time also served as the meetinghouse for the University 12th Ward. There in the foyer, among others who were there to welcome us, was one young man whose warmth, enthusiasm, and spirit enveloped us. He was also there the day we were baptized and on several occasions thereafter. Can you begin to imagine the thrill and joy in our home this past week when we opened our New Era and saw again that unforgettable young man there on the pages of “Inside’s What Counts”?
When we moved back east in 1974 we lost contact with Pete Jeppson, but after seeing him again, old feelings were stirred to a new height. Our sincere appreciation to you in this effort and also in the effort of publishing such an excellent magazine as the New Era. We are a busy young family but always find the time to read the New Era from cover to cover—usually the very day it arrives!
Sandy and Gary Frederick

Peter Burt was born in 1949 in Napier, New Zealand, and grew up in the nearby city of Gisborne. He was only 14—a student at Lytton High School—when his family suffered a devastating loss: Peter’s father died from a fall while painting their family home.
“Losing my dad at such an early age was absolutely tragic,” he recalls. What made the experience more heartbreaking is that, growing up atheist, he had no concept of an afterlife. Years later, Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s (1926–2004) general conference messages helped Peter understand how profound his grief was at the time. “A resurrection-less view of life produces only proximate hope.”1
With no knowledge of God or His plan, Peter remembers, “My philosophy of life was, eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Thankfully, I now know better—infinitely better!”

Jetta Pearl Stewart pulled off her bonnet and plopped down on the porch next to Father. “What’s a pearl?” she asked him.
Eight-year-old Jetta knew what a pearl was, but she loved hearing Father’s answer. Like always, Father explained how pearls grow in oysters, layer upon layer, until they become a bright, shiny jewel.
“Pearls shine like you, my little Jetta Pearl,” he said, smiling. Jetta smiled back. She liked being his Pearl.
At dinner that night, Father told Jetta he had an important question for her.
“Ever since you were little, you have had a special way with music,” Father said. “Would you like to learn the piano?”
Jetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”
“It would mean traveling far away and staying with your teacher for a while,” Mother said. “No one here in Milburn can teach you.”
Jetta’s smile faded. She had never been away from her family for more than a day. And to be far away …
“But it’s important for us to develop our talents, even when it’s difficult,” Father said.
Mother nodded. “You must work very hard,” she said.
Jetta loved music. And she had always wanted to play the piano. Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “I’m going to play the piano!”
But the next morning, as Jetta watched Father hitch the horses to the wagon, she didn’t feel excited at all. Today she was just scared. She hadn’t expected to be leaving home so soon.
Jetta slowly climbed up into the wagon next to Father.
“You ready, Jetta Pearl?” he said.
She didn’t feel ready, but Jetta nodded. The wagon lurched forward.
After a while, Father glanced over at her. “Do you know how proud your mother and I are of you?”
Jetta nodded. “But what if you need my help at home?”
Father smiled. “We’ll sure miss you, but this is a way only you can help. You’ll be serving Heavenly Father by developing gifts He gave you.”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. Could her musical talent really be a gift from Heavenly Father?
Father continued. “It will take time, but little by little you’ll get better at playing piano. And then you’ll be able to serve lots of people.”
Jetta felt her fear start to fade. She was going to learn the piano and serve Heavenly Father. It would be scary, but she knew that He would help her.
Father winked. “Layer by layer, my little Pearl is getting bright and shiny.”
Just like Father had said, little by little Jetta learned to play the piano. She even learned how to play the organ.
After a few months, Jetta returned home. That Sunday she became Milburn’s very first organist! Her heart raced as she sat at the huge organ the community had worked to buy for her to play. It was so beautiful that Jetta was almost afraid to touch it. She had to sit on a book to reach the keys.
She took a deep breath and started to play. The notes soared across the room, full and beautiful.
Jetta sneaked a peek at the congregation. People were smiling as they sang. Jetta smiled too. Her playing was far from perfect, but she was using her talents to serve.
She remembered Father’s words: “Pearls shine like you, Jetta Pearl.”
Little by little, layer by layer, Heavenly Father was making her into a true pearl.

Case in point, in 1955, on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a White man. Rosa Parks was arrested. During that time, African Americans were relegated to sit at the back of the bus. If the bus was full and a White person entered and wanted to sit, an African American individual would have to stand. Shortly after her arrest, Black church leaders, exemplifying wisdom and bravery, started a boycott of the bus system to encourage more just public transportation policies. Scores of individuals in the Black community chose to walk and carpool instead of ride the bus. This action had major economic consequences on the bus line because African Americans represented 75 percent of their customers.
In response to the collective action of the Black community, two leaders of the boycott—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Reverend Ralph Abernathy—had their homes firebombed. A White Lutheran reverend named Robert Graetz, who served a Black congregation in Montgomery and who strongly supported the bus boycott, also had his home firebombed. Moreover, the city sued Martin Luther King Jr. and eighty-nine others in state court on the grounds that it was illegal to boycott the busing system. Dr. King was found guilty. Shortly after his guilty verdict, in 1956, 381 days after the start of the boycott, the United States Supreme Court upheld a district court’s ruling that Alabama’s racial segregation laws for buses were unconstitutional. The next day, Rosa Parks rode an integrated bus.

Every year Dino Bear knew when it was time to get his winter bed ready. He took the quilt from the den shelf, put fresh clean sheets on his bed, and fluffed up the pillow. When Dino finished, his eyelids were usually heavy and he was ready for a good long sleep.
But this year Dino was wide awake. He didn’t even yawn! “I’ll be sleepy soon,” he said to himself. But days and weeks went by and winter finally came—yet Dino wasn’t one bit sleepy!
“I’ll put on my nightgown and nightcap and go to bed anyway,” he mumbled to himself. So Dino snuggled down under the quilt and shut his eyes. But his eyes wouldn’t stay shut. Soon they were wide open and staring at the ceiling.
“Maybe a spoonful of honey will help,” Dino decided. But after five spoonfuls of honey Dino was still wide awake.
Then Dino started counting sheep. He counted 100 sheep, 200 sheep, 300 sheep—but he wasn’t sleepy.
Before long Dino’s stomach growled. “I’m hungry!” he moaned. “But the honey’s all gone and the cupboard is bare!”
“I must go out into the winter world and look for food,” Dino decided. Outside it was snowing hard. Dino knew all about autumn snow, but this blowing, stinging winter snow made it hard for him to see. The snow made his tracks disappear like magic and hid familiar trees and streams!
“There’s no food,” Dino complained. Then he suddenly saw something move. Dino ran and stumbled toward it. And there was Arnie Beaver!
“What are you doing?” Dino called out as he saw Arnie gnawing at a pine tree.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Arnie grumbled.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask,” Dino answered politely.
Arnie wiped his eyes, squinted, and shouted, “Dino Bear! You’re supposed to be sleeping!”
“I can’t sleep,” Dino complained.
“I’ve never heard of a bear with insomnia!” Arnie declared.
“Well, now you know one,” Dino replied. “I can’t sleep.”
Arnie gave Dino some pine needles. “You must be hungry.”
“I am, and thank you!” Dino answered. He wished the pine needles were berries, but he was so hungry that he ate them anyway.
Arnie began to clack his razor sharp teeth. He was ready for work on the pine tree again. “Come to my house later, Dino,” Arnie invited the sleepless bear. “Maybe I can help your insomnia.”
Dino walked off to look for more food. Soon he saw something move, and there was Dora Deer!
Dino ran and stumbled. Soon he was close enough to see that Dora was stringing red berries! “Why are you doing that?” Dino shouted.
Dora wiped her eyes, took one look at Dino, and exclaimed, “Dino Bear! You’re supposed to be sleeping!”
“I just can’t sleep!” Dino grumbled.
“A bear with insomnia?” Dora asked sharply. But then she smiled and gave Dino some of the red berries she was stringing. He gobbled them all up in one mouthful.
Dora laughed and said, “Why don’t you come to Arnie Beaver’s house later? Maybe we can help your insomnia!” Then she began to string red berries again; so Dino walked off to look for more food.
When the light began to grow dim, Dino started for Arnie’s house. Even before he reached the door, Dino heard laughing and singing. When he finally stepped inside, his black eyes opened wide! The pine tree Arnie had gnawed down stood in the center of the room. The red berries Dora had strung were wound in and out of the pine tree’s green boughs. And a big pine cone sat on the top!
“Merry Christmas!” Dora called out.
“Merry Christmas!” Arnie cried, thumping Dino’s furry back.
Merry Christmas? Dino thought. This winter world is very strange!
Dora gave Dino a big bowlful of berries and honey.
Arnie gave him a cup of warm mountain goat’s milk. “It’s good for your insomnia,” Arnie explained.
Dino ate the berries and honey, and he drank the warm goat’s milk. Then he sat and looked at the beautiful tree and listened to Dora and Arnie sing some songs.
“What are you singing?” Dino asked, wishing his eyelids weren’t so heavy.
“Christmas carols!” Dora and Arnie said happily together.
“This—this Christmas is so—so good,” Dino said, “so—so. …”
But Dino never finished what he started to say, for he was sound asleep!

“I will tell you one story of a young person who represents many whom I have tried to help over the years.
“She sat across from me at my bishop’s desk. She spoke to me of her life. She had been baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church when she was eight. There were no tears in her eyes as she recounted the more than 20 years that followed, but there was sadness in her voice. She said that the downward spiral began with choices to associate with what she thought were exciting people. She began to violate what at first seemed to be less important commandments.
“She felt at first a little sadness and a twinge of guilt. But the associations with her friends provided a new feeling of being liked, and so her occasional resolutions to repent seemed less and less important. As the gravity of the commandments she was breaking increased, the dream of a happy eternal home seemed to fade.
“She sat across from me in what she called misery. She wanted me to rescue her from the trap of sin in which she found herself bound. But the only way out was for her to exercise faith in Jesus Christ, to have a broken heart, to repent, and so be cleansed, changed, and strengthened through the Lord’s Atonement. I bore my testimony to her that it was still possible. And it was, but so much harder than it would have been to exercise faith early in her life on the journey home to God and when she first began to wander.

While I was serving as a bishop, our stake president asked the bishops in our stake to set an example for their ward members by making the sacrifice to be sealed in the temple. At that time, Bolivia was going through a severe economic crisis. Because of hyperinflation, goods would cost one price in the morning and then a higher price in the afternoon.

“How can we afford to go to the temple when we barely have enough to eat?” I asked my wife, Alicia.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “but the Lord’s promise is that He will provide” (see Doctrine and Covenants 118:3).

Despite our financial situation, we both felt an urgency to go to the temple. It was as if the Spirit were telling us, “Hurry, hurry!”

In December 1981, the São Paulo Brazil Temple—nearly 2,000 miles (3,220 km) away—was the only temple in South America. To pay for the weeklong trip, I took out a loan of $1,000. That was a lot of money, but we knew that the sacrifice would be worth it.

After a long bus ride to the border of Brazil, we caught a train to São Paulo. The train had no open seats, so we had to sit in an aisle with our two small children. We ran low on food, but strangers shared with us. When we reached São Paulo, our little son almost got lost on the metro.

After these and other challenges, we finally reached the metro station near the temple. As we exited, we could see in the distance the statue of the angel Moroni on the temple. We fell to our knees and thanked Heavenly Father. When we arrived a few minutes later, the temple president lovingly greeted us.

Early the next day we received our ordinances and were sealed as a couple and family. That evening, unbeknownst to us beforehand, the temple closed for the rest of the year for maintenance.

Had we waited to go to the temple, our trip would have cost more than we borrowed. Had we arrived the following week, the temple would have been closed. We are grateful that the Lord inspired us to hurry to the temple.

After her baptism, a mother living in the Philippines expressed sorrow at having lost her firstborn baby from malnutrition and improper care. With her conversion, there came a great motivation to learn how to properly care for her family. She asked, as she expected another baby, “What do I need to do to have a ‘healthy Mormon baby?’” She took a special course provided by the Relief Society on child care. She was enthusiastic about the lessons and did her best to apply the principles she learned. The second baby was born strong and vigorous and continues to be healthy. The health missionary who helped those teaching the Relief Society course is a local sister called on a full-time health mission. She has since been released from her mission but is still serving her people as a health resource person through the branch Welfare Services Committee.

Joseph F. Smith’s mother was known as “Widow Smith.” She was the widow of Hyrum Smith, who was martyred with the Prophet Joseph. She once rebuked the tithing clerk who stated that because of her poverty, she should not have to pay her tithing. She said: “‘Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold his blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper, and to be able to provide for my family.’”
Did she prosper? Her son and grandson became presidents of the Church, and her descendants today include a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and many notable Church leaders.
Speaking of his mother, Joseph F. Smith once said she paid “tithes of her sheep and cattle, the tenth pound of her butter, her tenth chicken, the tenth of her eggs, the tenth pig, the tenth calf, the tenth colt—a tenth of everything she raised.”

Many years ago I heard the story of the son of King Louis XVI of France. King Louis had been taken from his throne and imprisoned. His young son, the prince, was taken by those who dethroned the king. They thought that inasmuch as the king’s son was heir to the throne, if they could destroy him morally, he would never realize the great and grand destiny that life had bestowed upon him.
They took him to a community far away, and there they exposed the lad to every filthy and vile thing that life could offer. They exposed him to foods the richness of which would quickly make him a slave to appetite. They used vile language around him constantly. They exposed him to lewd and lusting women. They exposed him to dishonor and distrust. He was surrounded 24 hours a day by everything that could drag the soul of a man as low as one could slip. For over six months he had this treatment—but not once did the young lad buckle under pressure. Finally, after intensive temptation, they questioned him. Why had he not submitted himself to these things—why had he not partaken? These things would provide pleasure, satisfy his lusts, and were desirable; they were all his. The boy said, “I cannot do what you ask for I was born to be a king.”

As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

The heroic accounts of what these pioneer women sacrificed and accomplished as they crossed the plains are a priceless legacy to the Church. I am moved by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, whose husband, Aaron, died after the last crossing of the Platte River with the Martin handcart company. She wrote:

“I will not attempt to describe my feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such excruciating circumstances. … I believe … that my sufferings for the Gospel’s sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. …

“I [appealed] to the Lord, … He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid.”

Elizabeth said she was writing the history on behalf of those who passed through like scenes, with the hope that posterity would be willing to suffer and sacrifice all things for the kingdom of God.

When our son, Nate, returned from his mission, he had the same feelings as my friend John. Nate decided to volunteer to become a mentor in a program that matches adults with children in need of supportive one-on-one relationships. That service changed his college experience. Now that he is married, Nate and his wife, Carla, have “adopted” again through the program. It has been a great blessing for them in their marriage to share what they have with those in need.

In 1967, a friend of the Simonets in Nancy, Francine Babin, and her children, were baptized. Her husband, Jean-Albert, was baptized six months later. “When Francine read the Book of Mormon,” says Brother Babin, “it was as though the sun exploded inside of her. She is normally rather quiet, but after the missionaries taught her the gospel, she could not stop talking about it.”

Like the Simonet children, the five Babin children are examples of the strength that second-generation members bring to the Church. They are bringing up their children and serving as leaders in Paris, Versailles, and Mantes-la-Jolie.

Let me illustrate with an experience the Europe Central Area Presidency had while traveling by train to a meeting. We were taking advantage of the time together by discussing our assignment. A man seated across the aisle became curious about our conversation. He finally asked, “Are you Protestant or Catholic?” We replied, “Neither. We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He acknowledged that he had heard of the Church, but then went on to say: “You’ll never get very far in this country. The government only recognizes the Catholic and Protestant churches. They are the only ones who receive government financial support. A church cannot exist without government financial support.”
We tried to explain that our Church manages very well without government help—that we use the Lord’s system of tithing. He insisted our Church would not get very far in his country and suggested that perhaps we should place our efforts in some other part of the world. Of course, we testified that the Lord’s system does work and told him about all the chapels and temples we are constructing throughout the world without having to resort to borrowed funds to build them. He seemed very surprised but still unconvinced.
Seeing that we could not persuade him that a church could exist without government support, we tried to change the subject. I asked, “What will happen in your country with the changes that are occurring? The declining population and the influx of an increasing number of immigrants will eventually make you a minority in your own land.”
With great national pride, he replied, “This will never happen.”
I countered, “How can you support such a position with immigration exceeding your country’s birthrate?” He kept insisting this would never happen in his country—“why, they would close the borders of our land before they would allow it to occur.”
I pressed on, “How can you prevent it with your current trends?”
His next statement shocked me: “I’m 82 years old. I will be long gone before we have to face that problem.”

The most devastating experience I personally have lived through was Shawna's death in 2005.
Her passing was totally unexpected and a tremendous shock to myself and my kids. Overnight, I found myself a single father with five children. It was a surreal experience that changed me forever. This event took me to the "valley of the shadow of death." Even in the very depths of despair and depression, I found the Lord waiting for me in my personal Gethsemane--fully understanding, loving, compassionate, and willing to strengthen my feeble arms and knees. I had been through the worst thing I could possibly imagine--the loss of my spouse and the loss of my children's mother. But, despite the abject horror of the situation, the Holy Ghost told me everything would be okay and I believed Him. It was during this experience that I learned a very important lesson: There is nothing to fear in this life if we are doing our best to live the principles of the gospel. There is nothing to fear.

It is possible to have personal peace during the most extreme, difficult, and trying of circumstances. The scriptures refer to this phenomenon as "peace that passeth all understanding." The world is simply not capable of understanding the concept of experiencing peace during such times--this is why it passes their understanding. They just don't get it because it isn't logical. The only people who can understand it are the followers of Jesus Christ who have experienced such peace during the most trying of times.

Just as I experienced such peace in my extremities, you can too. Such knowledge allows us to "fresh courage take" even if things don't seem particularly hopeful at the moment. I know that Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost will be there for each of us in our personal hour of need. True courage comes from trusting in the Lord no matter what we are presently going through.

Recently, I attended a stake conference and heard a story of member activation that moved me deeply. The bishop of one of the wards in the stake took a keen interest in arousing inactive brethren to Church activity. He knew that the first step was one of communication, that he must have a meaningful visit with each inactive brother.
So he began by telephoning one of them. The wife answered the phone and said, “Bishop, I surely appreciate your call. My husband is outside, but I will have him come to the phone.”
When the husband heard that it was the bishop that wished to speak to him, his reaction was as expected. He attempted to sidestep this phone call and responded, “Tell the bishop that I’m out sawing logs,” and with a humorous touch, “Tell him I’m dead.”
The brother spoke the truth more literally than he realized. It was true. He was sawing logs, and tragically, he was dead to the spiritual things of his life.
A good wife, however, is a mighty force in any man’s life, and, in a kindly manner, she persuaded her husband to come to the phone.
Then the bishop, using the power of suggestion and in a friendly voice, said, “I should very much appreciate having a visit with you for a few moments this evening in my office.” The brother couldn’t refuse so warmhearted an invitation, and a meeting took place.
The testimony of the bishop and his deep concern kindled a fire in the heart of the inactive brother, and he agreed to join the temple preparation class that was about to begin.
Each session, taught by a tactful teacher with a great knowledge of the truth and an inspiring testimony, motivated the inactive brother. He resolved to strengthen his family and bind them together eternally through the blessings of the temple.
This good brother may still be sawing logs, but there is now much more. He has added for himself an indescribable dimension of happiness, as well as joy to the lives of each and every family member.

Janetta Ann McBride and her family were early members of the Church. They have traveled from England on their way to the Salt Lake Valley. Their journey was delayed in Iowa because their handcarts were not ready. But finally, as part of the Martin Handcart Company, they are on their way across the plains. In Florence, Nebraska, some members think it is too late to continue the journey. However, it is finally decided that they will all continue on to the Salt Lake Valley.
It was the 25th of August, almost the end of summer, when we left Florence, Nebraska, and headed for Salt Lake City. Everything went fine until Mother became really sick. It was hard to see her ill. She had to ride in one of the handcarts, and I took her place pulling. Heber also was pulling a cart.
Traveling by handcart isn’t bad if you have enough food and the weather stays nice. Many Saints traveled that way and found it a healthy and quick way to get to the Salt Lake Valley. On September 7, a group of missionaries returning to Salt Lake passed us. When they saw how late in the season we were traveling and that the weather was unseasonably cold, they said that they would hurry on to Salt Lake and report to Brigham Young that we would be needing help to get to the valley. We later learned that they had arrived in Salt Lake on October 4. The next day, the 5th, Brigham Young called upon the bishops to immediately organize supplies, wagons, and men to go out and help us reach the valley. The first group left Salt Lake City on October 7th. But, of course, we didn’t know that.
When we arrived at Fort Laramie, we were starting to run low on food. Members of the company purchased what additional food they could. Our rations were also cut from 1 pound of flour a day per person to 3/4 pound. Later it was cut to 1/2 pound, and finally to 1/4 pound per person.
On October 17, just before crossing the North Platte River for the last time, we were told to lighten our loads so that we could travel more quickly. Blankets, extra clothing, and utensils were left behind. How I missed the clothing and bedding a few days later!
The North Platte River was freezing cold, deep, and swift. On October 19th, Father helped us across, then helped others. We were all wet and cold and hungry. No sooner were we across, than the first snowstorm hit us. Father worked hard helping set up camp, and he gave away much—too much—of his food to those in greater need. Most of the men worked too hard and ate too little. They couldn’t bear to see the suffering of the women and children.
The night of October 21st was especially bitter cold and stormy. Nobody had enough clothing or blankets to stay warm. Sometime during the night, Father died of exhaustion, starvation, and the cold. Twelve others also died that night. They were all buried in the same grave. The ground was so frozen that digging in it was almost impossible. How hard it was to leave him out there on the frozen prairie. I felt sad and lonely.
Mother was still ill, Father was dead, and I was now in charge of getting our family to Salt Lake. There was no time to sit down and cry or wait for help. None of us had any choice but to keep moving toward Zion and safety. I used our family’s flour to make a kind of biscuit. I kept pieces from my share of the bread in my pockets. When I couldn’t get the boys or Margaret to keep going, I’d offer them a crumb of bread. Even though they were cold and exhausted, they were so hungry that it worked.
At the end of October, Brother Joseph A. Young and Brother Stephen Taylor arrived in our camp from Salt Lake City. They had wagons of food and clothing! We greeted them as angels of mercy. For the first time in many days, there was joy in our camp. They told us more food, clothing, and bedding were waiting for us at Devil’s Gate.
We kept traveling through the snow to Devil’s Gate and ran into the other wagons with provisions for us. How I wished for a pair of shoes, as my feet froze in the icy slush. But even shoes were less important than food. We left Devil’s Gate with a single handcart for our family. Many of the handcarts were left behind. Those that had brought the provisions from Salt Lake City traveled with us.
At the Sweetwater River, I pulled our handcart through the slushy ice water, then went back for my brothers and sister. I carried them across one at a time. The river wasn’t too deep, but it was many yards wide. It was so cold that my skirts froze around my legs. I wondered if I’d ever be warm again.
The snowstorms continued, and it was bitter cold at night. Sometimes we’d wake up in the morning with our hair frozen to the ground. One night, we thought my little brother Peter was dead, because he was frozen to his quilt. But he finally woke up and, after thawing out his hair, continued the journey.
Although we were much better off now, there still wasn’t enough food or clothing to go around. It was still cold, it was still stormy, and I still had no shoes. Our company found a ravine that we later named Martin’s Ravine, and we set up camp there. For three days there was a terrible blizzard. It was so cold! Even after the storm ended, we had to wait several days before we could travel over the fresh snow. Although there were now wagons and horses, I walked every step of the way. Only those who had frozen feet got to ride.
We camped at Fort Bridger for a few days of rest. More help came at that time. We kept right on traveling. We reached Salt Lake City on November 30, 1856, eleven months after we had left our home in England. Of the 576 people who had started with our company, about 150 of them had died and were buried along the trail, including my father.
We found a place to stay in Ogden with a family named Ferrin. Mother got better and cooked for this household of grown men in return for our board and room. I fell in love with one of the Ferrin brothers, Jacob Samuel. We were married in the Endowment House, and we moved to Provo with my brother Heber.
Later my husband and I moved to Arizona, where we were once again pioneers in an unknown territory.
Do I regret any moment of following the call of the prophet? No! Despite all the hard times, we made it to Zion. We had the gospel, and we were with the Saints. Jacob and I were married for eternity. It was what we had left England for, to obtain the blessings of the gospel. No matter what it cost, it was worth it! All my life I bore testimony of my thankfulness that I made that journey, no matter how hard it was.

The final blessing of the sealing is one that we never see in this life. On a recent fast Sunday, a sister named Sharon told of her little son, Paul. Paul had drowned in an irrigation ditch near their home, and Sharon told of how she and her husband, Max, had felt a sinking hopelessness almost to the point of despair. They had been childless for years; Paul had come only after several miscarriages and much prayer. From the beginning they felt his love and intelligence and his strong obedient personality. Paul’s presence in their family had been much sought; his death brought great suffering.

Three weeks after the tragedy, Sharon stood before her ward telling how she had responded to this test. Her eyes were dry, but those close to her knew that she was crying inside.

“Brothers and sisters, I want to thank you all for the help and support you have given us in these past few weeks. It has been very difficult—” she paused and looked down at the pulpit. When she began again her voice caught and she had to struggle to speak clearly. “But I want you to know that I know more than ever before that our Father in heaven loves me. It’s very special to us to know that little Paul has already attained the goal that Max and I have been working for all our lives. I’m just comforted to know that we have been sealed as a family by the holy priesthood. If we hadn’t been, all this would have been impossible to bear. But instead I know that if we’re worthy, we’ll be together again.”

One afternoon, shortly before I was baptized, I was at my grandmother’s house when she went to the basement to get something for our dinner. She tripped and fell and couldn’t get up. She called to me, but I was watching TV and didn’t hear her. After about 10 minutes, I heard my name quietly: “Tom!” I went to look for her and found her lying on the floor. I was not strong enough to help her up, so I ran to a neighbor’s house. She came and helped Grandmother up. Grandmother told me, “Tom, that was the Holy Ghost that you heard. I was too far away for you to hear me.” I know it was the Holy Ghost who whispered to me. Now I am baptized, and I am glad to have the gift of the Holy Ghost.
Tom R., age 8, Germany