Gospel Story Finder

One of the tenderest moments of their marriage is a letter he wrote her when he was working on the railroad in Echo Canyon to pay off his loan with the Perpetual Emigration Fund. We do not know what fears she had shared in a letter to him, but we have his loving reassurance:

“Another thing my darling that I feel sorry about is that you should think I stay out here on account of something you might have said in the past in the way of complaint at not being provided for as well as you could wish, believe me my own darling that such is not the fact at all. I do not remember that at any time you have said anything that could be mistaken for complaint … My darling I love my dear humble home and you my darling wife and our dear little children. I love your society the best of all on earth, and never expect to meet with as much pleasure and happiness in this world as I get in your company.”

I was going on my Silver Duke of Edinburgh’s qualifier in the Brecon Beacons, during yellow thunder and lightning warnings. We were about 5 hours in when we started climbing the peak of Twmpa, one of the Black Mountains. About halfway up I was absolutely shattered and I didn’t think I could get any further. I decided to pray for strength to carry on and reach the top. After I prayed, I felt stronger and could feel God helping me up to the top.
After we reached the top, we continued walking for about 3 hours until we came to the end of the mountain. One of the girls in my group didn’t want to go down the mountain and started crying, which is when the thunder and lightning began. We frantically started getting to lower ground, as we were at the highest point – closest to the lighting. However, we got stuck just off the peak.
We tried to call the leader, but there was no signal. The girls in my group were terrified, and I prayed again that we could get a hold of our leader, and we tried again. He finally answered for just long enough to tell him where we were and where we should go.
After 4 hours, the lightning stopped and we started to go down as it was starting to get dark. However, we took a wrong turn and ended up lost and stuck in a river. We climbed back up with rocks and rain sliding down. We eventually got off the mountain at 9pm, when we were meant to get to camp at 4pm. Our leaders left us on the side of the mountain and didn’t come to look for us and we managed to make it to a minor road. I prayed one more time, absolutely exhausted, and out of nowhere a random lady drove past in a car. She had decided to pick up a chicken at 9pm at night instead of the next morning, and found us wet, cold and upset and drove us to the camp.
I believe in prayer, and the fact that God can help us through any trials we face, both big and small. I am so grateful for the gift of prayer.

The Los Angeles California Stake has an uncommon collection of cultures. The Westwood wards are basically Caucasian; the Hollywood and Wilshire wards have Mexican, South and Central American, South Pacific, and Far Eastern cultures. And then there’s the fast-growing Spanish Branch where all meetings are conducted in Spanish. The new Korean Branch is solely conducted in the Korean language. And there also is the Ward for the Deaf, a special ward where sign language is used.
The Los Angeles Stake Young Women organization, in an effort to bridge the gap between the hearing and the deaf, embarked last fall on a program of training the Laurels, Mia Maids, and Beehive girls in the deaf sign language. The deaf language missionaries were called upon to teach the classes, and the girls quickly became adept at the basic signs. Later, members of the Ward for the Deaf also helped.
The young women of the Ward for the Deaf were just as excited watching their hearing sisters try to communicate with them as the hearing girls were in learning the new language.
One of the high points of this effort was at the June stake conference when representatives from all wards and classes “signed” the three verses of “I Am a Child of God” before the congregation. The song was conducted by a Laurel from the Ward for the Deaf. Later, as the congregation rose to sing “The Spirit of God Like a Fire Is Burning,” the stake youth stood in front and “signed” the song while the congregation sang. The members of the Ward for the Deaf stood with their hearing sisters and “signed” the song with them.
A few weeks later something else new happened—the girls from the Ward for the Deaf joined in the Young Women summer camp. At the end of the week, everyone was able to “sign” a poem and another song for camp visitors. Several of the hearing girls are planning to continue their education in sign language.
It was exciting and fun to learn a new language, but the girls found it equally gratifying to be able to know and understand their deaf sisters, a valuable step in gaining greater appreciation for all.

Lugging a bucket of warm, foamy milk, I stepped from the barn and slammed the heavy door behind me. A chill wind blasted across the barnyard and tore at the buttons on my coat, almost snatching my cap away. Ducking my head into my collar, I pushed toward the house, possessed with an anxious longing to escape the late autumn’s icy breath. I glanced at the gray, forbidding sky and hoped it wouldn’t snow, at least not until Ma and Pa and the girls returned from Uncle Tommy’s.
I was almost to the house before I saw him. He was shuffling tiredly down the dirt lane that came from the highway to our farm. Squinting against the onslaught of the wind, I watched him approach, all the while loathing him for coming.
I didn’t know him, and yet he was familiar, not as a person but as a representative of the motley mob of defeated wanderers who had stopped at our door in the past. I recognized the slumped shoulders; the hollow cheeks; the sunken, searching eyes; the rumpled, ill-fitting clothing; the dusty shoes; and the apologetic reluctance—all of which characterized this singular breed. They were cast-off by-products of these lean Depression years of the 1930s. Their only crime had been misfortune and circumstances. Nevertheless, my own selfishness caused me to despise them.
“Hi, son,” he greeted me, a cautious humor in his voice. “This wouldn’t be the Lorenzo Platt place, would it?”
I glanced toward the empty house. No one would know, I told myself. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to lie, even to him. “Yeah, it is,” I mumbled.
“I wasn’t sure,” he said with a smile that revealed a chipped front tooth. “The barn wasn’t finished before, and the house wasn’t painted.”
“We did that last summer,” I replied tartly, trying to discourage conversation.
“Sure looks nice.” Uneasily he looked around, obviously stalling. I knew what he wanted. They were all the same. Pa had never needed more excuse than that they were hungry, discouraged, displaced, or cold. He had always brought them into the house, given them a chair by the stove, a place at the table, and a home for the night.
I had especially disliked these gaunt, faceless guests who intruded and disrupted our home. If Pa had been content to offer them a bowl of beans and a place on the front step to eat, I could have ignored their intrusion, but that wasn’t Pa’s way. When night fell, Pa didn’t send them off to the barn loft; he offered them a bed in the house, usually mine. I would sleep on the couch, always resenting the one who supplanted me.
“Why do we have to do it?” I had accused Pa one afternoon while we were stacking hay. “Why can’t they find their own place and their own food? We’ve got to work for ours. Let them work for theirs.”
Pa had picked up a fork full of hay and carried it to the corner of the stack and said gently, “Every night and morning when I pray, I thank the Lord we have work, that we can provide. We’re not rich, son. No one is these days, but we have sufficient. I wouldn’t trade places with any of those men. It isn’t their fault that the winds blew the land away and tore them from their farms. It isn’t their fault that these are hard times. No, son, I don’t condemn them. My heart aches for them, and as long as I have a single chicken, a meager cup of beans, or a crust of bread, those men won’t leave here hungry.
“But Pa,” I protested warmly, “you do all that for the folks in the ward, too. Whenever they need something, they always come to you. It just isn’t fair, even if you are the bishop. But I wouldn’t mind that, because they’re our folks, our neighbors, and our friends. But not those others.”
Pa didn’t listen. He continued to reach out to them, and they continued to come. Although they were complete strangers, they all seemed to know that here was home for the night.
As I stood in the cold wind eyeing this new stranger, this intruder, I was determined to send him away as I had wanted to do with the others.
The man stuffed his hands into his pockets, glanced at me, and then kicked at the dust with the toe of his battered boot. “Is your pa here, son?”
I shook my head. “He’s over at my Uncle Tommy’s helping out. My ma and sisters are with him. Uncle Tommy and Aunt Lacerne are both sick. Been that way for a week or so. Won’t be back till tomorrow afternoon. I’m here alone.”
I watched the spark of hope in his eyes flicker and then die. He glanced about the place. Like all the others, he was too proud to ask. I wasn’t about to extend an invitation, not today when the decision was completely mine.
“You can come back tomorrow,” I suggested with calloused indifference. “He’ll be back then.”
“I see,” the man mumbled, knowing what coming back tomorrow implied. He looked back down the long dusty lane to the highway then peered over my shoulder toward the house. There was a longing not easily concealed in his famished eyes. He turned toward the barn and then back at me. But there was no encouragement in my unflinching stare. This man represented the whole mob that had imposed upon me, crowded me at the kitchen table, and forced me from my bed. Sending him down the road was a vindictive retaliation against all of them.
“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said more to himself than to me.
As he turned to go, I said, “I’ll tell Pa you stopped.”
The man nodded his head and waved weakly. “You’ve got a nice place here,” he commented, motioning to the barn and house with his hand. “I’ve got a boy about your age watching after my place, too. What’s left of it. It’s not as big and nice as yours, but he’s got plenty to do. I sure hope he’s getting along. Well, tell your pa I stopped by. He won’t remember me, but he helped me once before.”
I didn’t watch him pass through the front gate and start down the lane. Not even I could do that. With as much indifference as I could muster, I stepped up on the porch, put the white pad in the strainer, and poured the milk in, listening to it drip into the clean bucket below.
Suddenly I thought of Pa. Just before he had climbed into the truck and driven over to Uncle Tommy’s, he had given me his last-minute instructions. Now his words flashed into my mind, and I couldn’t drive them out: “Son, I’ll trust you to watch after things. I wish I didn’t have to leave you alone this long, but we’ve got to help Uncle Tommy out. If we don’t get the rest of that corn in, his cattle aren’t going to have much this winter. I don’t know how good it is now. I know the frost got a lot of it. If you need anything, run over to Brother Ramsey’s place. I told him you’d be here alone.”
“Pa, I can do it,” I protested, hurt that he had deemed it necessary to speak with Brother Ramsey. I was 17 and felt capable of taking care of things for the three days.
“I know, Son. You can handle things as well as I can.”
His unconditional confidence mocked me now. A gnawing shame bore into my soul.
The last drops of milk pattered into the bucket. Without thinking I glanced up and gazed down the lane toward the departing figure, hunched and plodding against the wind. I don’t know why, but I thought of his son. It was strange that I had never considered that these wanderers could possibly have families, folks who cared, who wondered whether they were safe, had enough to eat or a place to lay their heads. Suddenly, so unexpectedly, he became a real person.
A horrifying vision leaped to my mind’s stage, a vision I could not close my eyes to. The man was transformed. He was no longer a stranger, a mere wanderer, tacitly begging for a place to stop for the night. He became Pa! And I was the selfish youth who had refused him even a corner in the barn. It was a shattering revelation, one that staggered me with its vividness, one that made me loathe the merciless boy who had sent him away.
Leaving the milk on the porch, I started down the lane on a run, impelled by an awful dread that this man would escape me in the cold, dreary dusk. The terrible realization of my heartless act haunted me.
“Hey, mister,” I gasped when I was still several yards away. The man stopped and turned around. “I didn’t ask you if you wanted to spend the night. You can you know.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to …” the man stammered.
“I’m not much of a cook,” I pressed, “but I can give you something and a place to stay.” He looked down the road as though debating. “It’s getting colder. There’ll be frost for sure tonight,” I pointed out.
To my relief he came back with me. Neither of us spoke as we returned to the house. I invited him in and stirred up the coals in the stove and insisted he pull up a chair to warm himself. I could tell he was cold through and through. He rubbed his hands together and reached out to the warmth, beckoning it to penetrate his chilled body.
“Ma left some lima beans,” I apologized, wishing Ma were there to fix something nice. “But there’s bread, and we’ve got lots of milk. I can’t fix anything like Ma, but it will fill you up.”
The man nodded, “Anything, son. Beans sound good.”
We ate supper in silence. I gave him three bowls of beans, a half loaf of Ma’s bread, and a quart of milk. He wouldn’t have eaten it all, but I insisted. I could see he was hungry, and I knew he wouldn’t ask for more.
“I didn’t mean to make a pig of myself,” he apologized.
“We don’t eat steaks and stuff, but what we’ve got we have plenty of, and you’re welcome to it.”
By the time the work was done, darkness had settled and there was nothing to do but go to bed. “Son,” he began, “if you’ve got a blanket I can go out to the barn and bed down. I’ll get up early in the morning and be on my way and won’t have to even bother you. You’ve been real good to me, son.”
“You can’t sleep out there. Pa never lets folks sleep out there, not when we’ve got plenty of room in the house. I’ll fix you up.”
“Then I can lay down by the stove,” he replied.
“No, Mister, we’ve got beds. Come in here.” I led him into my room. “I think there’s enough quilts. If you need more, we’ve got plenty.”
“Isn’t this your room, son?”
“Not tonight,” I explained simply.
The man seemed embarrassed and unsure of himself. “I appreciate all this, son. I stopped by here once before on my way to California looking for work. Your pa took me in, just like you’ve done.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “You know, there’s a lot of mean folks in this old world, folks that don’t care about anyone but themselves. Folks like that could turn a man sour on everybody. I know. When I was looking for work, sometimes I was bullied and cheated and sent on my way. I’d get real mad. All I was doing was trying to make enough to send back to my family and keep them going. But these other folks didn’t care. As soon as the fruit was picked or the cotton in, then they sent us on our way. It wasn’t my fault I was in hard times. I got to hating.”
He paused and looked down at his dry, calloused hands. “Then I remembered your pa. He didn’t make me eat on the front steps and sleep in the hay in a ditch like most folks. I was somebody to him.” He smiled wanly and brushed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I had to come back. You see, I’m on my way back to Arkansas to get my family. Going to take them out to California. But I had to stop here.”
I nodded my head and looked at the floor. For a moment there was a heavy silence. “Well,” I mumbled, “if you need anything, Mister, just call.”
“Son,” the stranger said just as I turned to go, “you got a good pa. You’re Mormon folks, aren’t you?” I nodded. Out of his coat pocket he pulled a worn copy of the Book of Mormon. “Your pa gave me this. I haven’t read it yet because I don’t read too good, but I’ve kept it with me. I’ve heard a lot of bad things about you Mormons, but I haven’t believed any of it.” He rubbed his rough, chapped hands over the book’s cover. “They said you weren’t Christians and such.” He wagged his head. “But I don’t believe them. How could I? I’ve met just one Christian man in my life. It was your pa. I’m going to get my boy to read me this book and maybe then I’ll find out why your pa’s so different.”
The next morning I was up early to milk. The stranger was up and dressed and ready to head down the road, but I said he couldn’t go until he’d had breakfast. I milked, and he went with me and helped me feed the stock and strain the milk. All the time he talked about his boy and his family. All the while I could picture Pa talking about Ma and the girls and me like that man talked about his folks. I shuddered to think I had almost sent him away.
After breakfast I put a loaf of bread in a brown paper sack and wrapped a chunk of cheese in wax paper and handed them to him. “I wish I could give you more,” I said.
“You’re just like your pa, son. Your pa can be proud of you,” he said hoarsely. With that he turned and started toward the front gate.
As I watched him start down the lane, it seemed his head was a little higher, his shoulders were not so stooped, and his step had more spring in it. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he reached the highway and walked over a little rise out of sight.
It was late afternoon when Ma and Pa and the girls came home. I was out in the barn cleaning the stable. Pa came out as soon as he took the things from the truck into the house.
“How’d things go, Son?”
“Good.” I leaned the fork against the wall. “A man came.”
“Who?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t ask. He was just passing through. Like the others.”
“You put him up, didn’t you?” There was an edge of panic in his voice as though he was worried that someone in need had come and he had not been there to help.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I did what I could.”
Pa sighed, then took a deep breath, obviously relieved.
“I didn’t finish cleaning out the pig pen, though. I ran out of time.”
There was no rebuke in Pa’s look or tone of voice. “There will be time for that. If you looked after the man, that’s all that matters for now.”
Suddenly I felt hot tears burning in my eyes. I didn’t even care that Pa saw me. I didn’t care that I was 17 and supposed to be grown up. I felt something inside me warm and reassuring, something that almost burst my soul. Pa put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me down on a bale of straw beside him. He didn’t say anything for a long time. We just sat there together, knowing what the other was feeling. I knew Pa’s eyes were filled with tears too, but I wasn’t ashamed. In a strange kind of way, I was proud we could shed tears together.
Finally he squeezed my shoulder tight and whispered, “Son, you’re a man now. You’ve proved it today.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the stranger, glad he had come. I offered a silent prayer that before nightfall he would find another man like Pa.

The minute Robert woke up he knew the weather was still stormy. He was glad. Maybe I can stay home from school today, he thought.
Ever since he and his parents had moved to Pinehills in late summer, Robert had been unhappy. Each school morning when he awoke he felt a nagging dread in his stomach.
Robert dressed and went into the kitchen where his mother and father stood in the doorway, looking out at the dark day. He was still clinging to the hope that his mother would let him stay home, but all she said was, “Be sure and wear your warm shirt, Robert.” There was not a word about staying home.
A horse’s hooves sounded outside. A man called, “Ready, Mr. Shaft?”
Robert’s father answered, “Be right with you,” as he put on his yellow slicker and hat.
“Are you going to help build up the dam on Indian River?” Robert asked his father.
“Yes. Every man in town is needed there, Robert. After a week of rain Pinehills’ reservoir is in danger of spilling over.”
Robert’s mother looked worried. “Indian River runs right beside the schoolhouse,” she said. “What if the dam should break?”
Robert’s father tried to ease her concern. “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “We’ll be there to watch it all day.”
After his father had gone Robert sat down at the table. He wasn’t hungry and he wanted to say, “I don’t feel well, Mother,” or, “Maybe I should stay home to be with you,” but she would know he was only making excuses.
“Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” Mother insisted, so Robert choked down a few mouthfuls and then, with dragging footsteps, he set out under gray clouds that sagged nearly to the tops of the trees. Down the hill he trudged, his feet swishing through the wet leaves. He sniffed the brown smell of mud. I wish I could walk to some faraway, enchanted place and never have to go to school again, he thought.
But Robert soon reached the clearing where the one-room schoolhouse stood.
Two girls immediately ran up to meet him. Freckled Rebecca skipped on one side of Robert, and Patricia walked on the other side of him. Together they chanted, “Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee. He’ll come back and marry me. Pretty Bobby Shafto.”
Then both girls giggled and Robert continued on to school, feeling miserable and lonely. He couldn’t remember who first used the nursery rhyme to tease him, but soon every child in school began chanting, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” whenever they saw him. Robert felt he didn’t have a single friend.
When he reached the schoolhouse, Robert slumped in his seat in the back row where he was the only sixth-grader. He watched the teacher write words on the chalkboard. Robert thought Miss Parker was the one pleasant thing about school.
Turning around she asked, “Has the rain started again, Robert?”
“No, Ma’am, but the clouds are full,” he answered.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Parker said, looking worriedly out the window. “Maybe I should send the children home. Indian River runs so near the school.”
“My father said every man in town is watching the dam,” Robert told her.
“Well, then I’ll begin school,” she said. “Will you please ring the bell for me?”
Students hurried past Robert as he stood beside the door clanging the brass bell. No one spoke to him except to whisper, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” or tease, “Where’s the silver buckles for your knee?”
Slumped in his seat, Robert watched Miss Parker as she listened to the first-graders read. He couldn’t help smiling when Amy Andrews read aloud. She looked too tiny to be in school.
A rumble of thunder and a crackle of lightning made Robert and the other children jump. Just as Miss Parker said, “Don’t be frightened!” another rumbling noise shook the schoolhouse. It was the loudest sound Robert had ever heard, a heavy shuddering rumble very different from thunder.
Everyone in the room except Robert sat so still they appeared frozen. He rushed to the door and shouted, “The dam broke! Here comes the water!”
The boys and girls began to cry as Miss Parker ran to the door and stood beside Robert. They looked out at the water swirling and roaring only a few feet away from where they stood. No longer held by the dam, the water leaped from the riverbed, rushing toward the schoolhouse. Water was coming inside the schoolroom now and Robert’s feet were wet.
“Robert, help me push my desk under the attic trapdoor,” Miss Parker directed. “Then lift the children up to me if you can.”
Robert and the teacher shoved the desk beneath the little opening in the ceiling. He put a chair on the table, then climbed up to push the door aside and helped her into the attic.
“Get in line by grades,” she called down. “Youngest first. Robert will lift you up to me.”
One by one, as the water rose higher in the room, the children climbed onto the desk. Straining, Robert lifted each child high enough for Miss Parker to grab his wrists and pull him into the dim, dry attic.
When the last child in line was safely inside Robert started to climb up himself. “Amy? Where’s Amy Andrews?” Miss Parker called.
The other children cried, “She isn’t here! Where’s Amy?”
Robert jumped off the desk into the still-rising water and began to search the schoolroom. He finally found Amy clinging to a chair that had floated into a corner.
“Put your arms around my neck, Amy,” Robert told her. “Hold tight so I can lift you into the attic.”
But Robert’s legs weren’t strong enough to carry both of them through the swirling water. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t reach the desk.
Up in the attic the children kept calling, “Come on, Robert!” He saw Miss Parker’s anxious expression just as the rushing water swept him off his feet and through the open door.
Robert never knew exactly what happened next. He only remembered swimming as hard as he could with Amy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Then they were on a log that swept them swiftly downstream.
Robert couldn’t tell where they were. Sometimes it seemed he and Amy stayed in one place while trees and houses rushed by. Other times he looked down at the racing water and grew so dizzy he was afraid he would fall off the log. Then he’d shut his eyes and tell Amy softly, “Don’t let go!”
At a place where the river curved, the log slammed into a high bank and stuck there, but Robert knew he couldn’t climb the steep, muddy bank. His legs felt like soaked wood and it was almost more than he could do to hang onto the log with his weary arms. Amy was crying and Robert held her close as he prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send someone to find us.”
The long hours seemed to creep slowly by. At last the most welcome sound Robert had ever heard came from the bank above them. It was his father’s voice. “Here they are!” he shouted. “I’ve found Robert and Amy and they’re alive!”
It was two weeks before the flood damage was cleaned up and the school could reopen. And as Robert set out through the early morning sunshine he wondered how it would seem to be back in the schoolroom again. He was glad he had been able to help Miss Parker but he dreaded the teasing of the children as much as ever.
Walking slowly, Robert was nearly to the schoolhouse when he heard someone shout, “Here he comes!” Then someone else called, “It’s our Bobby Shaft who went to sea!”
Suddenly Robert was surrounded by all the boys and girls in the little school. Everyone was happy to see him. And even the old nursery rhyme sounded good when Amy Andrews ran up, slipped her small hand inside of Robert’s big one and said, “My pretty Bobby Shafto!”

A mission president’s prompting keeps missionaries safe during an earthquake in Japan.

Dad nodded. He was silent for a minute, then said, “We are always blessed when we follow Christ, but sometimes we aren’t blessed in the way we expect. You know Mom and I pay tithing every month, but I still lost my job last year and we had trouble paying our bills. We were blessed, but not with money. You chose the right, and while that doesn’t mean you’ll be blessed with friends, you will be worthy to pass the sacrament when you turn 12 next year. And you’ll be worthy to go to the temple.”

“Happiness is found if we do God’s way,” Brother Wilcox declared to the youth and Young Single Adults (YSA) attending a devotional on November 21 at Urdaneta Stake in Pangasinan. “Brother Wilcox’s words reminded me how foolish I was back then when I always relied on my own ways rather than His,” intimated Hans Sagabaen, an Aaronic Priesthood holder from Urdaneta 2nd Ward. “Following His ways has shown me that genuine happiness can only be found through Him.”

In Curitiba, Brazil, 4,330 members from the temple district, supported by a choir of 1,700 voices, presented a most inspirational program through song, dance, and video. The enormous soccer stadium where the event took place was filled with spectators. The wind had been blowing, and rain threatened. I offered a silent prayer asking Heavenly Father to look with mercy upon those who had prepared so diligently for our entertainment and whose costumes and presentations would be damaged if a heavy rain or wind enveloped them. He honored that prayer, and it wasn’t until the end of the show and later on that evening that rain fell in abundance.
A history of the Church in Brazil was portrayed in song and dance. A particularly moving scene was the portrayal of Elders James E. Faust and William Grant Bangerter, who served as missionaries in Curitiba in 1940. As their photos were displayed on large screens, a tremendous cheer went up from the audience. All in all, it was a glorious event.

If his father is wise, his boy’s early years will be filled with stories of the experiences of the missionaries of the past. He should begin by telling of his own ancestors, to give the boy knowledge that mission adventures are not the exclusive property of the leaders but that the followers had equally miraculous adventures. But, of course, he will want to learn of the heroic journey of Samuel H. Smith and his companion from Far West on an eastern missionary journey. He will want to learn of the missionary journey of Heber C. Kimball and Brigham Young when they, ill from fever, arose from their beds and started out, how Brother Kimball was poisoned and was saved by the loyal work of his companion, and how they miraculously found money in the purse, just enough for each day’s journey. But he will need to know, too, that today with our affluence he may not find money; he will find something far richer—the great joy that comes from seeing people’s lives miraculously changed as they accept the gospel.

I got a blessing that said if I read the Book of Mormon before I turned eight, I could gain a strong testimony. Now I read the scriptures every day, and I am gaining a testimony!
Grayson C., age 7, Arizona, USA

I attended the general Young Women broadcast in 2005 with my three sisters and our mom. Our family is from the Chicago area, and it was the first time we had been inside the Conference Center. I was amazed at how many young women were there together. I was used to watching the broadcast in a dark stake center with a few other young women and leaders.
This time, participating in the meeting, it felt different. When we sang the closing hymn, “As Zion’s Youth in Latter Days” (Hymns, no. 256), I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of young women singing with me. These were young women who had committed to make right choices, hold the same high standards, and continue through life in faith.

For 20 years, Brother Huang Juncong struggled with alcohol, cigarettes, and compulsive gambling. When introduced to Jesus Christ and His restored gospel, Brother Huang desired to change for the sake of his young family. His greatest challenge was smoking. A heavy chain-smoker, he had tried to quit many times unsuccessfully. One day these words from the Book of Mormon lodged in his mind: “with a sincere heart, with real intent.” Though previous attempts had failed, he felt perhaps he could change with help from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

The full-time missionaries united their faith with his and provided an action plan of practical interventions, along with heavy doses of prayer and studying the word of God. With sincerity and real intent, Brother Huang acted with faithful determination and found that as he focused more on the new habits he wished to develop, such as studying the Book of Mormon, he focused less on the habits he wanted to lose.

Recalling his experience from 15 years ago, he remarked, “I don’t remember when exactly I quit smoking, but as I tried hard every day to do the things I knew I needed to do to invite the Spirit of the Lord into my life and kept doing them, I was no longer attracted to cigarettes and have not been since.” Through applying the teachings of the Book of Mormon, Brother Huang’s life has been transformed, and he has become a better husband and father.

On the other hand, those who can serve and don’t, often have regrets. Take the case of the doctor who said, “In college I told my friends that my mission was to become a doctor. So while my classmates took two years out to serve the Lord, I continued my studies. Now, 30 years later, and with perfect hindsight, I can plainly see the score. Whereas I was able to relieve the physical suffering of people two years sooner than my friends who went on missions, they relieved the spiritual suffering. My medical relief lasted only a few years, but their spiritual relief will last throughout the eternities. There is no difference now in my medical practice and the practice of my friends who went on missions. I see now that I was short-sighted and selfish.”

Brother Raja Doraiswamy called Brother Sunil and asked if he could join him in ministering to Brother Paul Mahendran and Lawrence. Brother Sunil was tired but enthusiastically said he would be delighted to join. Paul was not available, so they decided to go to Brother Lawrence’s house.
Brother Lawrence had not been attending church for quite some time. Efforts were made to encourage him to come back, but Brother Lawrence needed more time. Brother Raja and Sunil met him and his wife. They invited them again to church. Brother Raja said, “If you can find the richness of the gospel elsewhere, you can go, but if you know the Church has all that you need for your salvation and happiness, then please come back.” His wife admitted that no other church gives peace than The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As part of their ministering efforts, Brother Raja and Brother Sunil were inspired to share a part of the general conference talk given by Elder Uchtdorf titled “Believe, Love, Do,” discussing with this family about imperfect people, but they are welcoming, loving, kind, and sincere people as they strive to build and help one another to improve and draw closer to the Lord, our Savior, even Jesus Christ.
The invitation was given and testimonies borne. Questions like, “Why you did not come?” “Are you reading your scriptures?” “Are you praying?” etc. were not asked, but inspired testimonies were borne. An invitation was given for them to come back to church.
There were moments of anxiousness when Sunday came. Brother Raja looked around to see if Lawrence and his family were present. To his utter astonishment, he saw Brother Lawrence and his wife at church! His heart was lifted up in gratitude for being an instrument in God’s hands to help his brother come back. He remembered the verse “when thou are converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32). He just followed what Jesus wanted him to do. Likewise, Brother Sunil also was anxious to see if they had come. After seeing them he said, “Indeed I was very happy to see Brother and Sister Lawrence at church, and I feel confident that they will stay strong and active, showing examples to others around them.”
Both these brethren have not stopped dreaming. Their next ministering efforts is focused to bring back their sons and his sister’s family. Brother Raja always in his teachings and talks has emphasized M, meaning, “Ministering to members will bring miracles.” This testimony has come true and Brother Raja believes and is confident that if members do ministering diligently, then miracles will follow.
Brother Raja Doraiswamy and Sunil are from the Lingarajpuram Ward, Bengaluru Stake.

My father and grandfather laid their hands upon my head at this time and gave me a blessing, and for the first time in my life I really felt the power of the priesthood. A comforting, warm feeling came into my heart, and a value, the quality of hope, entered my life. I can truly say that hope is a real force that can lift the spirit. With hope and the Spirit of God, one may overcome any barrier that may get in the way.

“See you later, Mom!” Trevor said as soon as sacrament meeting was over. Trevor couldn’t wait to get to Primary. He walked as fast as he could toward his classroom.
“Walker, Ethan, wait up!” he called. Trevor’s friends slowed down so he could catch up.
Trevor and his friends were always in a hurry to get to class. They liked being together, and their teacher, Sister Goodell, gave great lessons with stories and activities. After class, they liked to hurry to the Primary room and sit in the little Sunbeam chairs before the leaders had a chance to put them away. Sister Dolan, the Primary president, would tell them to sit in the big chairs. The boys would tease her a little bit and shake their heads, then laugh and move to the back row. Trevor loved all the familiar jokes, the familiar scripture stories, the familiar friends, and the familiar songs of Primary.
But something was unfamiliar today. Somebody new was in his classroom—a quiet girl that Trevor had seen around school.
“Boys,” Sister Goodell said, “This is Jana.”
Jana smiled shyly.
Sister Goodell smiled too and asked, “Jana, would you like to say the prayer?”
Jana looked embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said quietly, “I don’t know how.”
Jana was quiet for the rest of the lesson. She didn’t have her own scriptures, and she didn’t know the answers to any of Sister Goodell’s questions. Trevor wondered if Jana was worried because there was so much to learn.
“She can watch the rest of us to see how to act,” he thought.
When class was over, Jana stayed close to Sister Goodell and went straight to the Primary room while Trevor and his friends got a drink. When Trevor walked into the Primary room, he was disappointed to see that the little chairs had already been put away. He and his friends would have to wait until next week to play their favorite joke. He sat down near Jana so she could watch him and see what to do.
He was surprised when Sister Dolan said, “Before we start, I want to thank Jana for being such a great example. She came in and helped me put away the little chairs without even being asked.”
Suddenly Trevor felt embarrassed. He realized that his favorite joke wasn’t very reverent and probably wasn’t very funny to Sister Dolan. He watched Jana during sharing time and noticed that she listened quietly when Trevor would have been playing with the bookmark in his scriptures or whispering to his friends. During singing time, he noticed that even though Jana didn’t know the songs, she had learned some of them by the end because she paid such close attention. When it was time to go, Jana walked up to Sister Dolan and told her that she liked her sharing time lesson. Trevor had never done that, not ever!
Trevor thought about Primary and Jana’s example for the rest of the day. Jana was helpful. She was reverent. She was thoughtful. She understood what to do at church better than Trevor did, and she had never come before. Trevor knew that he still had a lot to learn in Primary. He hoped Jana would come back soon and they could learn it all together.

When I was a young man, my parents joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We knew that the missionaries had been teaching them, but my parents had taken the missionary lessons alone.
After this surprising announcement, my brothers and I began to listen to the missionaries as well, and they each received the message of the Restoration with gladness. Although I was curious, my heart was not into changing my life. I did, however, accept the challenge to pray about whether the Book of Mormon was the word of God, but I did not receive an answer.
You might ask why Heavenly Father did not answer that prayer; I certainly wondered. I have learned since that the promise made by Moroni is accurate. God does answer our prayers about the truthfulness of the gospel, but He answers them when we have “a sincere heart” and “real intent.” He does not answer just to respond to our curiosity.
May I return to my personal story. Eventually I began to be sincere. I remember when the missionary who was teaching me asked if I was ready to be baptized. I replied that I still had some questions. This wise missionary told me that he could answer them but that I would have to answer his question first. He asked me if the Book of Mormon was true and if Joseph Smith was a prophet. I told him that I did not know, but I wanted to know.
My questions led to increased faith. For me, the answer came not as an event but as a process. I noticed that as I did “experiment upon [the] words” and began to “exercise a particle of faith,” the Book of Mormon became “delicious to me” and it did “enlighten my understanding” and truly did “enlarge my soul.” Eventually I had that experience the scriptures describe as a swelling within your breast. It was at this point that I desired to be baptized and to commit my life to Jesus Christ.

A few weeks after being confirmed as a member of the Church, I was called as a counselor in the Sunday School presidency of the Guynemer Ward in the Brazzaville Stake, the only stake in the Republic of Congo at the time. I remember one Sunday trying to lead a discussion on family history and the need to be sealed to ancestors.
Because of my little knowledge about this doctrine, the bishop came to my rescue—explaining the work performed in the temple and the need for us to do family history and to bring the names of our ancestors to the temple for sacred ordinances to be done on their behalf. Because of the bishop’s inspired remarks, supported with appropriate scriptures, we all came to an understanding of the doctrine.

Boy, was it snowing now! Little snowflakes had fallen off and on all day, but up until now the roads had been clear. Grandpa’s ranch, where we were going for Thanksgiving, was on the Smithfork River. There are no major roads in that part of the Colorado Rockies, just little two-lane highways.
“Would you look at that cloud!” Dad’s voice startled us in the quiet car.
Connie and I scooted to the middle of the back seat and squinted between my parents. Looming in front of us, completely covering old Saddle Mountain, was a cloud as black as a cellar.
“I don’t think we’d better be on the road when that thing rolls off the mountain,” Dad said almost too quietly. “If I cut across Missouri Flats, we can be at Grandpa’s in thirty or forty minutes and maybe beat that thing.”
“But isn’t that a gravel road?” Mom asked.
“Yes, but I know it well, and it’s all snowpacked just like this.”
“Let’s just hurry, Mac. Only don’t have an accident.”
I alternated watching out the side windows and watching the monster cloud out the front. The wind started blowing, and when it came, it didn’t come all nice and gradual. It came like a wall and jolted the car. Suddenly the back of the car fishtailed, and we were all thrown to the passenger side. Dad immediately slid back under the steering wheel and restarted the motor, but we sank deeper into the soft snow despite all Dad’s efforts.
“Mac?” Mom’s voice was hardly a whisper.
“We’re OK,” Dad replied. “We have our lap robes to help us keep warm, and I don’t think we’re far from the old Dietche place. We ought to be able to go there for help if this doesn’t let up soon.”
“There’s a stockmen’s advisory and travelers’ warning for the mountain regions tonight and tomorrow,” the radio droned a half hour later. “The first major storm of the winter is descending on most of Colorado, with high winds and heavy snow expected—”
Dad snapped off the radio and grinned at us. “OK, this is going to be great!” He sounded exuberant. “This may be our grandest adventure yet.” (Whenever things went wrong, Dad called it an adventure.) “Just up the hill and off to the right is a sturdy barn belonging to Mr. Dietche. It’s nice and tight against the wind and probably has some hay in it. We can stay warm there for a long time. Lilly, hand me the flashlight and matches in the glove compartment, please. I’ll carry them. Connie, I want you to hold my hand with one of yours, and your mother’s with the other. Michael will hold Mother’s other hand; then you all follow me. Whatever you do, don’t let go of anyone’s hand. Do you understand me? Don’t let go for anything!”
We kind of dragged each other through the snow. Even Dad fell a few times. I don’t know how Dad found the barn. I didn’t see it until we were actually inside the half-open double doors on the sheltered side of the structure.
The barn was dark and smelled of musty hay and animals, but the wind didn’t blow through it. We shut the doors, and Dad flicked on his flashlight. Next to me something shuffled, heaved a sigh, and gave a terrible moan. I jumped, Connie screamed, and Dad spun his flashlight into the sober face of a brown and white cow. “Well, it looks like we have company,” he chuckled.
“She scared me,” Connie giggled.
Dad began to explore. Soon he shouted, “Hey, look what I found!” and started fussing with an object on the floor.
It was an old kerosene lantern, and it was almost full of oil. In a few moments a dim but steady light illuminated our surroundings. One entire end of the barn was filled with baled hay. The five stalls were large, clean, and empty, so the cow was apparently a temporary resident also.
“Look out below!” This time Dad’s voice echoed from the dark loft above. A large mound of hay whooshed onto the middle of the floor. Several smaller piles followed irregularly. The hay dust billowed through the barn, and we all started sneezing. Dad scrambled down the wood ladder, saying, “Now I need everyone’s help with the rest of our accommodations.” He was really having fun.
We hauled bales of hay into the middle stall and built a wall of them higher than its wooden ones. We found loose pieces of wood, laid them across the top, then covered them with armloads of hay. We spread more loose hay on the floor. When it was about two feet thick, Mom spread two lap robes on one side of the stall, crawled onto the far side of them, and lay down. “Come on, Connie—you next. When we’re all in, we’ll put the other two robes over us, then pull the rest of the hay on top to keep us warm.”
“This really is an adventure,” I laughed as I crawled in next to my sister. “Come on, Dad.”
“Just a minute. I’ve one more thing to do.”
The doorway darkened as Dad reappeared and backed into our homemade cave, leading the cow. “We don’t want her to get cold, do we?” he asked. “Besides, we need her body heat in here.”
The cow lay at the far side of the stall. Dad closed the stall door, turned the lantern off, lay down, and we all helped get the other lap robes and hay over us. It was real dark, and I could hear the cold wind blasting outside, but I was beginning to feel very warm and cozy.
“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, …” Mom started to sing.
“But, Mom, it’s not even Thanksgiving,” I protested.
“No, but like Joseph and Mary, we’re travelers, too, Son,” Dad said quietly. “And this is a sort of stable, and we even have a cow. I think that it’s just the right kind of song for us tonight.”
Mom sang it again, then “Silent Night,” then a Spanish carol.
When I awoke, everyone was gone. “Mom! Dad!” I shouted.
“We’re all up here, Michael,” Connie yelled from the loft.
I groped around, trying to get out of the hay, and fell against the warm back of the old cow. She just looked around at me—sort of pleadingly, I thought—and didn’t even moo. I scrambled up the ladder to where my family stood. The loft door was open, and I could see that the snow had drifted so high that it was only a few feet below the loft floor. The wind had stopped, but huge snowflakes continued to fall rapidly.
“I’m hungry,” Connie complained.
Nobody had a satisfactory answer for that, so we just stared at the snow again.
“That bump over there must be our car,” Dad said as he sighted down his arm.
“There’s no way to get there right now, Mac,” Mom said.
“No, I suppose not.”
“There’s nothing to eat there, anyway, except two candy bars in the trunk. I was saving them for the ride home,” Mom added.
Just then the cow gave a long, low bellow.
“That’s it!” Dad cried. “You guys wait here. I have to see if I can find something.”
Mom began to smile, but she wouldn’t tell us what Dad was doing. We could hear him rummaging in the stalls and bins. After a while, he called, “Michael, come here. I need a hand.”
I scrambled down the ladder, feeling very important that Dad needed me. He was holding the cow’s halter with one hand, a bucket with the other.
“Come on, Mike, we’re going to get breakfast. Take this pail and ladle and clean them out with snow. This old girl is hurting. She needs to be milked, so we’ll help her and have some warm, fresh milk as our reward.”
I was sort of dubious, but milk did sound better than candy for breakfast. Besides, Dad had grown up on a farm and knew what he was doing. “OK,” I said, “I’ll get these as clean as I can.”
Soon the milk was pounding into the old bucket. As it rose in the pail, Dad adjusted his grip a little. “Milkers always develop a strong grip,” he said, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”
I was tired of watching and getting hungrier by the minute. I thought that if Dad would show me how, I could both help him and divert my thoughts from my own stomach. Boy—I learned fast just how strong a farmer has to be! Besides my hands cramping on me, my back began to ache from hunching over to reach the udder. I leaned my head against the cow’s warm flank. She didn’t move, and it helped ease my back.
When we were done, we put the cow into another stall with some more loose hay. Then we all sat on our blankets and bowed our heads while Dad thanked Heavenly Father that we were safe and warm and that we had this milk. He blessed it and also prayed that Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t worry too much and that we might soon be with them. Then we all took turns drinking milk. Connie said that warm milk sounded yucky, but she drank more than anybody else—and I drank four ladlefuls!
The barn was really neat. I found another bucket, and we melted snow in it for us and the cow. I also found a broken file, a bridle bit, and an old currycomb. I brushed the cow real good late in the afternoon, after Dad and I milked her again. Dad said that you didn’t normally curry cows, but it was all I could think to do for her having given us her milk. Connie felt the same way, so I let her help.
The next morning it had stopped snowing, and Mr. Dietche came on his snowmobile, looking for his cow. He hauled us out on his snowmobile and a sled, and we were at Grandpa’s ranch in no time. Grandma had saved Thanksgiving dinner, so we had it that night, after Dad and I helped Grandpa milk his cows. The turkey and potatoes sure tasted good, but what I’ll always remember is the milk from our Thanksgiving cow.