Gospel Story Finder

“Whose bright idea was it to come down in this dungeon?” Amy asked.
Just moments before, the debaters had been trying to study together in the school library, preparing for the state tournament that afternoon. The distractions became unbearable, so at Darin’s suggestion, they had relocated to the basement, in a secluded room the librarian said was only used occasionally, for tutoring.
“Excuse me?” Darin questioned.
“She’s referring to your idea of coming down here,” Jodi said, looking up from her book.
“Do you have a better idea?” Darin snapped back. It was like that with the debate team. Sometimes it seemed they couldn’t have any kind of conversation without turning it into a discussion of pros and cons.
“Hey, we’re leaving soon anyway. At least now I can hear myself think,” Brent jumped to Darin’s defense.
“I don’t understand what the problem with the library was,” Matt added. The debate continued. First, about how ugly and cold the room was. Then about Social Security, the topic of the tournament. Then movies, then … They were the intellectually elite of the school, skilled at making arguments. Getting any of them to back down was next to impossible.
The classroom door slowly opened. A young man entered and observed them carefully. They seemed oblivious to his presence.
“Excuse me,” he finally said.
“Did you need something?” Jodi said. She acknowledged his presence but was too caught up in the group discussion to be bothered.
“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet my math tutor down here. The principal sent me.”
“We’ll be done in a minute,” Matt said without looking up.
The young man eyed the others, then found a seat on the opposite side of the room. He chuckled to himself as he listened to their arguments. He recognized Darin and Matt as two of the smartest students in the school. He was definitely out of his league.
The ground beneath his feet suddenly seemed to move. The arguing stopped. The lights flickered. Then things crashed around them. Amy screamed as a large beam dropped from the ceiling, forcing her to the ground. Her arms flailed out, grabbing empty air for some support.
“Get under something!” the young man yelled as he dove for the ground. A sharp pain took him by surprise as the corner of a desk crashed into his head. A pipe burst, showering the room with cold water. It was totally dark.
Almost as quickly as it had begun, the room stopped shaking. The teenagers sat petrified for a moment as the gushing water slowed to a trickle before stopping.
Everything was suddenly silent. Thick dust drifted in the cool air, making it hard to breathe. Finally someone spoke, “Is everyone all right?”
The voice was answered with a muffled groan, a couple of coughs, and someone crying.
“What happened?” another voice asked.
Jodi stood up, spilling ceiling tiles and other debris into the puddle below her. “I think we just had an earthquake.”
Amy whispered in quiet, scared gasps, “Help me!”
The young man heard her cry. “Where are you?”
“Please hurry!” came the weak reply.
He kneeled down and began searching. His heart jumped as his hand finally fell on her cold arm.
“Please help. It hurts so bad!”
“It’s okay. Everything is going to be all right!”
He found the heavy ceiling beam resting across Amy’s small frame. He tested its weight and lifted. Slowly it rose. Amy cried out.
“You’ve got to push yourself free!” he gasped.
He was answered by short gasps of pain and fear. The burning in his muscles was overwhelming, telling him he couldn’t hold the beam up much longer. Just then someone startled him.
“I can help.”
“Pull her out of the way,” he managed to gasp. “Be careful; she’s hurt!”
Amy let out another cry as she was pulled to safety.
“Amy, it’s Jodi. You’re going to be all right!”
The strength in his fingers gave out, and he let the wood crash to the floor.
Brent soon found his way to Amy’s side.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere. It really hurts to breathe,” Amy said softly.
Darin found his way to the others.
“The door’s stuck,” he informed them. “It won’t budge.”
“Looks like we’ll have to wait until someone finds us,” Jodi sighed.
“It better be soon,” Brent said matter-of-factly. “We need to get Amy some help.”
They became quiet as they contemplated their situation. Amy broke the silence with her quiet voice, “What’s your name?”
The young man realized she was speaking to him.
“Reegan.”
“Thank you, Reegan,” her voice trailed off.
“No problem,” Reegan replied, “just try not to talk.” He found Amy’s hand. It was cold and weak but still managed to close around his own.
“Where’s Matt?” Darin asked, suddenly remembering they hadn’t accounted for everyone.
“Over here,” came a reply from across the room. “I’m trying to find my backpack. My flashlight’s in it.”
The group settled down in the dark, listening. The floor was wet and cold, and the dark, dirty air stuck to them.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Jodi asked fearfully.
“Oh, sure. They’ll have us out of here in no time,” Brent responded, a little uncertainly.
“Hey, Reegan, way to pick the right time for tutoring!” Darin said.
“No kidding,” Reegan said. “If I had known it was going to be like this in here, I’d have stayed upstairs.”
“I found it!” Matt cried.
Suddenly a large circle of light appeared on Reegan’s head. He squinted. The light bobbed around the room. The ceiling tiles were now all about them on the floor, exposing old pipes, beams, and wires. Then with a clank the light disappeared.
“Oh no, I dropped it!” Matt said. He reached for the flashlight, found it, and pushed the button. Nothing happened. He pushed it again, and his spirits dropped.
“Way to go, klutz!” Brent grumbled.
“Hey, Houdini, why don’t you pull a flashlight out of your hat,” Matt shot right back.
The fireworks began. The room, no longer silent, echoed the irritation as the debaters took turns blaming each other for their predicament. Finally Reegan let out a piercing whistle. The room quieted immediately.
“Hey, you guys. I know we’re all scared, but I really don’t think anyone here caused the earthquake,” he said.
“Well, God sure picked a nice time to give us a jolt,” Jodi said smugly.
“Oh, please. Do we really need your religious mumbo-jumbo to explain why the ground started shaking?” Brent asked.
“You believe what you want; I’ll believe what I want,” Jodi answered.
“Show me some proof, and I’ll believe anything,” Darin said.
Reegan chuckled. His memory returned to a few nights before when he sat in the home of a young couple. He’d been with the missionaries on splits. In the home he remembered hearing the same statement about showing proof.
“What’s so funny?” Darin asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking it would be tough to show you guys anything,” Reegan said.
Time seemed to stop in the empty darkness. The group sat impatient and anxious, each engrossed in thought. Reegan closed his eyes as he silently prayed for help.
“Someday when we’re out of here, you’ll have to show me your proof of God, Jodi,” Darin finally said.
“Maybe we won’t get out of here, and you’ll be able to see him yourself.”
“What do you think, Reegan? You a churchgoer?” Brent asked.
“Well, yeah,” Reegan said.
“What church do you go to?” Brent asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Hey, I’m a Mormon too,” Matt said excitedly. “But I haven’t been to church since I was little.”
“That’s too bad. It’s an all-right place to be.”
“I think anyplace would be better than here,” Darrin moaned. “So what exactly do Mormons believe?”
“You want the condensed version?”
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere soon.”
Reegan took a deep breath. Then he recited the Articles of Faith. The group sat in silence and let the statements sink in.
“You know, I don’t mean to be rude or arrogant,” Jodi said, “but I am one of the top students in the school. I’ve studied all kinds of religions, and science just doesn’t seem to support any of them. What does that tell you?”
“I think it’s wonderful that you’ve become so knowledgeable about things of this world,” Reegan answered. “But you’d be even wiser to keep in mind that maybe—just maybe—there’s some truth to what I’ve just told you.”
“Only an idiot would believe something just because someone tells them it’s true,” Darin said, building a defense. “We’re debaters. We’re skeptical by nature. We want cold, hard facts.”
“Let me ask you something then, Darin,” Reegan said. “Who taught you how to read?”
“My parents.”
“How do you know they taught you the right way?”
Darin laughed. “Because when I open a book and see all those letters, my mind can transform them into words. Where are you going with this?”
“Patience, Darin. When you were learning to read, you had to trust your parents as they taught you the alphabet. Also, when they taught you the sounds and uses of each letter and then taught you to recognize those letters and words in simple sentences, you had to believe them. How long was it before you could read without their help?”
“A while. So what?”
“There weren’t any cold, hard facts involved in learning to read. You learned because you initially trusted that your parents knew how and would teach you. Now look at the great advantages you have gained through reading; it’s opened many doors for you. My church’s beliefs are kind of like that. We don’t start out with a complete knowledge. We learn it and earn it. I can’t debate truth with you, and I can’t make you believe what I believe—nor should I be able to. What I can do, what we can all do, is share what we know with others. Take them by the hand for those first few steps and let them see for themselves if it’s right or wrong.”
“Let’s just say for argument’s sake that there is a God and that this gospel you describe is true. Then why doesn’t everybody know it?” Brent asked. “It doesn’t seem fair that only a few people should be privileged.”
“You guys know what foods are good for you and which aren’t,” Reegan said. “You probably even know what size portions of certain things to eat to help you remain healthy, right? But do you suppose there are people in this world who are so hungry that they’ll eat anything, even if it’s not good for them?”
The group agreed.
“Well, that doesn’t make the knowledge of nutrition that you have untrue. But it does give you the opportunity to share it. It’s the same with the gospel. People are hungry for truth, so hungry they just want to be fed. Unfortunately there are others who take advantage of that hunger and use it for their own gain.”
“That’s kind of a cool concept,” Brent said.
“Hey, I’m completely serious when I tell you it’s just what I know,” Reegan answered. “I don’t want to debate or argue about it. If there’s one thing that can’t be argued, it’s the truth.”
“Come on, guys,” Darin said. “You’re not buying this, are you?”
No one responded.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to offend anybody,” Reegan apologized.
“You didn’t,” Amy added quietly. “We’re used to opposing points of view.”
Darin sighed his disgust in the darkness. Just then Reegan felt a cold hand on his arm.
“Will you please pray for us?” Amy asked weakly.
Suddenly fear sprang into Reegan’s heart. They were all so much smarter than he was. How could he pray in front of them? But quickly the hesitation vanished. Of course he would pray.
“Is that okay with everybody?” he asked.
The response was affirmative, even from Darin. “It can’t hurt, I guess,” he said.
Reegan took a deep breath then began. He gave thanks to Heavenly Father for their safety. He asked for comfort and strength, that Amy might be all right until help arrived, and that she would recover quickly and fully. He then asked that they be found. He also asked that they each might learn to put their faith in God and recognize his hand in all good things. When he finished, Reegan felt the presence of the Holy Ghost. He hoped the others did too.
As the hours continued to pass, the gloom and hopelessness began to settle back in. What was happening on the outside remained a mystery. Stomachs growled from hunger. Parched lips burned for water. The musty air was turning stale. Amy’s labored breathing continued as each person slowly dozed off.
Then they heard a horrendous crash beyond the door. In an instant they were sitting up wide-eyed as could be. What sounded like a muffled chain saw ripped through the air. A thin sliver of light appeared under the doorway. Those who were able jumped to their feet. They pounded on the large steel door, hoping that someone on the other side would hear them.
The chain saw stopped. Then, after some tugging, the door swung open. They all squinted as bright light entered the room.
“He’s here!” a voice called out. There was a brief pause before the same voice called out in confusion. “And there are more!”
They were rescued.
A couple of weeks later Reegan opened the mailbox. The large goose egg on his forehead had all but disappeared, erasing the only evidence of the excitement of the weeks past. As he walked back toward his house, he opened an envelope addressed to him. He pulled out a large thank-you card and began reading.
“Hey, Reegan, thank you so much for saving my life. The doctor said that with my punctured lung it was a miracle I lasted as long as I did. If it hadn’t been for your faith, I wouldn’t be here today. Love, Amy.”
Another note read, “Reegan, you showed me your religion by your example, and what an impression it has made. Thank you for what you taught me that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. Matt.”
He continued reading. “Hey, Reegan, I just wanted to thank you. I hear the principal suddenly remembered she sent you down to the basement. Had she forgotten, we’d probably still be there. At any rate, we were the ones who needed tutoring that day. I’ve learned that love and compassion are more important than man’s knowledge. Thanks, Brent.”
Jodi had also scribbled a short message. “It’s amazing how my outlook on life has changed since our adventure. I think it really helped to get my world ‘shaken’ up. Love, Jodi.”
The final words were from Darin. “Hey, Reegan. I have to admit your example has taught me that, believe it or not, I don’t know everything. I’m beginning to see that there are things in life we just can’t learn about in school. I’m going to try to listen better. It’s nice to know a person like you. Oh, one more thing. Can I really debate with the two missionaries you’re bringing over?”
Reegan smiled to himself as he returned the card to the envelope. He envisioned himself on Darin’s porch with the elders.
“No, Darin. There’s no debate. But you can talk and listen all you want.”

Ericka sat in the back of the room. When the teacher asked questions, even if Ericka knew the answers, she never raised her hand. She was too shy. Instead, she’d duck her head behind her books to hide.
But today, she couldn’t hide. The teacher came and stood beside her desk.
“You don’t want to be captain for field day?” he asked, looking down at her.
Ericka slid down in her seat. “Not really.”
“But the class voted for you.”
Ericka bit her lower lip. “I’m not good at being in charge. Someone else could do it better.” She looked up. “Please ask Keith or Tara or …”
Mr. Folster patted her shoulder. “OK, we’ll get someone else.”
Ericka sat up straight and watched the hands of the clock tick off the minutes until recess.
Once out the door, her friend Lauri tugged her sleeve. “How come you don’t ever want to be captain?”
Ericka shrugged. “It’s hard for me to tell people what to do.”
“But you’re so good at sports, and the whole class wants you to be our captain.”
“It’s just …”
“Oh, forget it,” Lauri laughed as she ran to the swings. “It’s just like you to want to be invisible.”
Ericka walked over to the swings and sat in the one next to Lauri. She pumped hard, trying to get her toes to touch the leaves of a nearby tree.
Across the playground, some kids were jumping on tires that had been partially buried in the ground to form an obstacle course.
Pump. Pump. Pump. Up she went.
Jump. Jump. Jump. Across the playground, children sprang from one tire to the next.
Then she saw it—a duck. A very upset duck!
She dragged her feet to stop. “Lauri,” she called as her friend swept past on her downward swing. “There’s a duck.”
“Can’t be,” Lauri called back. “Ducks like water, not playgrounds.”
Ericka pointed. “There, by the tires.”
Lauri kept swinging.
Ericka slid off the swing and hurried over to the tires. The kids were still jumping; the duck, flapping its wings, waddled in front of the tires, squawking furiously.
Ericka peeked into the farthest tire. There was a nest with two light green eggs in it.
She held up her hands, motioning for the jumpers to stop. Nothing happened. “Please, Heavenly Father,” she silently prayed, “help me have the courage to help the duck save her nest.”
“Please stop,” she said quietly, “you’re scaring the duck.”
Jump. Jump. “We’re not hurting it.”
Jump. Jump. “Anyhow, it’s just a duck.”
“Just a duck!” Ericka’s voice was no longer soft. Hands on hips, chin thrust forward, she glared at her classmates. “It’s one of God’s creatures, just like you and me. And”—she pointed to the tire—“there are eggs in her nest. That’s why she’s so mad at you.”
The jumpers stopped. They’d never seen Ericka like this. She insisted that everyone move away from the tires, and she asked Mr. Folster, who was on playground duty, to find some way to keep the tires off limits.
Mr. Folster put a wide strip of yellow plastic around the tires. And the art teacher printed a sign: Stay Off—Mallard Nursery.
Each day, when the class checked the nest, there was one new egg. Then, after a few days, the mother duck never left the nest. She just stayed in the tire. The class worried that something was wrong, but Mr. Folster explained that everything was fine. The mother duck was just keeping the eggs warm until they hatched.
At last, there were seven little ducklings. Six were mottled brown with just touches of yellow. But one had a lot more yellow.
“That one is so different,” said Ericka. “Will it always be a different color?”
“No,” Mr. Folster answered. “When the ducklings get older, they’ll all look pretty much the same. That yellowish one, though, reminds me of you.”
“I don’t look like a duck,” Ericka giggled.
“No, but for a short time, you were willing to stand out from the crowd because of something you believed in.”

We all miss our beloved brother Elder A. Theodore Tuttle, who recently opened a new door to return to his heavenly home. His preparations in mortality had been fully completed for such a journey. He, too, like President Romney, stood in this tabernacle and spoke of adversity, adversity that he knew would come to each of us but that he may not then have known would come to him as early as it did.

He said:
“Adversity, in one form or another, is the universal experience of man. It is the common lot of all … to experience misfortune, suffering, sickness, or other adversities. Ofttimes our work is arduous and unnecessarily demanding. Our faith is tried in various ways—sometimes unjustly tried [it seems]. At times it seems that even God is punishing us and ours. One of the things that makes all this so hard to bear is that we ourselves appear to be chosen for this affliction while others presumably escape these adversities. …
“[But] we cannot indulge ourselves the luxury of self-pity” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1967, pp. 14–15; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1967, p. 47).

And now this mortal portion of Elder Tuttle’s journey is over. He closed that door and opened another. Now he walks and talks with the angels. And so, someday, will we close and open those same doors.

White Eagle stopped suddenly. He forgot the deer he had been trailing as he stared at a Conestoga wagon drawn up in the clearing. Instinct urged him to flee, but he was overwhelmed with curiosity. White Eagle had never seen the strange covered wagons except from a distance, and sometimes they were blurred by clouds of dust.
The Indian youth cautiously circled the clumsy boat-like vehicle. His dark eyes were glittering with excitement, but he was poised for instant flight. He had seen people traveling in wagon trains, one wagon behind the other, creeping like a string of ants across the plains. He wondered why just one wagon had stopped here. Was it abandoned? There were no horses nearby.
As he approached the rear of the wagon, he was startled by a sudden sound of crying. “If I had the sense of a groundhog, I would run away like the wind,” he murmured. His father, Chief Running Horse, had warned him about rashness many times. I’ll just peek inside quickly and then go, the bronzed youth decided, trying not to visualize his father’s stern and disapproving face.
Looking inside, White Eagle saw that it was a newborn baby who was making the strange crying sound. He stared from the baby to the young mother lying still. White Eagle wondered if she were dead, but her eyes opened in terror when White Eagle touched her feverish cheek with his cool hand. He quickly backed away and spread his hands apart, signaling that he meant no harm to her and the infant.
“Water … water. Please!” she whispered. White Eagle could not understand her, but her hot cheeks and cracked lips showed her need. He knew that the river was nearby, but White Eagle had nothing in which to carry water. He tried to convey this message by motioning with his hands.
The young mother weakly pointed to a round-top trunk near the front of the wagon. Then she made motions of drinking. Water in a box? She must be delirious from the fever.
Lifting the trunk’s lid, White Eagle found a shallow tray filled with small bundles. He handed one of the bundles to the sick woman and watched as she unrolled the cloth, revealing the most beautiful drinking vessel he had ever seen. Pretending to sip from it, she motioned outside and tapped the side of the wagon. Of course! She meant the barrels lashed to the wagon. White Eagle dashed out to a barrel and brought water in the cup. He lifted her head to help her drink.
Wonder filled his face as he looked at the delicate china cup. It was snow white, light as a bubble, and decorated with bright pink flowers. Gleaming gold scallops were all around the top. How he wished that he might have such a treasure! But he knew that it belonged to the woman; so he carefully placed it nearby where it would not be broken.
The woman grew more tired and visibly weaker as she tried to tell him by sign language what had happened. White Eagle understood that they had missed joining a wagon train because the young mother had become ill. After one horse ran away, her husband took the other horse and rode for help.
White Eagle’s scalp prickled with dread as the woman kept pushing the baby toward him. She wanted him to take her baby to his people! How could White Eagle make her understand that she was asking him to do something impossible? He was alone in the forest without food or weapons as a test of approaching manhood. If for any reason he went back before his allotted time, both he and his father, the chief, would be disgraced and White Eagle would fail his survival trial and prove himself unfit to be a brave!
Several times White Eagle prepared to leave, but he could not. Both mother and child would surely die without his help. Why had he, White Eagle, been saddled with such a problem? Had he already failed the test by having contact with the ill woman? Would he be forced to leave his tribe in disgrace?
Remembering the difficult days and nights he had already endured, White Eagle sighed with despair, but he could not just go away and leave the mother and baby to die. He knew that his mother would know how to make the young woman well again. His aunt had a young baby and she could easily care for this child too. If only this were the last day of his test and he could seek help from his family. But White Eagle had three more days of survival before he could return to his people!
Suddenly the boy thought of a solution—a way he might get help without going to the village. Taking one of the horse blankets from the wagon, White Eagle climbed to the top of the bluffs beside the river and built a fire of green brush. A thick column of smoke soon rose high, and he began to signal. White Eagle sighed with relief as he finally sighted puffs of smoke rising in reply from across the plains.
The boy stayed beside the wagon, giving sips of water to the sick woman. When he heard horses approaching, White Eagle fled into the forest and watched from a distance as his uncle, Red Feather, and several other braves dismounted. Red Feather noticed White Eagle’s moccasin tracks. The braves will not harm the woman and child; they are now in good hands, the boy decided as he turned and left.
When White Eagle returned to his snares, he found the first two untouched, but his stomach rumbled with anticipation as he saw a rabbit caught in the third. He had not eaten since the evening before. Although he had prepared warm gruel from food in the wagon for the sick woman, White Eagle did not eat. According to the test, he was to provide and prepare his own food. The woman was very ill and had slept most of the time. No one would have known if he had cheated, but it was a matter of honor that he did not.
Rising at dawn three days later, White Eagle prepared to return to his people. He sorted and rolled his possessions in a deer hide, which when cured would make new moccasins and a shirt. He had come into the forest without food or weapons; he was returning with the deer hide, many small animal pelts, a bow, arrows, sharp bone knives and scrapers he had made, and a handsome claw necklace. He knew he had earned the bright feathers his father would thrust into his beaded headband—unless helping the white woman and child had violated the conditions of his test! That worry nagged at him.
A muted drumbeat signaled his approach as White Eagle entered the village. The women came out of their tepees and smiling braves watched as the youth approached the chief’s lodge. Small boys and dogs excitedly trailed along behind him.
As his father stepped out of his lodge, there was pride, not disapproval, reflected in the chief’s eyes. The tribe gathered around, and each one watched with respect as the youth opened his bundle and displayed the pelts and the weapons.
White Eagle stood straight and tall when his father began to speak. “An Indian brave may collect many feathers, but according to our laws he cannot wear them until he wins that right. White Eagle not only passed his test, but he showed compassion and saved two lives. We know this because we saw the grateful white man drive the wagon away only yesterday with his wife beside him and their child cradled in her arms. White Eagle has earned the right to wear the feather prized above all others—that of the golden eagle, which represents this bird’s great strength and courage.”
White Eagle caught his breath as the chief removed a magnificent fourteen-inch feather from his ceremonial headdress and tucked it into his son’s headband. From the feather’s white color and dark brown tip, the new brave knew that it was one of the thirteen tail feathers of the adult eagle. These prized feathers were considered to possess great medicine. White Eagle had not expected such an honor!
There were gasps of astonishment as White Eagle’s mother emerged from the tepee with a jewel-like drinking vessel balanced on a matching saucer, the gold trim glistening in the sunlight. She told White Eagle the cup was a gift to him from the young mother.
“Such a vessel belongs only to a chief,” White Eagle said, handing the delicate set to his father. “Someday when I have proved worthy, I will reclaim it.”

“Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, 8th, 9th, and 10th of July.—I was with the Twelve selecting hymns, for the purpose of compiling a hymn book.
“About this time much sickness began to manifest itself among the brethren, as well as among the inhabitants of the place, so that this week and the following were generally spent visiting the sick and administering to them …
“Sunday, 21.—There was no meeting on account of much rain and much sickness, however many of the sick were this day raised up by the power of God, through the instrumentality of the Elders of Israel ministering unto them in the name of Jesus Christ.
“Monday and Tuesday, 22nd and 23rd.—The sick were administered unto with great success, but many remain sick, and new cases are occurring daily.
“Sunday, 28.—Meeting was held as usual. Elder Parley P. Pratt preached on the gathering of Israel. In the afternoon Orson Pratt addressed the Church on the necessity of keeping the commandments of God. I spoke, and admonished the members of the Church individually to set their houses in order, to make clean the inside of the platter, and to meet on the next Sabbath to partake of the Sacrament, in order that by our obedience to the ordinances, we might be enabled to prevail with God against the destroyer, and that the sick might be healed.
“All this week chiefly spent among the sick, who in general are gaining strength, and recovering health.”6

One cold winter morning when I was about eleven years old, I woke up with the strongest feeling that something was wrong. I went upstairs to see my parents, but they weren’t there. In about five or ten minutes the phone rang, and it was my mother calling from the hospital. She told me that my father had been in a car accident.
My father worked late hours at a dairy that was an hour’s drive from home. That night he had had to stay past his usual quitting time. As he was driving home, he fell asleep and his car rolled about five times. My father was severely injured when he was thrown through the windshield. He landed in a puddle of mud and snow. The cold helped stop the bleeding, but when he was taken to the hospital, the doctors who examined him didn’t expect him to live.
I’ll never forget the bishop and his two counselors coming to our home that afternoon. They gathered our family together, and the bishop offered a prayer that my father’s life would be spared and that he would return to his normal health. As I listened to the prayer, I had a very warm, strong feeling that my father wouldn’t pass away.
He was in a coma for three weeks, but the bishop’s prayer was answered. In fact, a highway patrolman, a friend of my bishop’s, wrote a book in which he talked about the worst accident he had ever seen, in which the man’s life was spared. That man was my father.

While serving as an aide-de-camp to a major general in an army reserve unit, I found myself in many conversations with that remarkable military leader. He was not of our faith. “Pinnock,” he once said, “do you know how fortunate you Mormons are?” I replied by saying something like, “Yes, sir, but what are you thinking about?” He said, “A mission, Pinnock, that’s what it’s all about. Your young men are encouraged to go to serve others. They become stronger, more wise, and more dependable because of a mission.”

Brother Brigham then took his horse and sleigh to Canada after his brother Joseph, a circuit-riding Methodist preacher and missionary, and “told him what I had experienced of the power of God.”28 Joseph and Phineas and their father actually joined the Church a week before Brigham did, having traveled again to the little Mormon branch in Columbia. But then the same humble elder who had first touched Brigham with his testimony traveled from Columbia to Mendon and baptized Brigham on April 15, 1832—in his own little millstream behind his carpentry shop. Brigham’s record of the event helps us understand some of the reasons for the powerful changes that immediately began to take place in him:
“Before my clothes were dry on my back he laid his hands on me and ordained me an Elder, at which I marvelled. According to the words of the Savior I felt a humble, child-like spirit, witnessing unto me that my sins were forgiven.”29

Watch out for Apii’s feet!
With one well-placed kick, she could knock you over.

But Apii’s feet are only dangerous when she’s competing. In everyday life, Tereapii Rota, 16, of Tokorua, New Zealand, is a bright girl who serves her school as the representative to the board of trustees. But in her free time, she and her brother are trained by their father in the fine art of defense. She is so good at it that she won the junior women’s national championship in Tae Kwon Do. She was surprised by her success since it was the first time she had seriously competed.

Apii is the oldest of six children, and she and her ten-year-old brother are the most serious about training with their father. They belong to a sports club, but Apii often trains with the boys because there aren’t many women good enough to challenge her.

Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was fourteen and a half years old, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national victory.

When I was a Mia Maid, I noticed a less-active girl in the same class as I was. I sometimes saw her at school in the hallways, at Mutual activities, church, and even at girls’ camp. It seemed no matter how often I would see her, she looked unhappy. I knelt down one night and prayed for the strength to somehow help her.
The next day, I told myself I would greet her with a friendly “Hello!” But something inside held me back. So I passed her by and said nothing. As the days stretched on, the desire to help her increased. I knew I had to say something to her, and I wanted to do it soon.
I prayed several times in the early morning to gain the courage I needed. As I saw her walking down the hallway one day, I knew I had to act fast! I was afraid if I didn’t say something now, I would not be able to later. With a turn of my head, I faced her and said, “Hi!”
The instant results surprised me. Her face immediately lit up like a candle. I decided that from then on, I would make an honest effort to say kind words to her. Months went by, and I found she became one of my best friends.
I know that Heavenly Father was sending me a message the day I got the courage to go up and say “Hi!” We need to reach out to others and forget ourselves. We can pause for a moment to offer a kind word. We can ask, “How can I help someone smile today?” Heavenly Father will help. Don’t be afraid to ask. He will guide you and direct you in the path you should go.

In a ceremony presided over by Africa Area President Richard P. Lindsay, Eswatini’s first meetinghouse was dedicated in the capital city of Mbabane on 18 July 1993, just over a year after ground was broken for the building.
Two hundred Church members and leaders from Eswatini’s five branches attended the groundbreaking on 20 June 1992. At the ceremony, Elder Earl C. Tingey, also of the Africa Area Presidency, said the new meetinghouse would be a place where all could be taught how to live the gospel of Jesus Christ in their homes.
Several government officials also attended and spoke at the ceremony, including Enos Mavuso, the official representative of Prince Soblana. He said, “It is our prayer that the Church grows. I think that in heaven angels are happy.”
A year later, as he dedicated the new building, Elder Lindsay asked for God’s blessings that the building “be used as an instrument of Thy peace in this great land. May it be a symbol of Thy love for all Thy children. May all who worship Thee herein be touched by the spirit of true brotherhood and sisterhood, and through that spirit may they come to better know Thee and Thy Son, Jesus Christ.”
At the time of dedication, there were two branches in Mbabane with a total membership of 332. Other branches were beginning in Ezulwini, Manzini, and Nhlangano. Today there are over 2,100 members in the country and the Mbabane meetinghouse is still in use.1

When business meetings brought me to my childhood hometown of Mansfield, Massachusetts, I looked up the Web page of my old middle school. At the end of a list of current faculty members was Mrs. Christine Pfeil, my eighth-grade English teacher who was a truly influential person in my life.
When I was in eighth grade, difficulties at home left me angry and distracted from school responsibilities. Other teachers didn’t pay attention to my altered attitude and slipping grades, but Mrs. Pfeil took a personal interest. She would never accept less than my best. Often she would write on my assignments, “You can do better—try again.” Grudgingly, I would redo the assignment, thinking, “OK, you want something better? I’ll give you something better!” In her class, I felt intelligent and appreciated. When I left Qualters Middle School after eighth grade, I knew I could succeed scholastically because of Mrs. Pfeil’s belief in me.
As I looked at her name on the Web page that day, it suddenly seemed overwhelmingly important to tell her as soon as possible how she had influenced my life. I determined to find her, so at noon the next day, I excused myself from a business meeting and sped to Qualters.
I had just tried her locked classroom door when I saw Mrs. Pfeil walking down the hallway. “Carl Nelson!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in 25 years! What are you doing here?”
Impelled to deliver my message, I began abruptly. “I feel I need to tell you personally how important you were in my life. In eighth grade I was going through difficult times, but you expected my best. Precious few demanded that much from me then. As far as I can tell, your faith in me was the major reason I began trusting in my own abilities. I don’t know what my life would have been like without a teacher like you.”
As I spoke, Mrs. Pfeil’s eyes became wet. “I have to tell you a story,” she said. “I have always wanted to be a writer, even though I felt God wanted me to teach. Last night I was feeling hurt that I had never received any appreciation for my work. I told God that unless I received some thanks the very next day, I was going to retire from teaching and work on my writing. And now here you come after all this time to thank me on this particular day—this blessing is almost too much!”
Mrs. Pfeil and I were unable to talk longer. Her students began arriving, and I left, humbled that Heavenly Father let me share in helping one of His children. Reflecting upon my brief experience with Mrs. Pfeil, I remained impressed that no matter who we are or what church we belong to, our loving Father works in our lives to answer our prayers.

Newport Beach California Temple
The Newport Beach California Temple was dedicated on August 28, 2005, becoming the Church’s 122nd operating temple. Before the dedication more than 150,000 people attended the temple open house. Newport Beach stake president Weatherford Clayton said many visitors commented on the beauty of the temple. “I believe they can appreciate why it is an incredibly sacred building for us,” said President Clayton.
With more than 770,000 Church members California has the largest population of Latter-day Saints in one of the United States—except for Utah. The Newport Beach California Temple is the seventh operating temple in California, serving 50,000 members.

Jazlyn E., age 6, Washington, USA
I was scared to take swim lessons. I said a prayer to help me be brave enough to learn to swim. The Holy Ghost is the best!

When I was a young seminary teacher, one of my students approached me about her assignment to prepare a devotional for the class. She said she wanted to bring her married sister to class with a newborn daughter and have her sing a song about the child. I agreed.
On the day of the devotional, her sister announced the number, and my student accompanied her on the piano. Standing in front of the class, the young mother held her daughter in her arms and, looking at her, began to sing of her love for her daughter and her desire for her child to realize her potential as a child of God.
All the students were touched by what they saw and heard. It was a heavenly scene. I cannot talk about it today without having tender feelings surface.

The formal dance hosted by one Southern California stake in 2011 expanded to two stakes in 2012. Both stakes had youth who helped plan and carry out the event.
Evan S. was part of the planning committee and was also given a charge to get other youth excited about the dance. “I did all I could to try and make sure people knew it was going to be a fun event and that fun people would be there to make it the best it could possibly be,” he says.
The event was held on the estate of a stake member and gathered more than 300 youth. They loved the music, the modest dress, and the appropriate dancing. In addition to the dance, other activities included a photo booth, table tennis, and even a ball pit. And this was all provided at no cost to the youth. One nonmember who was invited to the dance exclaimed, “Your Church provides all this?!”
Darby C. loved going to the prom and sums up why most youth enjoy going to these dances. “It is wonderful,” she says. “I don’t have to worry about being uncomfortable about lyrics, dance moves, or inappropriate clothing.”

Eric, another son, describes his father’s example: “He has always gone to the real sources: the words of the prophets and the scriptures. He is bold but he listens. He will ask inspired questions and then listen to your answer, and then he will ask another inspired question. Once he was giving me something similar to a temple recommend interview when I was about 14. He asked me if I sustained President Ezra Taft Benson. I said that I did. And then, after a pause, he asked, ‘What have you read lately of what President Benson has said?’” The lessons from those inspired questions and others like them are still teaching Eric and his brothers.

A beloved hymn states, “The errand of angels is given to women; and this is a gift that, as sisters, we claim.”6 We have much to offer in lives of those we love. Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has shared stories of how the spiritual strength of two women affected his life:
“When I was a young child, my father was not a member of the Church and my mother had become less active. … Some months after my eighth birthday, Grandmother Whittle came across the country to visit us. Grandmother was concerned that neither I nor my older brother had been baptized. I don’t know what she said to my parents about this, but I do know that one morning she took my brother and me to the park and shared with us her feelings about the importance of being baptized and attending Church meetings regularly. I don’t remember the specifics of what she said, but her words stirred something in my heart, and soon my brother and I were baptized. …
“Grandmother used just the right amount of courage and respect to help our father recognize the importance of his driving us to the church for our meetings. In every appropriate way, she helped us to feel a need for the gospel in our lives.”7

When Marco was called as bishop, one of his first appointments was with Brother and Sister Peña (names have been changed). They both suffered from trauma related to abuse. Their resulting mental health challenges were acute. Both had previously experienced failed marriages and were doing their best to raise a blended family. Ongoing employment challenges made self-reliance a struggle. They wanted to go to the temple but didn’t qualify for recommends. One or the other always seemed to be in crisis.
Marco loved them, but it quickly became apparent that they needed more help than he was capable of providing alone.
Unfortunately, the Peñas were reluctant to allow the bishop to involve others. At the time, an expectation existed among many Church members that it was the bishop who was responsible for helping members through challenges like these. In addition, Marco was afraid that the Peñas would feel like they weren’t important to him if he asked someone else to help.
So Marco did the best he could. He visited. He counseled. He tried to connect them to needed mental health professionals. Marco and his wife went to self-reliance classes with them and helped them work through some financial challenges. While others in the ward also helped, the bishop spent countless hours with the Peñas. At the end of five years, they had been sealed, but they still struggled with most of the same long-term issues they had when they first visited with him.
Looking back, Marco says that both he and the Peñas misunderstood the role of the bishop. In addition, the three of them failed to trust the Relief Society and elders quorum presidents to fulfill their divinely appointed responsibilities to help members with these kinds of challenges. The result was that they limited the Lord’s blessings in the Peñas’ lives.