Gospel Story Finder

One day, Spencer was looking through the local newspaper. He came across the name of a girl he had met briefly prior to his mission.
Spencer: “Camilla Eyring.” That’s the girl I’m going to marry!
This feeling was so strong that Spencer decided he had to meet her again. He arranged to be on the same bus as she was.
Spencer: I hear you’re a teacher. What do you think of Shakespeare?
Camilla: What an excellent question. It’s nice to have an intelligent conversation.
Spencer had hoped to impress Camilla—and he did. When he asked to call on her, she consented. But she didn’t expect him to show up unannounced.
Camilla: Spencer! I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.
Spencer: You look lovely, Camilla.
Camilla: Don’t be silly. Give me time to get properly dressed.
Nevertheless, the two began dating. Spencer would pick Camilla up every day from her job and drive her home over five miles of potholes, dust, and gravel.
Camilla: You don’t have to pick me up. I can take the bus.
Spencer: But I want to. It gives me more time to talk with you.
Soon the two were very much in love. They decided to marry. Camilla’s father, who rarely approved of the boys who courted his daughters, gave his hearty consent.
Edward Eyring: You are a fine boy from a fine family. I’d be honored to have you as a part of ours.
Spencer: Thank you, sir. I love Camilla and will always treasure her.

“My husband’s family was very poor. His mother made rugs to sell at a store in a sparsely settled area, and his father tended sheep, cut firewood, and hauled water for the family,” explained the lovely young wife of this General Authority, while rocking a baby on her lap.
“There were ten in his family and they lived 24 kilometers from the nearest town in a remote desert area. There were no cars or running water. And the drinking water was often so bad that the people there would drink fruit juices and soda pop instead.
“When my husband was four years old, he became very ill and went into a coma. Everyone thought he had died. In fact, his body had been placed in a casket for burial. In a little while they heard a faint knocking on the inside of the casket. The child was alive! The casket was quickly reopened and the boy sat up. ‘I want a soda pop,’ he said.
Thereafter, he was known as the ‘soda pop child’. His parents have often said that after this experience he was a changed child. He was more responsible and would help tend the others in the family. He was concerned about others and seemed to be blessed with a special spirit.
“The main food for his family was fry bread made from biscuit dough, mutton stew, and often soda pop. Today, his favorite foods are anything hot and spicy that he can put pepper on.
“He herded sheep until the age of nine; then he was placed in boarding school. Since the people there could not pronounce his real name, they gave him an English one. The only problem was that they also gave three other children the same name. So there was a number one, two, three, and four with the same name.
“A Latter-day Saint missionary couple at the store baptized my husband when he was ten years old, and he attended Church services from that time on. He was selected to participate in the Church’s education program and was to be sent to Utah to live with a foster family and go to school. An hour before the bus was to leave, a friend, Brother Bloomfield, put a bowl on his head and gave him a quick haircut. All of his belongings were put into a shoe box—he had no shoes. There were more holes in the denim pants he was wearing than there was denim material. He was put on a bus at night, given two dollars by Brother Bloomfield, and told that he would arrive there by morning.”
At this point, I was thinking how difficult it must have been for that little boy to leave his family to go all alone on a bus to a place with a different culture where he knew no one. The only tie that he had with them was that he was a member of the Latter-day Saint Church.”
The General Authority’s wife continued: “On the first day at his new school in Utah the children all gathered around my husband. They had never seen an Indian before. ‘Where’s your war paint?’ they asked. ‘Where are your moccasins?’
“The new foster parents were concerned because their Indian son was so shy. In fact, the only words he spoke to them during the first three months were yes and no. At Christmastime they gave him some new clothes—two pairs of pants, four shirts, two pairs of socks, etc. The mother asked him to go upstairs and try them on. After quite a while he came downstairs with all of the shirts, pants, and socks on at the same time. It was difficult to get used to a new language and customs.
“Even though my husband is now very busy, he enjoys football and basketball. When he has spare time, which isn’t often, he loves to play the harmonica. Last Christmas he played for the General Authorities at their Christmas party.
“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”
His small children had these comments: “When Daddy comes home, he tells me that if I eat my dinner he’ll give me a ride on his back. Sometimes he’ll give my friend a ride too!”
“Dad is helping me to save money for my mission.”
“My daddy shows us how to clean. He always tells us to clean the counter after we wash the dishes.”
“He’s kind.”
“When he plays football with us, we all have to speak nicely.”
When asked about her husband’s favorite topic to speak on, she said, “He always says that we’re all God’s children, no matter what color we are, and that our church has no room for prejudice. When he speaks, he represents the whole Church, not just the Lamanite people.”

I looked up as my Primary teacher asked me to read a scripture.
I read, “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed … nothing shall be impossible unto you” (Matthew 17:20).
Our teacher held out her hand and showed us a tiny mustard seed. I started feeling excited. I definitely had that much faith. So nothing would be impossible? What a great way to live!
The next day I went to school with big plans. Things were going to be different from here on out. No more working hard for good grades. Not with faith on my side!
My math teacher walked to the blackboard. “Take out your notebooks. We have a lot to review for the test tomorrow.”
I wanted to laugh out loud. Why should I bother paying attention? I had faith! I relaxed at my desk and ignored the lesson. Who knew school could be this easy?
That night after dinner I helped Dad carry dishes to the sink. “Have any homework tonight?” he asked.
“Nope.” I almost told him more, but I decided to keep it a surprise for now. He’d be so proud of me once he learned how much faith I had.
“Wow, lucky you.”
I smiled. Oh yeah. I was feeling plenty lucky, all right.
The next morning Tia ran over as I got off the school bus.
“Hi!” she said. “Sorry I couldn’t come over last night. It took me forever to study for the test.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. I didn’t study at all.”
“What?” Nathan said. He’d just joined us. “You didn’t?”
“Nope. I don’t have to study to get an A. I have faith! Just wait and see.”
My friends were impressed.
When I got my test score later that afternoon, though, all my bragging stopped. I got an F! I couldn’t believe it. An F, as in fail. What about all my faith? What had gone wrong? I knew my faith was bigger than that shrimpy seed. I hid my grade from my friends.
Later that night I sat at the kitchen table, still confused. Dad sat down next to me. “Something wrong?”
I took a deep breath and told Dad the whole story. When I finished, he nodded slowly and said something I’d never forget: “Faith without works is dead.”
Then Dad taught me how faith really works. I learned that it’s not enough just to believe in something. I have to act too. That means I still have to do my part.
I went to bed that night with my pathetic math test on the floor next to me. I looked down at the big, fat, red F on top of the page. Dad was right. Expecting to do well without doing any work is like trying to grow a mustard plant without even planting the seed in the ground.
After that day, whenever there was a test, I still had faith. But this time I had faith that Heavenly Father could help me work hard and study and do my very best.
With this kind of faith, nothing really is impossible!

Elder Sheffield has been under the knife eleven times in major surgery and many more times in surgery lasting less than an hour. The greatest desire of his life was that the surgery would make him acceptable for a mission. A year before he entered the mission field, he had his final operation. Since he has been on his mission, he has averaged seventy to eighty hours a week in proselyting. He is greatly loved by all.
He has been a great blessing to missionaries who thought they had problems. In one interview his companion told me that Elder Sheffield’s shoulder separates and falls out of place quite often. When this happens he is in severe pain. It happens most often during the night. When I interviewed Elder Sheffield, I suggested that we put him in a local hospital here and have the doctors do what needed to be done to correct this problem. He looked me in the eye, and with a sternness seldom seen he said, “President, I have spent most of my life in hospitals, and when I complete my mission I am returning to several more major surgical operations. I promised the Lord that if he would let me serve a mission, I would not spend one day in the hospital during the two years no matter how sick I was or how much I suffered.”

One message of this parable is that God expects us to magnify the abilities we have been given, but He does not want us to compare our abilities to those of others. Consider this insight provided by the 18th-century Hasidic scholar Zusya of Anipol. Zusya was a renowned teacher who began to fear as he approached death. His disciples asked, “Master, why do you tremble? You’ve lived a good life; surely God will grant you a great reward.”

Zusya said: “If God says to me, ‘Zusya, why were you not another Moses?’ I will say, ‘Because you didn’t give me the greatness of soul that you gave Moses.’ And if I stand before God and He says, ‘Zusya, why were you not another Solomon?’ I will say, ‘Because you didn’t give me the wisdom of Solomon.’ But, alas, what will I say if I stand before my Maker and He says, ‘Zusya, why were you not Zusya? Why were you not the man I gave you the capacity to be?’ Ah, that is why I tremble.”

And the harvest has come from the whisperings and calming influence of the Holy Ghost, which helped the family avert tragedy late one night when they thought their home was being burglarized. Daniel woke up when he heard a sound and prepared to defend the home, but the supposed intruder turned out to be a neighbor who had come looking for help after his car had broken down.
“I realized that the Spirit had calmed me down so that we could resolve the situation by not overreacting,” Daniel says. “Afterward we prayed and thanked Heavenly Father that nothing bad had happened.”

When I was growing up, each summer our family would drive to Provo Canyon, about 45 miles (72 km) south and a little east of Salt Lake City, where we would stay in the family cabin for several weeks. We boys were always anxious to get on the fishing stream or into the swimming hole, and we would try to push the car a little faster. In those days, the automobile my father drove was a 1928 Oldsmobile. If he went over 35 miles (56 km) an hour, my mother would say, “Keep it down! Keep it down!” I would say, “Put the accelerator down, Dad! Put it down!”
Dad would drive about 35 miles an hour all the way up to Provo Canyon or until we would come around a bend in the road and our journey would be halted by a herd of sheep. We would watch as hundreds of sheep filed past us, seemingly without a shepherd, a few dogs yapping at their heels as they moved along. Way back in the rear we could see the sheepherder on his horse—not a bridle on it but a halter. He was occasionally slouched down in the saddle dozing, since the horse knew which way to go and the yapping dogs did the work.
Contrast that to the scene which I viewed in Munich, Germany, many years ago. It was a Sunday morning, and we were en route to a missionary conference. As I looked out the window of the mission president’s automobile, I saw a shepherd with a staff in his hand, leading the sheep. They followed him wherever he went. If he moved to the left, they followed him to the left. If he moved to the right, they followed him in that direction. I made the comparison between the true shepherd who led his sheep and the sheepherder who rode casually behind his sheep.

A home teacher I know relates an experience that gave him a feeling of success that has since carried him through many difficult times: “I was working with a family that was reasonably active, but just didn’t seem to have enough commitment to living all of the gospel principles. I prayed to know what I should discuss with them that would be of most value at the time, and I felt inspired to talk about the principle of fasting. I found that they had been discussing this very principle among themselves, and I was able to answer some of their questions and give them some encouragement to use this principle. One of their children who had never fasted before committed to try fasting on the next fast Sunday, and afterward she beamed as she reported that it had been a wonderful experience.

“Just that one successful experience encouraged me and motivated me to try for other successes as a home teacher. And each subsequent success renewed my feelings that I was truly engaged in a worthwhile work. To this day, some of those early successes help to keep me motivated and inspired as a home teacher, and I truly enjoy that calling as a result.”

Several years ago, I was serving as an institute instructor here in Hawaii. At that time, I was teaching a class about Church history and focused much of my preparation on that topic. This was also a time when the Joseph Smith papers were starting publication and there was a great deal of excitement about all of the new discoveries that were coming to light. During that time, I came across a story about a “seer stone.” The thing that first attracted my attention was the picture at the top of the article. The picture was of a small chocolate brown rock about three by five inches with lighter brown veining through it. It was smooth and rounded and was for all intents and purposes – unremarkable. I then read the article. It identified the rock as one of the items that Joseph had used to translate the Book of Mormon. Per the article, Joseph placed the stone in a hat to exclude exterior light and then placed his face into the hat. He could then make out words that were dictated to the scribe. I stopped reading and I must admit to being more than a little surprised. A river rock dropped into a hat? No stinking way. How could this be? This information did conform in any way with what I knew about the translation. After all, didn’t he use the Urim and Thummim? While I was not entirely clear what that looked like to my mind the Urim and Thummim was some sort of elegant instrument consisting of “two stones in silver bows.” The Book of Mormon itself referred to them as “interpreters” that were kept with the plates. Joseph himself referred to them as “spectacles,” and I had always imagined a highly elegant piece of equipment worthy of the translation of the word of God. The article went on to say that after a time Joseph did not use any aid at all in the translation. My mind raced. I was shocked. I was incredulous. Joseph was running around staring at a rock in a hat instead of looking through the super cool glasses designed specifically for the task? It didn’t fit with anything that I knew about the story and did not make any sense to me at all. I couldn’t believe it—and I didn’t.

The whole thing bugged me. If this were so, why had no one ever revealed this detail? My mind reeled and I began to look for a way to fit this into the box I had constructed in my mind to hold this information. I reasoned that they did not share this detail because it made a difficult story even more difficult. I mean, “magic spectacles” was stretching reason a bit, but “rock in the hat” was a bridge too far. I was also surprised by the general tone of the article. The whole thing was so matter of fact. I became suspicious of the trustworthiness of the story. I felt like a person who had stepped into mental quicksand, and I began reaching out feverishly for something to cling to. I was hoping for an article, a talk, a scripture, anything that could fill the gap between what I believed to be true and the new information that I had uncovered.

Now this whole process did not happen immediately. I still had a life to live, and this question occupied the space between my other commitments. Slowly, however, my thoughts began to become less frantic and more focused. I then came to the crossroads that each person having a crisis of faith must negotiate. This new information was either true or it was not. If it was true, I would need to rebuild my understanding of the events associated with a foundational piece of my testimony. If it was false, I could go back to my old paradigm, except I would have to deal with the idea that the Church had been tricked or simply mistaken.

I have learned that this sort of spinning, over-reaching thought pattern is not unusual during such an episode. However, we need to be careful not to expand the issue. After all, this new knowledge didn’t change everything that I believed, it only affected one thing. A thing that other things leaned on, to be sure, but each question ultimately needs to be dealt with on its own terms. Simply stated, we do not need to destroy the entire tapestry for one offending thread.

As I pondered about this issue, I had a thought that started the ball spinning in a different direction. I began to focus on what I already knew. I have been blessed with a knowledge reinforced by many experiences that Joseph is a prophet, that the Book of Mormon is true and that this is the true Church. The challenge was that I could not stuff the old information into the new box. So, staring squarely at this inconsistency I was forced to decide. I told myself – my former experiences have shown me what is true, and so somehow this information fits into that pattern. And even though I don’t know what that is right now, I am going to move forward with what I do know until I do.

Elder Holland reinforced this concept when he taught:
“When those moments come and issues surface, the resolution of which is not immediately forthcoming, hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.” [4]

I did not think about it at the time, but I had another option. I could have said to myself – this doesn’t make sense to me, so I am going to overlook all of those other spiritual experiences and reject them because this piece does not seem to fit. I could have chosen to doubt all of those other witnesses that this new information seemed to disrupt as a means to bypass my inner conflict. That is a choice that does not make sense to me and I am saddened when others make that choice. The key to focus on if you arrive at this crossroads is to “remember.”

I wish that I could tell you that making the decision to remember brought me immediate peace, but it did not. I was frustrated with what felt like the side door of my testimony being left ajar. I continued to look for answers and to ponder and pray. Then, many days later, I had a thought – what is the point of the rock anyway? What role did it serve? I thought about the various ways that Christ healed people. He had them bathe, he smeared them with clay, they touched the hem of his garment, he laid hands on them, he simply told them to rise. Why all of the differences and drama? Was there a process in play? As these ideas swirled around in my head together, I began to see something. Jesus selected a specific manner to perform each miracle not because it was something that He needed but because it produced in each receiver something that they needed. Jesus created the environment so that each person could focus their faith in a way that allowed them to be healed. The next thought was the one that I did not see coming – why was it any different for Joseph? The Lord selected elements in Joseph’s world to allow him a means to focus his faith so that the Lord could accomplish his work. And if that required fancy eyeglasses, or a rock, or eventually nothing at all, what was the problem? It also started to make sense that as Joseph’s trust and confidence grew the need for the specific item to focus his faith diminished. With that thought the Spirit witnessed to me the truth of that concept, and the opening on the side door of my testimony closed. I was at peace about the idea and while I did not know everything about the story, I knew enough to know that it did fit within the framework of the gospel, and it taught me something new about how the Savior succors his people.

A young friend of ours named Karl walked joyfully out of the temple after his wedding. He said he had first met Kate, his bride, when he was only 14. "That's when I first saw the vision," he told us, smiling at Kate in her white dress. "But I wasn't worthy of her, so she never knew how much I admired her. Then after years of school, seminary, and a mission, I saw her again. And this time I was ready."

Sister Beck: When I was a young girl, my father served as president of the only mission in Brazil. There were fewer than 4,000 members—most of whom were full of potential yet not prepared to lead. Only a handful of branches had a Relief Society.

My mother was called to be the district Relief Society president. She spoke no Portuguese and had no manuals. What she did have was a testimony of the gospel and of Relief Society. She and her counselors began by helping sisters learn how to be visiting teachers.

They started their training in a small branch in São Paulo. Seven humble women attended the meeting. My mother’s counselor, a Brazilian, greeted the sisters. After the prayer, she stood with trembling hands and read a message explaining visiting teaching. Then my mother stood. She knew four sentences in Portuguese: “I know that God lives. I know that Jesus is the Christ. I know that we have a living prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” The meeting ended. She hugged the women and bade them good-bye.

What a humble beginning to such a great work! Eventually, a Relief Society was established in every branch in Brazil. The sisters worked to prepare for a stake and the first temple in South America. They learned about ordinances and covenants and how to save souls.

In part, because the Relief Society sisters helped further the Lord’s work, the Church in Brazil now numbers over one million members. Like these sisters in Brazil, we must do our part. No one can do it for us. We cannot delegate our responsibility for building the kingdom to anyone else. It is our work. Let us embrace it and excel in building faith, strengthening families, and giving relief.

“Look at this dress!” I screeched at my mother as she walked into my bedroom. “Do you know how many hours of cherry picking and baby-sitting it took to pay for this dress? Now look at it. It looks terrible after just the first washing!”
My mother calmly picked up the dress and looked at the label.
“Dry clean only,” she read as she looked up at me sympathetically.
“Oh,” I sighed slowly. “I didn’t even look at the washing instructions. I wouldn’t have bought it if I had known it wasn’t washable.”
I sat down on the bed despondently.
“It’s just one dress,” my mother said as she put her arm around me.
“But that’s the problem,” I answered. “it’s not just the dress. There are those shoes I got on sale even though I knew they were a little too short. They were such a great buy. I can’t stand to wear them now because of all the blisters I’ve gotten from them. Then there are those beautiful blue velvet pants. I haven’t got anything to wear them with. Even my new blouse is out now. I saw it for a fraction of the price I paid for it at the department store yesterday. I worked all summer long cherry picking, baby-sitting, housecleaning, and selling my crocheted hot pads door to door just to buy a few new clothes to start school with and now I can’t wear any of them.”
“Well, chalk it up to experience. You’ll know better next time,” my mother said cheerfully as she walked out the bedroom door.
That’s what got me started on the road to a budget-minded shopping guide. Even though I still make mistakes buying clothes, I learned a few dos and don’ts the hard way.

In fact, there is another story from old Japan about a man who was very imperfect, yet through repentance, he became truly great.

Many years ago, there lived a man by the name of Zenkai. He worked for a government official. He soon fell in love with the official's wife and an affair ensued. One day they were discovered by the official and Zenkai ended up killing the official in self-defense. He fled from the province.

Years later, he felt the pangs of remorse concerning the tragedy to which his behavior had led. He decided to somehow atone for his sins. Nearby there was a dangerous mountain road where many people had lost their lives. Zenkai decided that he would cut a tunnel through the mountain so that the people could avoid the section where most of the deaths occurred. For thirty years, he lived as a beggar and worked on the tunnel. Nearing the completion of the tunnel, Zenkai was discovered by the son of the official he had killed. The son said that he had been searching for many years to avenge his father's death and that the time for Zenkai's demise had arrived. Zenkai said that he would gladly allow himself to be killed if the son would grant him his desire to complete the tunnel. The son consented and even assisted in the digging to hurry things up. Many weeks later, the tunnel was finished and Zenkai offered himself to the son saying that he might now feel free to avenge his father's death. The son replied, "How can I take the life of my master teacher?"

Then one day in the spring, we found Bimbo stretched out in the backyard as though he were dead. Does he have scarlet fever? I wondered. On the way to see the veterinarian, I remember praying as hard as I could that Bimbo wouldn’t die. The veterinarian told us our dog had been poisoned and would have to stay in the hospital for several days. Later when we took Bimbo home, we gave him love and attention and continued to pray for him. Our prayers were answered.

Kalleen and I were called as mission leaders over the Georgia Atlanta Mission. Miracles flashed through our mission with such regularity that we came to think of it as having a front-row seat to the greatest show on earth in which the powers of heaven were wielded by heavenly agents with black name tags as they gathered Israel home. Kalleen called missionary service a “miracle-a-day program.”

She had the formal assignment of overseeing health care for our missionaries. If one of them got sick, they would call her. It is hard to diagnose problems over the phone, even if you have had medical training. Kalleen’s medical knowledge was basically from on-the-job training as a mom raising a family—but also from the practiced experience of discerning flashes of heavenly light.

Just a few weeks into our mission, she got a call from a missionary who had called a couple of times before with one issue or another. On this particular morning he complained that his stomach had been hurting, so she decided to ask a senior missionary couple that lived near him to go over and take a look, just in case. She later told me, “I opened my mouth to say that and heard myself say instead words that had never passed through my mind: ‘Elder, it is appendicitis. Go to the hospital. Go now.’”

In the emergency room, the doctors found ­nothing wrong and concluded that he must have ­overeaten—which was entirely plausible; he was a missionary. They ordered him home. But our elder told the doctor, “No, Sister Lund told me I have appendicitis.”

The doctor thought that “Sister Lund” must be a nun somewhere in the hospital. He said, “Then let’s run another test.” That test was also negative, and they started to send him home again, but he kept insisting that Sister Lund had diagnosed appendicitis.

Finally the problem revealed itself, prompting an immediate appendectomy, which the surgeon told us barely saved his life. “Five minutes later and we may have lost him.”

You might think Kalleen made a lucky guess, but she will tell you that she was only an innocent bystander as the Lord kept His promise to His missionary: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, . . . and mine angels [shall be] round about you, to bear you up.”

Elder Perry is one who understands sadness and adversity. In December 1974, Virginia died; then in March 1983, their daughter Barbara died. He has also lost two grandchildren to death. During those dark times, his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ gave him hope; today he encourages others who suffer to put their trust in the Lord: “The Lord is very kind. Even though some experiences are hard, he floods your mind with memories and gives you other opportunities. Life doesn’t end just because you have a tragedy—there’s a new mountain to climb. Don’t spend a lot of time sulking over what you’ve lost. Get on with climbing the next mountain.”

I was moving sprinkler pipes on a section of our farm in northern California, USA. This particular day was a treat because Dad was there to help me. When we finished, we jumped on our all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) and headed for home with dinner on our minds. Dad led the way.
Our farm was bordered on one side by the Pit River. We rode on the edge of the field so we wouldn’t flatten the alfalfa with the big tires on our ATVs. The field was on our right, and the river, at the bottom of a steep embankment, was on our left. We couldn’t see very well because it was misty.
We were cruising along fairly fast when I veered off the trail and hit a clump of sagebrush with my right rear tire. The impact forced me to turn the ATV sharply to the left toward the river and down the embankment. I tried stopping, but the bank was too steep and I was going too fast. I thought for sure I was going in the river. Fortunately, there was a tree on the bank right in my path. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at the ATV—from the tree! I was as scared as I had ever been.
I felt that I had just had a brush with death, but other than a few scratches and bruises, I was unhurt. After I calmed down and took a few breaths, I realized there was no way I was going to get the ATV back up the bank by myself. I kept expecting my dad to poke his head over the edge of the embankment, looking for me, but he didn’t. That made me feel even worse.
I scrambled to the top of the bank, but my dad was nowhere in sight. I said a silent prayer to my Father in Heaven, asking Him to send Dad back to get me. Then I started walking. Meanwhile, Dad was almost home when he thought he heard me call out to him. He looked back for the first time since we had left the field. Only then did he notice that I wasn’t behind him. He knew something was wrong and came looking for me until he found me.
Dad later told me that he had heard me say, “Dad, I need you!” At the time, he was more than two miles (3 km) away. I knew then that a loving Father in Heaven had heard my prayer and let my father know that I needed his help.
I am grateful for the Holy Ghost and the whisperings of truth and guidance that we receive from Him. I am also grateful for a loving father who had lived his life in such a way that the Holy Ghost could talk to him and be heard.

Ruth Rodríguez got to know Emanuel Silva when the two were asked to help organize a combined district young single adult activity in Rio Gallegos, more than 200 miles (320 km) to the north, in February 2006. The friend who asked the two to work together hoped they would hit it off. “It worked,” recalls Emanuel, who had been home two years from serving in the Arizona Tucson Mission.
When he and Ruth married six months later, their preparation—spiritual and temporal—helped them overcome their fear of the future.
“I felt the love of my Father in Heaven and that He wanted me to form my family,” Emanuel says of answers to his prayers. “Once I set that goal, He showed me the way and helped me find a wife.”
Ruth adds that goals they set as a couple, including working hard to save money for their trip to the temple, helped them move forward. “Sometimes there were things we wanted to buy,” she says, “but we said, ‘No, we have to save so we can go to the temple.’”
The cost of their flight to and from the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple in 2006 exhausted their savings. “Afterward we had nothing,” says Emanuel, echoing a common newlywed refrain. Today he and Ruth laugh at that memory, grateful that their faith afforded them the “beautiful experience” of being sealed in the temple—an experience that still means everything to them.
“We can have a lot of fearful feelings as we contemplate marriage,” says Ruth. “What about the things we lack? What about our economic situation? What about raising children? But if we are obedient to the word of the Lord, go to the temple, and start our families, we don’t need to worry. The Lord will bless us in ways we never could have imagined.”

There was one time when the chase crew didn’t quite make it on time, and the story of their rescue is a sure-to-be-told-tale at quorum get-togethers.
The chase crew, who were pulling a trailer that day, made a wrong turn down a long narrow lane with no room to turn around. By the time they had managed to back out, the balloon had already landed, and no one had been able to see where. While the chase crew searched, the balloon crew was waiting in a strawberry patch where they had landed. It seemed that a hundred people knew exactly where the balloon had come down, and a hundred people were absolutely wrong. Finally, almost two hours later, the bewildered searchers saw a little boy sitting on his bike with all the manly nonchalance of John Wayne on his horse.
“You see a balloon?”
“Yep.”
“You know where it is?”
“Yep.”
“Will you show us?”
“Yep.” And hunched over his banana seat, legs churning like pistons, the one-man cavalry led them to their stranded companions.

Almost as soon as the caravan stopped at the end of the forest road, the doors popped open and Scouts, dads, and a lot of backpacking equipment and fluorescent-orange life jackets came tumbling out of the cars and trucks. In no time at all the Scouts were lined up, drawing their allotment of food to carry, and stuffing it into their packs. Everyone seemed to know his duty and how to perform it. The few dads who were along to help were impressed with the organization. In fact, the only person not surprised by all this super efficiency performed by 12- and 13-year-old boys was their Scoutmaster, Nob Wimmer.
For Brother Wimmer this trip with the American Fork Utah 14th Ward Scouts was only one of hundreds of Scouting outings he has participated in during his 25 years of Scouting experience.
When asked how he got 12- and 13-year-old boys to perform much beyond their years, he commented on his philosophy:
“The age of the boys isn’t that critical. With cooperation you’d be surprised what even young boys can accomplish. There are three elements that do seem to make for a great trip. First, you need to plan well in advance. Second, a trip needs to require effort from everyone. Preferably the work starts a long time before the trip. If it does, the people involved get more excited about the actual event, they learn more, and they improve their teamwork. Then when we have taken care of all the variables that we can control, the third element of a great trip often comes into play. This is the element of surprise—the unexpected or the unusual happening that really makes the event stay alive in people’s minds long after the trip is over.”
To the 35 Scouts and adults who went, the trip was a success. They had been planning for months; each of them knew his duties and how to carry them out. They had also been working very hard to get ready. They learned how to handle canoes. They conditioned themselves to their backpacks, and many of the Scouts invested extra hours in learning to tie fishing flies. They worked one evening a week with Brother Wimmer learning how to do it, and then they tied quantities of flies in anticipation of the trip. In addition, every meal of the five-day camp was carefully planned in advance. Then, a few days before the trip, the food was bought and repacked so it would be easier to carry. They used off-the-shelf grocery items rather than the more expensive dehydrated backpacking foods. They even made their own oven-dried jerky to save on weight and expense.
Once the gear was out of the vehicles and strapped on backs, everyone started up the trail together. The few miles to the lake seemed more like a dozen since each person not only had to carry his own personal gear but also had to take a turn helping to carry one of the canoes.
At the lake, supplies and Scouts were ferried across the water to a lovely campsite. Scouts built simple, plastic-covered shelters under the pines, and had camp completely set up and organized in time to take in an evening’s fishing.
It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”
The next morning Bishop Bean found fresh moose tracks around his sleeping bag, and there were deer tracks all through camp. After that everyone kept watch for the abundant wildlife in the area. Every morning and evening they were able to watch moose saunter down to the lake for a drink and a swim.
““The wildlife provided the unusual and the unexpected on this trip,” said Brother Wimmer. “Each day most of the boys got to see deer and moose in their natural setting. The animals didn’t even seem frightened of us. We didn’t bother them, and they seemed content to let us share their lake for a few days.””
Everyone caught some fish, and even one boy who had been cool on the trip in the first place had a terrific time. He told the leaders when they were planning the trip, “I don’t want to go up in the woods somewhere and play cowboys and Indians.”
“He sure got interested when the fish started biting,” said Bishop Bean. Like the rest of the boys, he had set goals he wanted to accomplish on this trip. Each boy became more proficient at some skill, and they were all better trained to operate as a group than ever before.
During lunch one day one of the adults was swatting at some of the huge horseflies that seemed to be everywhere. “These horseflies are terrible,” he said.
Brother Wimmer piped up, “Don’t say that! Nothing up here is terrible!”
“Okay, I’ll just say the horseflies are mildly aggravating.”
“Fine,” said Brother Wimmer with a smile, and then let silence complete the sermon. It was a sermon that was relived time and again as the boys later shared the memories of this experience at troop meetings and a special ward banquet in their honor.