Gospel Story Finder

Ben O’Brien of the Temple View Second Ward, Temple View New Zealand Stake, was the only LDS student and only boy from New Zealand to attend a youth peace conference in India. The conference was held for youth from the Pacific to get together to discuss how they could help bring peace and harmony into the world.
Ben applied to participate in the program before he realized that all of the other 34 participants from New Zealand were from girls’ schools. But he felt that the experience of learning about a new culture as well as serving with others was too good to miss.
The group from New Zealand lived with families in India as part of their tour. They also visited hospitals and offered comfort to the ill. They talked with lepers and their children. Ben found that even with the language barrier, the patients in hospitals were cheered by their visits.
In Calcutta the group met and talked with Mother Theresa, and they worked in her orphanage and home for the elderly and mentally handicapped. They also spent time helping Bangladesh refugees.
Ben said of his experience, “It opened up your heart. It was easy to feel the spirit of Christ’s love. Through all their trials and despite what they don’t have, these people want to give to others.”
The experience made 18-year-old Ben even more eager to serve a mission.

It was kind of a ritual. Win or lose, after a football game we’d all pile into my old green car and head for our favorite pizza hangout to either celebrate or sulk. The place was always crowded, especially after a victory. That night, everybody was there after we defeated our crosstown rivals.
By the time the football team arrived, it was wall-to-wall people. I had somehow managed to find a seat in the corner and started looking for Dave, my older brother.
Dave always seemed to be in the center of the action and excitement. He was kind of a clown, but it was his easy-going personality that made people want to be around him. In the short time we had lived in Colorado, he’d been elected student-body president of our high school.
Growing up, we’d been somewhat competitive, but usually we got along like good friends, especially when I grew to be bigger than he was and he couldn’t beat me up anymore. In high school, I wasn’t as popular as Dave, but Dave often let me tag along with him and his friends. It made me proud to be called “Dave’s big little brother.”
As the crowd grew at the restaurant, I finally spotted Dave at a table near the center of the room. Suddenly, somebody yelled, “Hey, everybody, it’s Dave’s 18th birthday. He’s a man now.”
“Yeah, now he’s legal” someone else added. At the time, the law in Colorado stated that if you were 18, you could legally buy and drink beer. For the handful of Mormons in our school, turning 18 was just another birthday. For most of our classmates, though, becoming “legal” was a big event in their lives.
Slowly, people began to crowd around Dave’s table and soon everybody was joining in a rowdy chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.”
“Close your eyes, Dave,” somebody yelled out. A path was cleared as a huge glass of foamy, golden beer was brought forward and thrust into Dave’s hands. The whole place erupted into wild cheers. One of the cheerleaders yelled out, “Chug it, Dave! Chug it!” She was soon joined by the rest of the crowd who picked up her chant.
From off in the corner, I watched Dave and wondered what he’d do. He’d always been my example. He’d always been faithful. Of course, he’d never faced a situation like this before. I watched him look around the room at all the cheerleaders and football players and the rest of the crowd surrounding him. I don’t think he saw me watching him back in the corner.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dave pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. He picked up the glass of beer and raised it slowly in the air. My heart was pounding with anticipation, and I imagined Dave’s was too.
Somebody yelled for quiet, and, except for the jukebox in the other room, the place grew silent.
“I just want to thank everyone for thinking of me on my birthday,” Dave said, as he looked toward his raised glass. “But come on, you guys. You know me better than that. Thanks anyway.” As Dave lowered the glass and sat down, a moan rumbled through the crowd and somebody muttered something about Mormons not having any fun.
After we’d had all the pizza and root beer we could hold, Dave and I walked out into the crisp autumn air toward my car. “Dave, I was worried for a minute that you might crack under the pressure and do something stupid,” I said.
He just shrugged and said, “There wasn’t any big pressure because I didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. I’d already decided a long time ago that I was going to keep the Word of Wisdom. It’s a lot easier that way.”
I just smiled. As we drove home, I was as proud as ever to be Dave’s big little brother.

In her book My Grandfather’s Blessings, Dr. Rachel Remen tells of becoming good friends with a couple and their young son, Kenny. When she visited, she would sit on the floor with Kenny and play with his two Hot Wheels cars. Sometimes she would have the one without a fender and he had the one with a door missing and sometimes vice versa. He loved those cars!
When a gas station chain offered a Hot Wheels car with every fill-up, she recruited the staff at her clinic to go to that particular station and collect the cars. As soon as she had all of the models, she wrapped them in a big box to take to Kenny. She hoped she wouldn’t offend his parents, who lived quite meagerly. Kenny excitedly opened the big box and took out the cars one by one. They filled the windowsills and even extended to the floor. What a collection! Later, while visiting the family, Rachel noticed Kenny just staring out the window. When she asked Kenny, “What’s the matter? Don’t you like your new cars?” he looked down very sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I guess I just don’t know how to love so many Hot Wheels.” (See “Owning” [2000], 60–61.)

Christmas was a happy and sad occasion because Mama was too wrapped up in herself to pay much attention to holidays. And Daddy was often overwhelmed with the responsibilities of a home, us children, our sick mother, and his job. Yet even though he didn’t have enough money to buy us presents, he always brought us a nice tree the day before Christmas, and he made sure that on Christmas morning we had the biggest oranges and apples and the best candy and nuts in town in our stockings. Our uncles and aunts made sure that we had toys until we got into junior high school. I remember how excited I was when I was seven to find a beautiful walking doll and a carriage for me under the tree. In my excitement, I didn’t notice that my older brothers had received only one basketball between them to share.
One time just before Easter, my Primary teacher brought a large box to class. We were only eight, and we were very curious to see its contents. When class was over, the teacher reached into the box and gave each of us a tiny Easter basket filled with jelly beans and candy eggs. In my eyes, the beautiful basket was also filled with love. This same kind teacher gave me an angel figurine when I graduated from seminary. I still get a warm feeling whenever I see that little angel inside my china closet. It represented to me the hugs that I so desperately needed but seldom received.
My grandmother, a spiritual giant to me, taught me how to pray. She spent her winters with a daughter who lived a hundred miles away, so I saw her only in the summers. Sometimes I got to stay with her. I loved to climb between her sparkling white sheets and lay my head on her freshly ironed pillowcases. Her home was a house of order and love. And her homemade bread and Potawatomi plum jam was like a king’s dinner to me. She always kept a tin box of lemon drops and mints.
After biking to her house one day, I couldn’t find her in the kitchen, so I went into her bedroom. Through the window I noticed her out in her garden. Passing her dresser, I saw a new box of chocolates that someone had given her for Mother’s Day. The temptation was too great. I opened the box, picked out several pieces, and shoved them into my pocket before running outside to see Grandma.
The next day Grandma called and asked me to come over to her house. When I arrived, we visited for a while, then she offered me a chocolate. I cried and she cried, then we talked about what it means to be honest and about how disappointed Heavenly Father is when we steal. Grandma taught me other lessons that afternoon that helped strengthen my spirituality. She was the first one I called when I received my mission call. She died while I was in the mission home, and she was buried the day I arrived in New Zealand. I will always cherish the comfort and strength that she was to me.
When people are mentally ill, they sometimes have religious delusions, or strange ideas. Mama was either very religious—we said family prayers together three times a day—or she wouldn’t have anything at all to do with the Church. Because half of our small rural ward were relatives, the whole congregation knew about Mama’s illness. She never went to Church, but it was important to her that Daddy and the rest of us attend.
One year a girl moved into our ward whose parents smoked and drank. We became friends, and went everywhere together. Her name was Elaine, and she became active in the Church. Although her parents were inactive, they were very kind to me and welcomed me into their home. When we were in junior high school, Elaine became very popular. Some of the girls wanted to crowd me out of Elaine’s circle of friends, but she wouldn’t let them. Then one day our friendship crashed. I was without my best friend for two horrible years. It was especially hard for me because Mama was very ill then.
Mama’s family had taught me to love music, and two songs were very special to me: “I’ll Walk with God” and “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” When the loneliness at school and the rejection at home got to be too much for me, I would go walking in the wheat fields and sing them. As I sang, I was filled with hope and courage, and I could feel the Spirit of the Lord giving me guidance and comfort.
At the end of ninth grade, Mama started taking a medication that helped her to feel better. By the time I graduated from high school, she started getting out into the community a little, and life was easier for all of us.
I feel that the Lord helped me develop a compassion for other people’s feelings because of the experiences that I had because of my mother. I grew up to love the Lord and depend on Him. And I never felt that I was alone, because I knew that He was always there when I needed Him.

I was always the only Church member at my school. Sometimes classmates made fun of me for my beliefs, and at first I was a little uncomfortable. But I knew that they didn’t have the gospel knowledge I had been blessed with, and remembering that made me grateful to be a Church member instead of being embarrassed.
One time one of my teachers teased me about the Church, and I told him, “It’s not funny. This is something that I really believe.” After that he didn’t tease me anymore. When my classmates saw that I stood up for my principles, they respected me and even elected me as the class president. I learned that I would never regret standing up for my beliefs.

“This time it was on the Indian reservation. While most Navajo women seem to be prolific, this sweet Lamanite wife in their several years of marriage had not been blessed with children of her own. Her husband was well employed. These new converts to the Church were buying their weekend groceries. As we glanced at the purchases in the large, well-filled basket, it was evident that only wholesome food was there—no beer, no coffee, no cigarettes. ‘You like Postum, do you?’ we asked them, and their reply touched our hearts: ‘Yes, we have had coffee and beer all our lives, but since the Mormon missionaries told us about the Word of Wisdom we use Postum, and we know it is better for the children and they like it.’
“‘Children?’ we asked. ‘We thought you were a childless couple.’ This brought from them the explanation that they had filled their home with eighteen Navajo orphans of all ages. Their hogan was large but their hearts even larger. Unselfishness—the milk of human kindness! Love unfeigned! These good Indians could shame many of their contemporaries who live lives of selfishness and smugness.”
I said to the artist: “Heaven can be in a hogan or a tent, Brother Richards, for heaven is of our own making.” I was ready to return to the picture but apparently he was not so inclined. He stood and listened intently.

“Let’s all go up. Let’s make the bishop faint. Let’s all go up and bear our testimonies.” This was the challenge young Spencer V. Jones made to his fellow deacons. It was also a turning point in the maturing of his testimony. “As I bore my testimony, at the end—where maybe a month before I was giggling at the people who cried while bearing their testimonies because I didn’t really understand—I found myself in tears,” Elder Jones recalls. “I’ve never forgotten that moment, because when spirit speaks to spirit, something special happens.”

The following summer our acres of alfalfa and barley were a bright green in the middle of that dusty sagebrush landscape. One day in late August, I was irrigating when I saw a powerful dark storm coming. “Oh, no,” I thought, “hail!” I knelt in the field to pray, knowing that our crops could be destroyed. The storm came fast. I could see hail coming down to the north and south of my fields. I walked to our fence line on the north. Hail had fallen just inside the fence line but no farther. I quickly went to our south fence line. There hail had fallen just outside our fence line. Our crops were untouched!
Our neighbors were impressed with how fortunate we had been, and I recalled the words of Malachi that “all nations shall call you blessed” (Malachi 3:12). Truly we had been blessed. I am grateful that as we do our best to obey God’s commands, He keeps His promises.

Three of us were at another friend’s house, playing and watching television. A show came on that I was not allowed to watch. I watched for a few minutes, but I got a sick feeling inside. I wanted to be like my friends, so I tried to ignore the feeling. But the longer I watched, the worse I felt.
When I finally got up the courage and told them that I couldn’t watch the show, a funny thing happened. Two of my other friends said, “Oh, yeah, we can’t watch it, either.” The fourth friend got really mad and ran and locked himself in the bathroom. The three of us changed the channel and waited for him to cool off.
When I went home, I told my mom what had happened. She said that she was really proud of me because it must have been a hard thing to do, especially when I knew that my friend would be mad. She told me that the sick feeling I had had inside was the Holy Ghost trying to remind me to choose the right.
I’m glad that I stood up for what was right, because it helped my friends do the same. Even better than that, it got rid of the sick feeling inside me!

When I was in fifth grade, I wasn’t what you would call “popular.” I was just known as a smart kid. I had a talent for cartooning, so one day I started drawing pictures of kids at school. I showed some people my drawings, and I was instantly popular. This was a dream come true! I couldn’t wait until lunch to draw more pictures. Then I remembered that I had promised to watch over the younger children on the playground during lunch break. But I still wanted to hang out with my new cool friends. What could I do? I prayed to Heavenly Father to ask. The answer didn’t come until lunchtime. I was eating and was about to choose to stay with my friends when I had a feeling that I should go do my job. I knew that the Holy Ghost had given me my answer. I watched over the children and knew in my heart that I had made the right choice.

One of my favorite hymns is “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, no. 219). As a member of an area presidency in the Philippines, I once attended a stake conference in the Philippines just a few days after a bad typhoon. Many of the members’ homes had been destroyed, and I wondered if they would come to the conference. But the Philippine Saints filed into the chapel with smiling faces. In that meeting, they sang “Because I Have Been Given Much.” I marveled at their faith and devotion.

To respect his privacy, let’s call him Brother Brown. He was converted to the Church thirty years ago in Minnesota through the example of an LDS school-teacher whose passion for life, sensitivity to people, and later her ability to love him unconditionally prepared him for baptism. They married and had three daughters and a son. Then Sister Brown’s father died and her mother came to live with them.
One bitterly cold winter day, Brother Brown came home from work, announced that the family was going to move to a warmer climate, flew to Hawaii, found a job, and sent for his family.
Brother Brown’s ordeal of faith began on 17 March 1980. His wife, oldest daughter, and mother-in-law were killed when their car was hit head-on by a truck. Its twenty-five-year old driver had been drinking and had moved into the path of the oncoming traffic in anticipation of a left turn which was actually nearly 0.8 kilometer away. He was not injured.
Brother Brown received news of the tragedy by telephone from the police. Weeping and praying for strength, he went out into the street, saw two ward members driving by, and stopped them. He told them of the accident and asked for a special blessing to enable him to cope with the tragedy. That blessing gave him a direct and powerful assurance that the Lord loved him and would make him able to cope with his burden.
Brother Brown almost immediately began proving that promise. At the funeral, he chose to speak, trying to help us accept and deal with the loss and showing us the way by his example. I was nearly overcome by his desire to ease our pain when he was suffering the most.
The last speaker extended the spirit of Brother Brown’s address by calling on all who were present, particularly the grieving family, to fight against any feelings of anger which might arise against the unfortunate driver of the other vehicle.
Two days later, my neighbor faced the harrowing task of sorting the items left in the mangled car. It was an agonizing experience as he faced the awful devastation which had killed his loved ones and had to recall the accident for an insurance company report. Reliving some of the agony he had hoped to put behind him nearly overwhelmed him.
In his pain, that evening he found himself becoming angry at the driver of the truck. He prayed. The negative feelings were still there. But not wanting to succumb to that feeling, he determinedly got in his car and went to the young man’s house, sat down with him and said simply, “I’ve been praying for you—for myself—trying to resolve some feelings of anger that are beginning to gnaw at me.” The driver of the truck looked a little frightened and uncomfortable but said nothing as my neighbor talked with him. When Brother Brown asked him if they could pray together, he nodded reluctantly and knelt down. Brother Brown expressed the deepest feelings of his heart, in a prayer, broken by his struggle to control his sorrow, asking for the Lord to help both of them deal with their shared tragedy. The other man remained silent.
When they stood from the prayer, my neighbor noted that the young man’s face was tense and pale but rigidly expressionless. Brother Brown went to him, put both arms around him, and gently said, the relief of peace in his voice, “I love you. I forgive you. It’s going to be all right. And I won’t let you go until you can let out some of those feelings inside.” The young man stood silently, his face moving, then broke into sobs of agony as he wept out his own grief in Brother Brown’s arms. The man’s wife joined them in this circle of love and told my neighbor, “My husband has been so devastated by guilt that this is the first time since the accident that he’s been able to express himself.”
Brother Brown’s trial of faith is not over, of course. He still has many years of living without his loved ones ahead of him. He still has to cope every day. But this mission of love has helped him rebuild his life. And those who know him have learned in part what it means to rise to the “measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.” (Eph. 4:13).

The story of Helen Keller is something of a parable suggesting how divine love can transform a willing soul. Helen was born in the state of Alabama in the United States in 1880. When just 19 months old, she suffered an undiagnosed illness that left her both deaf and blind. She was extremely intelligent and became frustrated as she tried to understand and make sense of her surroundings. When Helen felt the moving lips of family members and realized that they used their mouths to speak, “she flew into a rage [because] she was unable to join in the conversation.” By the time Helen was six, her need to communicate and her frustration grew so intense that her “outbursts occurred daily, sometimes hourly.”

Helen’s parents hired a teacher for their daughter, a woman named Anne Sullivan. Just as we have in Jesus Christ one who understands our infirmities, Anne Sullivan had struggled with her own serious hardships and understood Helen’s infirmities. At age five, Anne had contracted a disease that caused painful scarring of the cornea and left her mostly blind. When Anne was eight, her mother died; her father abandoned her and her younger brother, Jimmie; and they were sent to a “poor house,” where conditions were so deplorable that Jimmie died after only three months. Through her own dogged persistence, Anne gained entry to the Perkins School for the Blind and vision impaired, where she succeeded brilliantly. A surgical operation gave her improved vision so that she was able to read print. When Helen Keller’s father contacted the Perkins School seeking someone to become a teacher for his daughter, Anne Sullivan was selected.

It was not a pleasant experience at the beginning. Helen “hit, pinched and kicked her teacher and knocked out one of her teeth. [Anne] finally gained control by moving with [Helen] into a small cottage on the Kellers’ property. Through patience and firm consistency, she finally won the child’s heart and trust.” Similarly, as we come to trust rather than resist our divine Teacher, He can work with us to enlighten and lift us to a new reality.

To help Helen learn words, Anne would spell the names of familiar objects with her finger on the palm of Helen’s hand. “[Helen] enjoyed this ‘finger play,’ but she didn’t understand until the famous moment when [Anne] spelled ‘w-a-t-e-r’ while pumping water over [Helen’s] hand. [Helen] later wrote:
“‘Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten … and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that “w-a-t-e-r” meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free! … Everything had a name, and each name gave birth to a new thought. As we returned to the house[,] every object … I touched seemed to quiver with life.’”

As Helen Keller grew to adulthood, she became known for her love of language, her skill as a writer, and her eloquence as a public speaker.

In a movie depicting the life of Helen Keller, her parents are portrayed as satisfied with Anne Sullivan’s work once she has domesticated their wild daughter to the extent that Helen will sit politely at dinner, eat normally, and fold her napkin at the end of the meal. But Anne knew Helen was capable of much, much more and that she had significant contributions to make. Even so, we may be quite content with what we have done in our lives and that we simply are what we are, while our Savior comprehends a glorious potential that we perceive only “through a glass, darkly.” Each of us can experience the ecstasy of divine potential unfolding within us, much like the joy Helen Keller felt when words came to life, giving light to her soul and setting it free. Each of us can love and serve God and be empowered to bless our fellowman. “As it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”

I remember well when in the stage of falling in love with my wife, and knowing we wanted to share an eternity together, she informed me that before any engagement it was a requirement to first ask for permission from her father.
So we left Provo to take a trip to Mesa, Arizona. I recall during those hours of traveling, rehearsing in my mind what I might say. However, a greater fear of the unknown response of her father raced in my heart. What if he said no?
I waited until the very last moment on the last evening. After supper and finishing washing dishes, we were all in the living room. The television was off, we were just sitting there, her parents, Darla and I. Whenever the conversation grew quiet, Darla would nudge me, and finally she prompted me by saying "Kevin has something to say". I blurted, "Darla has told me I need to ask you for her hand". And in trying to lighten the tension, I said, "but, I don't just want her hand I want all of her." Her dad didn't crack a smile, and her mother started to cry. I sat there knowing this didn't work well, but fortunately, when he finally responded it was a "yes", but with some stern instruction about what he expected from his future-son-in-law.

I want you to know how much I love this place. Not only do I get to teach here and associate with all of you; I also got a great education here, and the best thing that ever happened to me happened on this campus. Her name is Bonnie, and she's seated right behind me on the stand. We actually attended several devotionals together when we were students. I think we even held hands. As a matter of fact, I'm sure of it because I don't remember a single thing any of the speakers said. I was just so happy to be holding a girl's hand. I was living the dream--a returned missionary, at Ricks College, holding hands with the girl that I would someday marry. Now, 24 years, seven children, and almost one grandchild later, here we are at devotional again. She's my companion, my hero, and my very best friend.

It was freezing outside, and the cold air bit the cheeks and noses of the Stevenson family. After a fun day of skiing, they walked through the snow toward their car. They looked forward to getting in the car and warming up with the heater.
But when Elder Stevenson reached into his pocket, the car keys were gone! Where are the keys? he thought. Everyone anxiously waited for him to unlock the car. Without the keys, they were locked out! They couldn’t open the door or start the car. They couldn’t turn on the heater.
The first thing Elder Stevenson did was say a prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help them find the car keys. Next he thought as hard as he could about where he might have dropped them. Suddenly he thought of a ski jump he had gone off earlier in the day. Maybe the keys were there in the snow.
Some of the family went back with Elder Stevenson to the top of the ski slope and skied down the run. By the time they got to the bottom of the ski jump, the sun was starting to go down. They searched for the keys as it grew darker. To their amazement, they found the keys just before it got too dark!
Praying and finding the keys to their car reminded Elder Stevenson that Heavenly Father will not leave us without help. He gives priesthood keys and authority to leaders of the Church to help lead us all safely home to Him.

This story began in 1987 with the Bennion First Ward’s youth conference trip to the Manti Utah Temple and the time capsule that the youth buried afterward.

After three days of service and activities near the temple grounds, the teens and leaders from Taylorsville, Utah, drove home to wrap up the conference. Then in a corner of leader Brenda Jeppson’s yard, they stood quietly in the warm July twilight and watched as a long, black time capsule was buried about three feet deep in the crumbly soil.

Sixteen-year-old Stacie Hankins wrote in her journal that night, “After we buried the time capsule, we promised we would return with our spouses and children in 15 years.” Then she vowed, “I will return.” Along with most of the youth and leaders at the conference, Stacie kept her promise.

The crowd that gathered in the same corner of that yard 15 years later not only looks very different, it is three or four times bigger than the original gathering. Children run around on the soft grass in the Jeppsons’ backyard while their parents—the grown-up Bennion Ward teens—chat about what they included in the capsule.

The capsule is sealed so tightly they have to saw the ends off. Inside is quite a collection of 1980s memorabilia. Banana hair clips, tape recordings of popular music, newspaper articles, postage stamps, clothing ads, microwave popcorn, letters to themselves with their testimonies, and a New Era are all packed into the smooth black tube.

It’s fun to see the crazy things they buried all those years ago. But the real treasure of the 1987 Bennion youth conference wasn’t buried in the corner of the Jeppsons’ yard. It’s testimonies, families, friendships, and dreams—all things you can’t bury in a time capsule. The ones in the group who seem the happiest now are those who envisioned what they wanted to be when they were young and then worked toward those goals, rather than simply going wherever life took them.

When the warm summer evening slips into night, the group of reunited friends is still talking under the light of a few bright lamps. They each read the testimonies they wrote and put in the time capsule—their testimonies are the only things that outlasted the constantly changing popular culture. “Today I recommit myself to the gospel of Jesus Christ,” Brenda Jeppson reads from her tattered piece of paper. Tonight, through her tears, she repeats her commitment to Christ as she looks forward to a future with the people she loves.

The report of that mistake, which I found in my files as I did research for this talk, reminded me of an even greater embarrassment that occurred during my own time as president of BYU. This one has never been reported, but since nearly forty years have now passed and since I do not want to continue selfishly concealing my unique knowledge of this matter, I choose to share it now.

In April 1974, BYU conferred an honorary degree on our beloved apostle Elder LeGrand Richards. Honorary degrees are titled by the awarding institution. Most frequently they are titled Doctor of Laws. In a creative moment, our BYU administration and board of trustees decided to give a unique title to Elder Richards’ degree: Doctor of Christian Service. The diploma was prepared and put into my hands, suitably framed in a presentation folder. With loving formality I presented it to Elder Richards in the commencement exercise.

As we took our seats, Elder Richards opened the folder and examined the diploma, which I had neglected to do. As the program went forward, he quietly handed me the opened folder and I read the beautifully inscribed degree: Doctor of Christian Science. Typical of that great gentleman, he never said anything about this embarrassing mistake. As for me, I quietly retained possession of the erroneous document, and we soon provided the correct one. Perhaps we will now have to endure the publicity we avoided in 1974, but I suppose we are now more suited to do so.

At one time Thomas worked with both President Brigham Young and United States President James Buchanan to clear up a misunderstanding that could have resulted in a war between the Saints and the government. Soldiers had been sent to Utah. With Thomas Kane’s help, however, a solution was found before there was any bloodshed. Wilford Woodruff later told him: “You were an instrument in the hands of God, and you were inspired by him to turn away … the edge of the sword.”

That same patience and gratitude deepened the love in her marriage. One daughter, Louise, who later became the seventh general president of the Relief Society, says that the only time she saw Elizabeth cry was when a cat knocked down the shelves in the cabin and broke that precious china. Thomas ordered the first set of Haviland that ZCMI shipped into the territory to replace it—a measure of love indeed, for they were struggling to make a living in Scipio, Utah, where he served as bishop and she as Relief Society president.