Gospel Story Finder

The power of the priesthood and the importance of its restoration and blessings came to have special meaning in my life when I was the age of many of you. I was just 15. My mother and father were miles away from our home, and my grandmother was staying with me. While my parents were away, a serious ear infection developed, and I was rushed to the hospital. The infection required major surgery and was carried out immediately. Following the operation, I overheard one of the doctors tell a nurse that the damage to my ear had been so severe that I would permanently lose my hearing and my equilibrium.

When my parents arrived at the hospital and realized the seriousness of my situation, they knew what to do. My father and another Melchizedek Priesthood holder, having the power and authority to act in the name of God, administered to me, using the oil that had been consecrated by the priesthood for the healing of the sick. My father placed his hands upon my shaven head, which was mostly wrapped in bandages, and gave me a blessing.

My mother was also impressed that she should place my name on the prayer roll of the Alberta Temple where those in attendance would join their faith in prayer for me. It was the first time I knew that people could have their name placed on the prayer roll in the temple. In time, through faith and the power of the priesthood, my healing was complete.

Through quick thinking and bravery, two New Zealand Scouts helped save the life of a drowning girl who had struck her head while diving into a swimming pool. Craig Biedford and David Belbin of the Temple View Third Ward, Temple View New Zealand Stake, pulled the girl from the water after David noticed that she was in trouble. The boys then quickly called their leader, who applied artificial respiration and started the girl breathing again.

For their quick action the two Scouts were awarded the Chief Scout’s Commendation for Meritorious Conduct, an award for bravery given by the Governor General of New Zealand.

On the day of my baptism, I felt clean, pure, and truly perfect. I loved the feeling so much that I made a goal to stay perfect forever. I will never sin again, I told myself.
Fast-forward one day.
I wanted to play with my big sister’s new Barbie doll, but she wouldn’t let me, no matter how hard I tried to convince her. So, in a rage that made me forget my goal to remain sin-free, I grabbed a pair of scissors while she wasn’t looking and cut off all her doll’s hair.
Admittedly, I was somehow under the impression that the doll’s hair would grow back. But as I sat looking at all the synthetic hairs piled in my lap, I felt the sting of having ruined my newly perfected life.
When my sister found out, she was furious. My parents explained to me that the doll’s hair would not grow back. Guilt and regret overwhelmed me as I watched my sister cry at the sight of her forever-bald doll.
With a little time and a lot of apologizing on my part, my sister forgave me. But I still never forgot how disappointed I felt for having given up my perfect life all too quickly.
As painful as it was as an eight-year-old to realize I made a mistake the day after my baptism, Heavenly Father provided a way for me to repent. Through the Savior’s perfect example and sacrifice, we can overcome our sins and make good choices that bring us blessings.

Prior to my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I associated for many years with another Christian denomination. There, the notion of prophets and apostles was a thing of the past. Discussion about topics such as modern revelation or living prophets and apostles were prohibited.
In 1995, I was still working on my understanding of this doctrine when President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited London. We were invited to a special meeting at Wandsworth Stake center. There, something indescribable happened which strengthened my testimony of a living prophet. As the company started entering the chapel, my attention was immediately drawn to President Hinckley, and I had an overwhelming feeling as if a voice spoke to me saying “This is the living prophet on the earth today. He is the mouthpiece of the Savior”. I am grateful for that personal experience. This became an anchor to my understanding of the need for a living prophet and the importance of following his counsel.

Darlington Ward graciously gave up an evening to join with Kings Church to pack numerous food parcels for single people in Darlington. Karen Nolan reflects back on that evening: “My family and I really enjoyed working with members of our ward and the staff at Kings Church Food Bank to pack over a 100 food parcels for single people in Darlington. It was a small act of service which we all enjoyed, but I know it was greatly appreciated.”

During a recent open house and media day for a new house of the Lord, I led a group of journalists on a tour through the sacred structure. I described the purposes of temples in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and responded to their many excellent questions.
Before entering the celestial room, I explained that this particular room in the house of the Lord symbolically represents the peace and beauty of the heavenly home to which we can return after this life. I indicated to our guests that we would not speak while in the celestial room, but I would be happy to answer any questions after we moved to the next stop on the tour.
After exiting the celestial room and as we gathered at the next location, I asked our guests if they had any observations they wanted to share. One of the journalists said with great emotion, “I have never experienced anything like that in my entire life. I did not know quiet like that existed in the world; I simply did not believe such stillness was possible.”
I was struck by both the sincerity and the starkness of this person’s statement. And the journalist’s reaction highlighted one important aspect of stillness—overcoming and tuning out the commotion of our external environment.
As I later pondered the journalist’s comment and reflected on the often hectic pace of our modern lives—the busyness, noise, diversions, distractions, and detours that so often seem to demand our attention—a scripture came to my mind: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

When I was 15, my family and I took a vacation from our home in Arizona to the central United States. We drove through many states, including Kansas, Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Illinois.
Our vacation went well. We learned to enjoy each other’s company during the long van rides from place to place.
As we pulled into a restaurant one evening, we were all anxious to grab a bite to eat. As we got out of our van, I suddenly had a silent but powerful impression that told me to look at the back tire on our van. I started to walk toward the restaurant, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. I looked back over my shoulder and then stopped. The impression came to my mind: “Check the back tire.” It was so forceful I couldn’t ignore it.
I approached the rear of the van and heard a hissing sound. Sure enough, our right rear tire had a leak and was quickly going flat. I ran to get my dad, who had already gone into the restaurant with the rest of the family.
My father took the van down the road to a gas station before the tire went completely flat. Since the tire wasn’t damaged, the repair was inexpensive and quick. And we were able to fix the flat just minutes before the service station closed for the night. I don’t know what would have happened if I had ignored the prompting. But I do know that because I responded, we were able to continue our trip safely and conveniently.
Since that incident, I’m always reassured of the power of the Holy Ghost and how truly blessed we are as members of the Church to have that special line of communication. I am grateful for that experience, for it will stay with me, forever reminding me that our Father in Heaven loves, cares, and watches out for all of His children.

My family and I were on our way to attend my dad’s high school class reunion in Park City, Montana, when the accident happened.
Halfway to Park City, my parents decided to stop and camp for the night. My dad asked my two older brothers, Bob and Dan, to gather wood and start a fire. He gave each of them a couple of matches. When Dan scraped his match against a stone, the flaming tip broke off and hit his eye, burning it badly before bouncing away. He cried out in terrible pain. My dad tried to comfort him, and my mom held ice on his eye to stop the burning.
When my brother had calmed down, my parents looked at his eye. Their worst fears were confirmed when they saw that the color of Dan’s eye was no longer brown, but completely white. They covered his eye and made him as comfortable as possible.
We climbed into the car and headed for Helena, the nearest town, where my brother was immediately taken to an eye specialist. After the exam, the specialist told my parents that Dan was blind in the damaged eye.
He gave Dan some medicine to put in his eye and a patch to keep the eye clean and protected. He told my parents to go to the class reunion and then bring Dan in for another exam on the way home.
After we received the bad news, my dad gathered us together and announced that our family would fast the next 24 hours for Dan’s full recovery. The day went by quickly as we concentrated on Dan and his need for comfort and healing. I believed that whatever the outcome, the Lord loved Dan and would help him.
My dad had tears streaming down his face when he gave Dan a priesthood blessing. It was the most beautiful blessing of healing I have ever heard. My dad told Dan that the Lord loved him and had many things for him to do in this life. He also told him he would need both of his eyes to complete his mission on earth, that his eye would heal, and that his vision would be fully restored. During the blessing, we all felt the Spirit and knew that God was mindful of us, especially of my brother during this trial.
When we returned to Helena, the eye specialist invited us into his examination room, where he again looked at Dan’s injured eye. He asked my parents if they were sure that this eye was the injured one. He said the eye he examined had to be the wrong eye because it was perfectly normal. Perplexed, he then checked Dan’s other eye. It, too, was normal. The specialist told my parents that it was impossible for an eye to heal like that. He had no explanation for it.
But we knew what had happened. The power of the priesthood, coupled with fervent prayer, faith, fasting, and an acceptance of the Lord’s will, had brought down the blessings of heaven.

• It looks like a typical professor’s office—windowless, with piles of books and papers. But its occupant, John A. Green, a Brigham Young University professor of French, is anything but typical. In 1981, at a relatively young age, he suffered a stroke that wiped out his memory of both French and English and left him basically paralyzed. Unable to teach, it was assumed he would never return to university life.
But John Green is an extraordinary man. Painstakingly, he began the process of relearning how to read, to walk, and to talk. Within months, he was back in his office, going over his notes, first reviewing, then resuming his research.
In the past few years, Brother Green has completed several carefully-researched volumes on French writer Marcel Schwob. Two of the volumes, part of a planned set of seven, are in print already.
Perhaps most amazing of all, Professor Green has typed every letter of every word of these books with one finger of his left hand. Every weekday, from eight A.M. to five P.M., he works quietly in his office, completing the task he has given himself—a task for which he receives no compensation beyond the disability pay he would still receive if he chose to relax at home.

When I was about 14 years old, my brother, some friends, and I went to a nearby pond to go row boating.
One of my friends challenged me to race her to the shore. I really didn’t know how to swim well, but it wasn’t very far, so I said yes, but what I didn’t realize was that my jeans would take on water and get really heavy. I got into the water, and my jeans immediately began pulling me down. I thought for sure I was going to die. My brother and another friend came in and pulled me to shore, but what surprised me was that in my panic I tried fighting them off because I thought they were trying to drown me.
This experience reminded me of how easy it is to make bad choices and how we sometimes pull away from those who are trying to help us. Like my brother and our friend, the Savior is always there to try and help us, even when we initially resist. I couldn’t save myself from drowning, but my brother and friend could. Through the Atonement, our Savior can help each of us to return to His presence if we just let Him. Satan gives us many temptations that are hard to resist, but if we stay close to the Lord, He will help us overcome them.

We had some additional motivation not to cancel FSY. The year before at almost the same time, the conference had been planned for this same group, everything organized and ready to go. On the morning FSY was to begin it had to be cancelled because the Omicron variant of COVID-19 that originated in South Africa was spreading quickly. The youth had been unable to participate in any activities the years before due to the coronavirus, and now at the last minute in 2021 the light at the end of the tunnel had been ripped away from them. Would we have to repeat this again in 2022? We hoped not.

We inspected the bridge to see if it would be possible for the youth to cross it by foot. We observed that most of the bridge was out of the river, but if we were to use it, the youth would still have to cross a portion of the river in at least knee-deep water that was running swiftly for the last 30 meters. We asked the Konka staff to begin setting up ropes across the bridge, emphasizing that we would not take any risks with the youth, many of whom do not swim at all. If it was clear we could cross the river safely, we would go forward with this plan.
A few hours before the youth began to arrive, we held a meeting and a quick spiritual thought with the young single adults. As a Church, our pioneers have crossed rivers in times of extreme difficulty before. “Let me tell you about the Sweetwater River in Wyoming and the story of the Martin and Willie handcart companies,” I said.
I recounted the events of Nov. 4, 1856, when the members of the Martin handcart company could go no further and wept at the thought of crossing that river in the frigid cold to find shelter from the storm at Martin’s Cove.
I told them of three members of the rescue party from Salt Lake City, all young adults, who stepped forward and volunteered to carry the entire company across the frigid river at great personal cost. I then asked, “who is willing to carry on this tradition and carry our 530 youth across the river this morning so a different kind of rescue can continue today, right here?”
The young single adults leapt to their feet volunteering in excitement to be a rescuer for the 2022 FSY and carry our youth across the river. They ran to their dorm rooms and changed into suitable clothing, knowing they were about to get very wet and dirty in the river and mud.
At 10:45 am we walked down to the water. The youth had already begun to arrive. The Konka staff had fixed the ropes to hold while crossing the water and were ready for the assistance of the young single adults. Several leaders grabbed onto the ropes and walked across the river and foot bridge to greet the youth and their parents and leaders as they arrived, to give them confidence and assurance that everything was safe, and we were moving forward.
There was shock on the faces of the youth and leaders as we explained the situation and instructed the youth to remove their shoes and socks and pull up their pant legs as far as they could. An umbrella to protect them from the rain was all most had planned on. Now they were about to cross a river on foot. As they walked down to the footbridge, several slipped, a few even falling in the deep and slippery mud. “Hang on to the rope!” was the yell that echoed for the next three hours as group after group arrived.
The young adult leaders took every suitcase and all the bedding and carried it across the footbridge. Over 500 youth made it across the river, either on the backs of the young single adults or picking their own cautious paths across the river whilst holding onto the safety ropes. A few hours later, the rain began to lessen. We had made it, and the FSY experience could go forward.
Uniformly, the youth expressed thanks that FSY had not been cancelled and we had found a way forward. Several analogies to our river crossing followed during the week, all relating back to the theme trust in the Lord. The young single adults acting as counselors not only carried and guided the youth across a literal river, but then spent the week teaching and strengthening the youth in a way that has had a deep and meaningful impact—teaching them and sharing tools for navigating an increasingly difficult world. Lives have been forever changed.

My friend Pete Harris and I figured that since we were finally going to be sixth graders this year, we ought to do something really memorable. We’d been walking those halls since kindergarten. We knew all the janitors and secretaries, and we even knew a secret way to get into the basement. It felt wonderful to be the oldest, “the kings of the school,” as Pete said.
We weren’t sure what memorable thing we wanted to do—maybe get a hundred percent on the yearly basic-skills test, or create a science project that would go on to win the national contest. In any event, we both dreamed that someday people would drive past Roosevelt Elementary School in a kind of hush as they were told, “That’s where Joseph Johnson and Pete Harris got their starts!”
Unfortunately the year didn’t start out very well. There are only two sixth grade teachers at Roosevelt, so you have a fifty-fifty chance of getting Mrs. Wagner. She is really, really old, and she’s known as the meanest teacher in the school. I didn’t know anyone who wanted to be in her class.
As soon as Mom and Dad heard that I was worried about having her for a teacher, they started lecturing me. They told me to stop taking everyone else’s word for it and to give her a chance—as if I already had her! I didn’t care to know that a lot of people (mostly adults) thought Mrs. Wagner was an excellent teacher. I didn’t even care that Sister Miller, a lady in our ward, had had Mrs. Wagner when she was a girl and had been so inspired that she’d become a teacher herself. This only proved to me how very old Mrs. Wagner was, because Sister Miller wasn’t young, either!
I really knew my number was up when my parents started saying, “How do you think Joseph Smith would act if he thought that he was going to get Mrs. Wagner?” I told them I thought that Joseph would have called out the Nauvoo Legion to save him, but it was no use. So it was with no real surprise last August that I received the letter from the school telling me to report to Mrs. Wagner’s class. The worst news, though, was that Pete was in Mr. Harford’s class, and that meant that I’d have to survive the ordeal alone.
On the first day of school Mrs. Wagner asked each of us to stand up, tell our name, and then tell something interesting that nobody else might know about ourselves. That’s OK for new kids, but most of us had been together for six years, and I couldn’t think of a thing. Suddenly I got this idea that made my stomach feel like the inside of a dishwasher: I could tell where I got my name. I tried to forget it and concentrate on some of my interests in sports, but the name idea kept popping into my head. Most of the kids in the class knew that I was a Mormon, but it seemed strange to talk about anything churchy during school. Right before it was my turn, I started hoping like crazy that the recess bell would ring. It didn’t. I wasn’t sure what a guardian angel was, but I was sure that mine had already left for the soccer field.
“Next?” called Mrs. Wagner, and I stood up shakily. Several of the girls started to giggle, which they did every time a boy stood up.
“Well,” I started in a squeaky voice, “my name is Joseph Johnson, and I was named after a prophet.”
I felt every eye in the room on me. As I started to sit down, Mrs. Wagner’s voice lifted me back up.
“Oh? That’s very interesting. Is that the Joseph in the Old Testament, the one with the coat of many colors?”
“No, ma’am. It’s Joseph Smith, a latter-day prophet.” The girls started giggling again, and about three years later the recess bell finally did ring.
I tried to forget all about that first day in the weeks that followed. And as it turned out, Mrs. Wagner wasn’t really as terrible as I had feared. In fact, she made social studies really interesting. She liked to get us thinking about other countries and to see those who lived there as real people with feelings. One of her favorite phrases was “Have the courage to change your opinion when you learn the truth.” Pretty heavy stuff for sixth graders! I was learning a lot, and I forgot all about doing something memorable.
Right before parent conferences, Mrs. Wagner met with each of us privately to go over our scores and to discuss what she would be telling our parents when they came to visit. In my meeting with her, it looked like I was doing well in everything but spelling, and I promised I’d work harder on it the rest of the year. After that, she put all my papers back in a pile and folded her hands on the desk in front of her.
“Joseph,” she said, “I have been noticing things about you this year besides your grades. After reading your essays on the special things you do with your family, I can tell you love them all very much. I’ve also watched you on the playground and in the lunchroom and many other places. You try to be a peacemaker when others are having a fight. You have been sensitive when someone is left out and have gone out of your way to include them. And you show a great deal of respect for the teachers and principal, even when the other kids make fun of them. Frankly, I’m quite impressed with you, and I’m looking forward to meeting the parents who have the privilege of having you in their family.”
Well, I was pretty much in shock all day after that. That night Mom and Dad reported that Mrs. Wagner had commented on my courage to talk about my religion on the first day of class and to live up to my principles. Feeling pretty sheepish for having dreaded her so much, I took to heart Mrs. Wagner’s words to have the courage to change your opinion when you learn the truth, and I admitted that she was a very good teacher.
By spring even the other kids had started saying that it was pretty nice to be in Mrs. Wagner’s class. But I still wasn’t prepared for what happened last Sunday: Just as we started singing the opening song in sacrament meeting, my little sister, Amy, leaned over and whispered, “What’d you do to make Mrs. Wagner follow you here?”
I was about to elbow her in the ribs, when I heard Sister Miller whisper to Mom, “There’s Mrs. Wagner. Isn’t it exciting! I understand that the elders are teaching her the discussions!”
I couldn’t believe my ears! All through the song and prayer, I kept thinking, “Pete will never believe this in a thousand years!”
During the sacrament, however, I started to get a very warm feeling, the same feeling I’d had on the first day of school when I knew I needed to tell everyone that I was named after Joseph Smith. I knew that this feeling was the Holy Ghost and that something very special was happening. I started to remember that I had wanted to do something really memorable in the sixth grade, and now I knew that this was it. My throat tightened up, and tears filled my eyes. I bowed my head and said a little prayer thanking Heavenly Father for letting me have a teacher who had the courage to change her opinion when she learned the truth.

After my grandmother died, my cousin moved in with me and became my guardian. My cousins are my best friends, but the change was still really hard. I had to learn to do all the chores that my grandmother used to do. I had to wake myself up for school and take care of the house.
My bishop had always talked about self-reliance, so I searched about it in Gospel Library. It helped me learn to stand on my own two feet.

When I was seven, a girl moved into my neighborhood, and we became friends. We both liked the same things, and we were a good influence on each other. We made good choices because our parents had taught us to choose wisely.
Once we got into sixth grade though, we made wrong choices in order to fit in with our friends who had lower standards. The next year, I decided that I needed to change friends so I could start making right choices again by living higher standards. The only problem was that my friend and I were still friends, and I didn’t want to stop hanging out with her.
Doing what I needed to do was hard. I had been told all my life to pick good friends and keep my standards high. But I did not have a testimony of why this was important, so I had to trust that it was correct. Over the summer and during eighth grade, we stopped hanging out as much and chose separate directions.
I saw the blessings of this decision later that year. My former friends decided to bring alcohol to school. They convinced some other girls to drink it, and they all got in trouble. I realized that one of those girls could have been me. If I had been with them, I don’t know if I would have had the strength to stand up for my beliefs.
When I think of the consequences I would have had to face, I feel overwhelmed. I could have struggled with addiction, been in trouble with the law, lost my parents’ trust, but most of all, I could have betrayed the trust Heavenly Father has in me.
I know that what the prophet says about living high standards is for our protection. Even though we may see it as inconvenient, it helps us spiritually, physically, mentally, and in other ways we don’t even realize.

For example, last November, Typhoon Haiyan hit the island nation of the Philippines.
A Category 5 super typhoon, Haiyan left in its wake extensive destruction and suffering. Complete cities were destroyed; many lives were lost; millions of homes were severely damaged or destroyed; and basic services such as water, sewer, and electricity ceased functioning.
Church resources were made available in the very early hours following this disaster. Church members living in the Philippines rallied to the rescue of their brothers and sisters by providing food, water, clothing, and hygiene kits to members and nonmembers alike.
Church meetinghouses became places of refuge to thousands of the homeless. Under the leadership of the Area Presidency and local priesthood leaders, many of whom had lost everything they had, assessments were made as to the condition and safety of all members. Inspired plans began to take shape to help restore members to acceptable living conditions and self-reliance.
Modest resources were provided to help Church members rebuild their wood-frame shelters and homes. This was not just a free handout. Members received training and performed the needed labor for themselves and then for others.
One resulting blessing was that as members developed carpentry, plumbing, and other construction skills, they were able to secure meaningful work opportunities as nearby cities and communities began rebuilding.

Heber J. Grant was not a good singer. His mother made him take singing lessons.
The teacher tried and tried to teach Heber to sing. Finally the teacher said, “Heber, you’ll never be able to sing!”
Years later, Heber told a friend how much he wanted to be able to sing a few Church hymns.
“It will take time and effort,” said his friend. “But, you can do it.”
Heber prayed for help. He practiced and practiced. He learned to sing the Church hymns.

Elizabeth was always first. She was the first of four children to be born. She was the first one up in the morning, picking the warmest spot by the big stove to get dressed in and warm her cold toes. She was the first one to dinner, the first one to church. She was even the first one to bed—so she could choose the best spot in the middle of the big feather mattress. And when the old cat at the farm had kittens, Elizabeth got first pick.
Anna was only a year younger than Elizabeth, but she wasn’t nearly so quick. When Elizabeth was first to the swing or the river, Anna sometimes stayed behind and rocked little Thomas, or peeled potatoes for Mother, or darned Father’s socks. Anna liked to do quiet things. She even liked to wait for the youngest sister, Sarah, when she tagged along.
After the Mormon missionaries taught her family the gospel, Elizabeth was the first one baptized—even before Father and Mother. The elders smiled at her eagerness.
When Father gathered the family together and told them that they were going to Zion, Elizabeth was the first to cry and to refuse to leave her friends. But when the time came to board the big ship, Elizabeth was the first one up the wide gangplank. She was the first person to get sick on the ship, and the first to get well. She was the first to walk the slippery, lopsided decks and the first to make friends with the grinning sailors. They gave her treats and sang songs for her.
After the ship docked, Elizabeth was the first one to run down the long plank and step onto land, the first one to dance on American soil. Mother and Anna were last. In fact, Anna went back to the ship three times to help Father carry all the family’s belongings off.
When it was time to load the wagon for the journey west, Elizabeth was the first to find a place for her own things: the sweater that her grandmother had knitted, her best blue bonnet, and her wooden doll, Belinda. There wasn’t room for everything the family wanted to take; but Elizabeth had settled her things in the wagon first, so she wasn’t worried.
Elizabeth was the first to give names to the oxen. They were tall, long-boned beasts with beautiful horns. Elizabeth named them Peter and Paul. Anna thought Buttercup might be a good name for the honey-colored one who was so gentle. But Elizabeth had already named them.
The trip was a long one. They crossed rivers and climbed mountains. Elizabeth was always first. She walked ahead of the wagon, never behind in the dust. She found good-natured men on horseback who didn’t mind letting a little girl ride across the swollen streams with them. She found the best spot beside the campfires. She found the best buffalo chips because she was first and picked the old, dry ones, which were easier to gather.
Elizabeth loved the journey. She loved the new things to see each day. She loved the nights when the children played games and the grown-ups danced and sang songs. She loved being first.
As they drew near to the valley, Elizabeth became so excited that she couldn’t hold still. Everyone knew how she felt. And everyone knew who would be the very first to set foot in the valley. Elizabeth was always first.
Early one morning on the last week of the journey, Anna slipped on the wagon tongue. She hit her head and cut her arm and twisted her ankle. She behaved very bravely for a girl of seven. Mother made up a bed in the crowded back of the wagon and laid her there. It was hot and bumpy, but Anna didn’t complain. Elizabeth did though. She didn’t like doing Anna’s work. She didn’t like hauling water or scouring the pans. She wasn’t very good at stirring the soup or feeding the baby. And she wasn’t nearly so patient with little Sarah, who constantly wanted something. Elizabeth was cross and tired. For the first time in her life she didn’t have enough energy to worry about being first. All she could think about was curling up under her mother’s soft quilt and falling asleep.
When they reached Pratt’s Pass, Elizabeth wanted to scamper ahead to be the first to stand on the ledge and look down over layer after layer of purple-blue mountains to the wide valley below. But little Thomas woke up and needed to be fed, and Sarah tugged at her skirts and whined to be taken. By the time Elizabeth reached the ledge, half the company had already seen the valley. Elizabeth hadn’t been first.
Elizabeth felt sorry for herself. Now there were only two days left of the journey. Father had bound Anna’s foot, but she couldn’t walk without help. Anna sat and peeked out from the wagon. Elizabeth scowled and worked and watched while someone else was always first!
The morning of the last day was beautiful. Elizabeth was the first one up, the first one to get water, the first one to bathe and get dressed. She fed the baby as fast as she could and helped with breakfast. She tied Sarah’s laces and told her that if they came undone, it was just too bad. Elizabeth had to be quick. Today was the day. Today they would reach the Salt Lake Valley. Today Elizabeth had to be first!
When the wagons began to creak down the last long descent, Elizabeth climbed into the wagon and crawled back to where her favorite things were. She wanted to wear her pretty blue bonnet when she entered the valley. As she crawled, she heard a strange sound. She stopped. The sound was Anna crying!
Elizabeth froze. She had seldom heard Anna cry. Anna was always calm, always content. Now she was crying as if her heart would break. Elizabeth’s stomach felt sick. She could feel the fast thump of her heartbeat. She crawled over to the bed. "Anna, what is it?"
Anna looked up and blinked wide, wet eyes at Elizabeth. A tear ran down her nose and dropped from the very tip.
"I can’t see anything from in here," Anna sobbed. "I want to see the valley." New tears welled up in Anna’s blue eyes. "I want to wear the dress I’ve been saving and walk into the valley, Elizabeth, just like everyone else."
Something inside Elizabeth started to ache. "You shall, Anna. You shall!"
Anna stared at her. "How, Elizabeth?"
"You’ll see." Elizabeth had already turned and was searching through the neat piles of store goods.
The sun was high in the sky when the wagons pulled to a stop on the valley floor. A crowd had gathered to meet the newcomers. Some of the young people ran ahead and were waiting, dancing and clapping their hands with glee while the wagons pulled up to them. The men from the wagon train took off their hats and wiped their foreheads. The women shaded their eyes and gazed over the lovely valley—their new home at last.
"Where is Elizabeth?" someone shouted. "Wasn’t Elizabeth first?"
"Of course she was first!" another replied with a laugh.
"Then where is she?" cried one of the children.
People began to look. People began to call for Elizabeth.
"Here we are!"
Everyone turned to see.
Down the long line of wagons came the two sisters. Elizabeth wore the blue bonnet, Anna her red dress with lace at the collar. With one hand she held Grandfather’s cane. Her other hand rested on Elizabeth’s sturdy arm. Anna’s steps were slow and painful. But she was walking! With Elizabeth’s arm round her waist, she walked past the wagons and into the Salt Lake Valley. Just like all the others.
"Mother," Elizabeth cried. "I was the last one into the valley, the very last one. But I’m so happy! I never felt this happy when I was first."

I have seminary at 6 a.m., before school. I wake up really early to have time to eat breakfast, have family prayer, and walk to the church. But the more I go to seminary, the more I see that waking up early is worth it!
The teachers are really great and always teach with the Spirit. They are wise and know so much about the gospel, which made me excited to go and learn more.
Going to seminary each morning helped me be brave enough to share the gospel with two classmates and helped me explain the scriptures. Seminary also helped me be brave enough to stand up for my beliefs. I was listening to the radio one morning, and a man was saying Joseph Smith was a liar. I was really frustrated by this because I had gained a strong testimony of Joseph Smith in seminary and knew that what the man was saying wasn’t true.
I told my seminary teacher about it, and he suggested I write a letter to the man and share my testimony of Joseph Smith. I wrote the letter and bore my testimony about Joseph Smith and the Church. It helped me calm down and not be so frustrated. He never responded, but I felt a confirmation of my testimony while I was writing. It made me really grateful that I had gained such a strong testimony of the Prophet and the gospel in seminary.
Raquel B., Argentina

It has been nearly three years since I received one of those dreaded early-morning phone calls. My younger brother Steve had suffered a massive heart attack and died during the night. In an instant, and without warning, my most trusted friend was gone.
During the next few days many who loved Steve and his wife and children traveled to their home in Colorado. But it wasn’t until after the funeral that I realized that seven dear friends of mine had made the long trip from Salt Lake City to attend the service. Not one of them had ever met my brother. They had come to support me. You can imagine my emotions as they encircled me and one of them said, “We just didn’t want you to be alone today.” In word and deed, they taught a divine principle. It is not good, nor is it intended, for any of us to be alone.

Dear Buddy,
Wow! Two letters from you in one week! That was great! But now I have a real problem, and it’s all because of you and your good looks and charm. I’m worried that you may steal my girlfriends from me!
Seriously, Melissa and Kelly are both good friends, and there’s nothing too serious between us as far as I’m concerned. But if they both show up at the house at the same time, you’ll have to use your charm and personality to save the day.
Elder Watts and I are teaching some terrific people. The Brooks family has a boy just a year older than you. His name is Bobby, and he’s been going to Primary for three weeks now and has made some friends there. Bobby and his mother want to get baptized and join the Church, but Mr. Brooks says that he can’t seem to get a testimony. We challenged him to finish reading the Book of Mormon and to pray for a testimony of whether it is true or not.
We are also teaching a student from the university, a great guy named Will Landers. Will likes the Church but has to solve some problems before he can join. Please remember all these people in your prayers.
And whatever your problem is, don’t be afraid to tell me.
Love,Reed
Dear Reed,
Today was the second worst day of my entire life! (The worst day was the day that you left home.) We had baseball tryouts, and I was terrible! I couldn’t do anything right. I need you here to help me. Dad says that he’ll practice with me, but you know how busy he is all the time. How can I ever learn to play baseball good enough to get on the team and then play for the high school and get a scholarship for college like you did? Sometimes I feel like a dumb little kid who can’t do anything right.
Do you know now what my secret is? My secret is that I don’t think that I can stand to have you be away for two years. I want you to come home right now! I need you, Reed. Please come home now!
Love,Buddy
P.S. If I ever decide to play baseball again, can I borrow your glove and bats?
Dear Buddy,
Last time you and I played baseball, you were as good as I was when I was your age—maybe even better! Your problem is that you want to be great right now. But you have a lot of work and practice and growing to do. Lots of the guys who were better baseball players than I was at seven and eight years old never made the college teams because they didn’t work as hard as I did all those years. So don’t give up if you really want to do it.
As far as the other problem goes, you know that I can’t leave my mission. But I’ll tell you a secret. Sometimes I get homesick, and it really hurts inside when I want to see all of you and can’t. I miss playing baseball with you, Buddy, and going for ice cream and to the movies and talking in the dark after we’ve gone to bed. What I do when I get homesick is pray for strength and comfort. And then I try to forget about myself by helping other people. That seems to work every time.
You can help Elder Watts and me too. Please pray for the Brooks family and Will Landers. And pray that Elder Watts and I can help them.
Love,Reed
P.S. I’m afraid that my glove and bats are too big and awkward for you, but you can try them if you want. And you can have all my baseballs if you promise to wear them out with your practicing.
Dear Brad May,
My name is Bobby Brooks. Yesterday your big brother baptized me, and I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! Elder Watts baptized my mom and dad. I’m really happy now, and Mom and Dad are happy too. We know that we did the right thing because this is the right church.
Elder May is a great guy! I like him a lot. He’ll be here only a short time, but you’re lucky because he’ll always be your brother. I hope that he’ll always be my friend. I want to be a missionary like him someday. Thanks for sharing him with us.
Sincerely,Bobby Brooks
Dear Reed,
Something awesome just happened! When I got your letter, I tried to do what you said. I prayed for help so that I wouldn’t miss you so much. Then I prayed for the people you’re teaching. Then I thought that maybe I’d write a letter to them. But before I wrote, I got a letter from Bobby Brooks, and he said that you baptized him!
I want you to stay on your mission and find more people who want to learn about the Church. I want you to tell me all about your mission because I want to grow up to be a missionary just like you.
Please tell Bobby that I’ll write a letter to him soon.
I have to go now so that I’ll be on time for baseball practice.
Love,Buddy
(To be continued)