Gospel Story Finder

One night after supper, seventeen-year-old Sarah stood up at the table. “Aaron Grigsby has asked me to become his wife,” she said softly.
The announcement was happily received. Aaron Grigsby was a hard-working farmer known for his good character. The marriage took place in the Pigeon Creek Church that Sarah’s father had helped build.
A year later Sarah was expecting a baby. “So I shall be Uncle Abraham,” her younger brother boasted. “What a fine sound that title has!”
Then tragedy struck. Sarah and her baby both died during childbirth. Stunned by the loss, Abe could not bring himself to talk about his sister for a long time.

When I was a young man I fell in love with a beautiful girl. More than anything in the world, I wanted to receive her love and eternal companionship. I therefore behaved my best, spoke my best, and gave my best as I courted her and sought to gain her favor. Even after she had promised herself to me, I recognized the need to continue the courting. My desire was, and still is, to please her and to avoid any offense. She is my inspiration, my motivation to live on a high and noble level.

About four years ago life was anything but perfect, according to me. I had recently been turned down for my dream job, a position that I knew was the best thing for me. My husband’s health had taken a downturn, and after going to countless specialists, nobody could figure out what was wrong. To make matters worse, my children were not perfect like all my friends’ children. I was frustrated with where life had taken me. It was about 10:30 p.m. and I was driving home from work after a very long and busy day. I just wanted to be home, relax, and go to bed. As I was driving home, I could see up ahead of me a police car off the side of the road with its light flashing. There wasn’t an ambulance, paramedic, or fire truck, so I knew there wasn’t a car wreck. There was an older truck in front of me traveling really slow and weaving all over the lane. “Great,” I thought, “an impaired driver that doesn’t want to get pulled over.” The closer we got to the flashing lights, the slower the truck in front of me drove, still weaving all over the lane. Again, I thought to myself, “Seriously, let’s just get down the road. The cop has someone pulled over. We don’t need freak out over it.” Patience has never been a strong suit for me. As I was getting ready to pull around the truck, he pulled out in the other lane, and I could see that someone had hit a deer and it was in the middle of the road. The police car was there letting us know someone had hit a deer. I drove around the mess, and as I was continuing to drive down the road home, a thought came to me from a blessing that I had received a few days prior. “Renee, just like this situation back there, you don’t know what is ahead. God has a plan for you. Be patient, have faith, everything will be okay.” This has been a promise made to me repeatedly over my life: God has a plan for you. Be patient, have faith, everything will be okay.

It seemed perfectly normal when Karen Monahan grabbed the hero’s arm. Then, right on cue, he began his solo performance. But instead of singing the words, he was signing them, telling his part of the story through deaf sign language. No one in the audience knew that Karen had squeezed firmly on Scott’s arm to let him know when to begin. No one needed to know. He performed his actions smoothly, as the other actors had throughout the show, without saying a word.
Then the curtains rushed together, but no one on stage spoke. When the curtains opened again, the cast bowed politely. Although the audience thundered its applause, 30 of the 45 performers couldn’t hear it because they are deaf. But they had communicated so effectively with the audience that nearly everyone watching cheered when the awards were announced. The Los Angeles Ward for the Deaf had won the Los Angeles California Stake roadshow competition, with awards for best acting, best costumes and set, best script, and of course, outstanding roadshow of the year.
It was the culmination of months of effort that had begun when the stake president, Rodney H. Brady, sent a letter inviting the ward to participate in the annual contest for the first time. Initially, the challenge seemed insurmountable. “I had my doubts about how good it would be,” Wayne Bennett, a counselor in the bishopric said, speaking in Ameslan (American Sign Language, a means of communication employed by many deaf people). “But a few months of practice made of lot of difference. When I saw the roadshow in performance, I said, ‘Hey, that’s no roadshow; that’s a miracle!’”
The audience seemed to agree. Carol Mears, a professional comedy sketch writer, said she was “thrilled. I honestly forgot it was being done by the deaf.” Other performers, sometimes from other ward’s roadshows, sometimes children of ward members, provided voices to narrate the story. They spoke through microphones in the orchestra pit and were unseen by the audience. But their narration helped those who could hear to follow the actions of the deaf actors and actresses on stage.
The show, entitled “Under the Apple Tree,” adhered closely to the stake theme, “Once upon an Apple Tree,” and followed the trials of Red Delicious, an apple tree torn from his home by a tornado. He was soon joined by Yellow Delicious, another uproot in search of a place she could call her own. The two castaways discovered a new orchard presided over by Mother Apple, and finally felt confident to sink their roots into the community. Red Delicious eventually saved his fellow trees from a nefarious attack by bugs and aphids (including two members of the bishopric), and the apple trees lived happily ever after.
One of the highlights of the production was the “ABC Song,” during which the Apple Cuties taught audience members the manual alphabet. Another well-remembered scene found Mother Apple unable to get the attention of Red and Yellow Delicious, so she threw an apple at them and complained, “They must be deaf.” The joke appeared to put the audience at ease as they realized the deaf knew how to laugh at themselves.
Making the roadshow a success was not an easy task. There were many unusual problems. For example, when 23-year-old director Dave McKay began thinking about writing a script, he encountered the difficulty of writing one that would never be spoken. “We wrote it with our hands,” he said. Once a skeletal plot outline was chosen, directors and cast members worked together from improvised possibilities to a finalized sequence of actions. Long after rehearsals had begun, voice director Kareena Heath decided on words to be read by the unseen voices in the orchestra pit.
Another difficulty was synchronization of music and action. The entr’acte, for example, was an interpretive dance, and the dancers were required to perform to music they could not hear. Brother McKay solved the problem by casting one hearing dancer, who was responsible to keep the others in time with the beat. Once again, this was accomplished by means of hidden signals undetectable to the audience. Scott Duge (Red Delicious) and Birdie Herrick (Mother Apple) were kept on cue by Karen, a hearing interpreter for the deaf who took the role of Yellow Delicious. In other sections, actors and dancers maintained correct timing by memorizing counts and order of appearance.
Staging had to be carefully arranged so that actors could not only be seen, but also so that their hand signals were clearly visible at all times.
And, of course, butterflies in the stomach aren’t limited only to those who hear. Bill Andrews, who played Washington, the oldest of Mother Apple’s children, explained that stage fright manifested itself in an unusual way. “You could literally say we had a case of arthritis,” he said. “Our fingers were frozen. When hearing people get scared, their voices shake, but in our case, it’s our hands. They stiffen up and we can’t make the signs.”
Birdie was supposed to keep everyone backstage quiet. “But the deaf signed to each other anyway,” she remembered, smiling. “I told them to cut it out, because their hands would crack and make noise.”
The Los Angeles Ward for the Deaf is a unique organization. Those in the ward are either deaf themselves or members of a family in which someone is deaf. Although it is under jurisdiction of the Los Angeles California Stake, its members come from a broad geographical area. But the roadshow brought them all together.
Homer Thexton explained how participation in the event strengthened family unity. He is deaf, his wife is hard of hearing, and his children hear normally, yet all participated. “It helped our family,” he explained. “There was more cooperation and communication at home. We really taught and helped each other in our parts.”
That type of reaction extended throughout the stake. For example, members of the University of Southern California Branch roadshow cast (which, incidentally, placed second in the competition) stayed behind after their own performance long enough to provide the voices for the deaf show. Noting that support, President Brady said he felt the roadshow experience had unified the entire stake. Since the performance, a variety of activities have helped to bring members of the ward for the deaf and other wards in the stake into closer contact on a more regular basis. (See FYI for Feb. 1978 and May 1978.)
The roadshow is over. But excitement and pride remain. Already ward members are talking about future productions and looking forward to another roadshow next year.
Editor’s Note: The Los Angeles Ward for the Deaf was recently divided to form two new wards, the San Fernando Valley Ward for the Deaf in the Los Angeles California Chatsworth Stake, and the Torrance North Ward for the Deaf, located in the Torrance California North Stake. The Fullerton Branch for the Deaf of the Fullerton California Stake was created in 1971, and continues to serve the needs of the deaf in that area.

Listen to José and a powerful experience he had while growing up.

This was when I was nine years old. I was in a Catholic elementary school. It was run by nuns. They were very, very strict, and I remember one day during recess that I was playing soccer in the yard and I kicked the ball and hit a window and broke the window. It was very scary at the time. One of the nuns came out and she yelled at me—she reprimanded me very harshly and told me to go home and tell my parents what had happened. I remember walking very, very slowly, scared, and trying not to get there. But I was very, very scared, and when I finally got there, my mom opened the door and I think she noticed how scared I was. I was pale and just looking terrible, and I told her what had happened, that I had kicked the ball and broken a window. I was just expecting her to do the same thing that the nun had done to me, just reprimand me.

Note how José’s mother reacted to him.

But instead, she told me not to worry about it and she hugged me, and I felt a sense of relief and also of appreciation for having a mother that would understand and put her love for me above my mistakes.

When Elder Dale G. Renlund was 12, his family lived in Sweden. One Sunday, Dale’s friend Steffan brought a large firecracker and some matches into the Church building. Dale was excited. Dale took the firecracker and lit the fuse. He was going to snuff out the fuse, but he burned his fingers and dropped the firecracker! Dale and Steffan watched in horror as the fuse kept burning.
The firecracker exploded! An awful smell filled the chapel. Dale and Steffan quickly picked up the pieces of firecracker and opened the windows to let the smell out. They hoped no one would notice.
As people came to sacrament meeting, they did notice. The smell was so strong that people couldn’t focus on the meeting. Dale felt very embarrassed and ashamed. He knew that what he had done had disappointed Heavenly Father.
After church, President Lindberg, the branch president, asked Dale to come to his office because he could tell that something was wrong. Dale told President Lindberg how sorry he was about the firecracker.
President Lindberg was kind. He opened the scriptures and asked Dale to read some underlined verses. Dale read, “Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more. By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them” (D&C 58:42–43).
When Dale finished reading, he saw President Lindberg smile. He felt he had been forgiven. As Dale left the office, he felt happy.
Elder Renlund learned that he could be forgiven when he did something wrong. He could feel happy when he repented and kept Heavenly Father’s commandments.

If I may use a personal example:
Some years ago when our first son was about a year old, I was the source of some seemingly unnecessary suffering. We were attending college, and one evening I had been playing with my boy on the floor. I left the room to study, and as I closed the door behind me he apparently reached for me, raising his hand up behind his head, and his finger went into the hinged side of the door. When I closed the door he suffered a rather severe injury to his finger.
We rushed him to the emergency room at the hospital, he was given a local anesthetic, and a doctor came in; he assured us that it could be repaired. Almost paradoxically, at that point the only thing my one-year-old wanted was to be held by his dad. As long as he could see me he resisted any efforts to bind him for the delicate surgery. When I left the room he calmed down, and the doctor was able to proceed.
During the process I was anxious and would draw close to the open door and look around the corner to see how things were proceeding. Perhaps by some unseen sense, as I would peek noiselessly around the corner, which was located behind him and to the side, his head would come up and he would strain to see if I was there.
On one of those occasions, as I saw him with his arm pinned out from his side—his head arched, searching for his father—the thought came to my mind of another Son, His arms stretched out, nailed to a cross, searching for His Father, and to my mind came the words, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” What was a very traumatic moment in my life suddenly became very sacred.
As I have pondered that event with my own son so many years ago, it has provided new insights and perhaps even deeper understanding of the magnitude and magnificence of the Atonement. I have a deeper appreciation of what a Father was willing to allow His Son to go through for me and for each of us. I had a new personal insight into the depth and breadth of the Atonement. I could not imagine that I would willingly have let my son suffer even in this small way; and our Father “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.”
Although we have never discussed it, my son, too, would have the opportunity to appreciate the passage where the Savior explains, “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.”
Although I would not suggest that anything here can approach the holy Atonement, the scar on my son’s hand is continually before him, and he has the opportunity, if he chooses to take it, to use his scar as a reminder of scars in the palms of the Savior—suffered for our sins. He has the opportunity to understand in his own way the love the Savior has for us in willingly being scarred, bruised, broken, and torn for us.

In the past I have not always been able to say or show my thanks as I have really wanted to. Some years ago, almost every morning I found myself arriving in the parking lot of a certain institution at the same time as another individual. It was early in the morning, usually very dark and very quiet. Most of the time we were alone as we walked from our vehicles into the building. This individual was one of the finest persons I have ever known. I looked up to him. I admired him, I loved him. Yet I had never told him so. Each time we entered the building and climbed onto the elevator together, I found myself tongue-tied. I could hardly stammer “Good morning,” much less, “Oh, how I admire you” or “Thank you for all you have done and are doing for me.” After one of these mornings, I arrived in my office, disgusted with my inability to express my appreciation. In desperation, with a great desire to just say thank you, I took a pen in hand, and in longhand wrote a short note that expressed my feelings. Hurriedly I addressed an envelope and quickly mailed the note before my courage failed me. A very few days later I received a very sweet, short, three-sentence note. I could tell he had personally typed it out on the old typewriter he kept by his desk. It read:

Dear Dee,
That was one of the sweetest notes I have ever received, and I appreciate hearing from you. I am indeed grateful to be so close to you, and I hope that we may see each other once in a while. May the Lord bless you and assist you in all your efforts. With kindest wishes.
Faithfully yours,

While I had known this individual and worked closely with him for a long time, this was really the beginning of a choice and wonderful friendship with this special person—President Spencer W. Kimball. Oh, how President Kimball blessed my life because I took the time and had the courage to say thank you.

In 1872, a baby boy was born to a Shoshone family on the Fort Washakie Reservation in Wyoming. His father, Onda-Bow-Low-See, was a scout for the United States Cavalry, which meant his family often traveled by stagecoach.
One day, while on a bumpy stagecoach, the young boy lost his balance. He fell under a wheel and his leg was severely crushed, causing a deep injury. Knowing his son needed serious attention, Onda-Bow-Low-See turned to his parents: Anka-dewy-itse and his wife, Tza-gah.
The boy and his grandparents set off traveling west through a snowy pass. The boy lay on a horse-pulled sled made of deer hide. As they traveled, his leg swelled and became infected. After a long journey, they arrived at their sacred healing place, Baa-da-see (now Cache Valley, Utah) on the Shoshone “Holy Hill.” The boy was exhausted, and his grandparents set up camp under a teepee, staying by his side and praying for him for several days. Each morning, they awoke hoping the boy would recover.
Then one morning, at dawn, the boy heard a voice calling him: “Arise!” To his amazement, he stood and walked. The pain in his leg was gone. When his grandfather Anka-dewy-itse saw the boy standing alive and well, he gratefully proclaimed, “Our Damma Appa [Heavenly Father] has healed you!” Although healed, the boy had a slight limp and was renamed “Nee-a-ma-ah,” meaning “leaning to one side.”

Many times during his life, he said, he had found comfort and strength in those words. But his first, cherished experience with answered prayer emphasized the value of teaching children early.
It was his job, as a young boy, to walk 3.2 kilometers to the pasture in the early morning every day to bring back the family’s cows for milking. Along the way, he would notice the gold and orange-colored sunbeams streaming through the clouds, or see the glistening dew on tall sunflower leaves.
This particular morning, he told us, was different. There was a low fog suspended above the ground, and as he walked toward the pasture the fog became more dense. Then slowly, before the sun came over the mountains, the fog enclosed him. He began to whistle in an attempt to control the panic rising within him. But even as he whistled he began to tremble in his loneliness and in his fear of the blackness that seemed to wrap around him like a moist blanket.
Then as he seemed to feel completely lost to the elements, he remembered his mother’s counsel: “There’s no reason to be afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.”
Six-year-old Clint knelt on the dew-soaked grass and prayed to the One who could help him. His simple faith was not misplaced. As a calmness came upon him, he opened his eyes and saw a cow on her way home, that had wandered close by. A small voice from within him told him to follow the animal. Holding on to its tail, Clint soon entered the comfortable safety of the barn where his father was preparing for the milking.
Now, as he stood before us, a young man of twenty-one, Clint said how grateful he was for the lessons and experiences of his childhood days. He had used the memory of those days to help him in many times of trial and uncertainty. He had, he declared, a strong testimony of prayer—a testimony founded on his mother’s teachings.

Now, whether I saw them or not, there were always sharks in the water. The first time that I realized that a shark was in the water with me was in Hanalei Bay on the island of Kauai. We had been working for two days, and on the third day, I saw it swimming nearby. It was only three to four feet long, but for a first timer seeing a shark, it could have been fourteen feet long. I immediately swam to the captain. I didn't even realize that I had instinctively climbed into the boat. The captain nearly exploded seeing me there. He yelled so loud for me to jump back in the water that I wasn't sure what was scarier, the shark or the captain. The next day was Sunday, and our captain kept the Sabbath day holy. I stayed in my cabin and had my personal sacrament service. I was the main speaker, and there was even a special soloist. The rest of the crew, who were not members of the Church, swam out to Hanalei town for the day. I had considered all day after seeing the shark about giving up this whole capital adventure. Was earning money for my mission worth the risk? I decided to talk to the captain. As I sat with the captain, ready to tell him that I was going to swim to the airport, I confided in him that I was terrified of sharks, and then I felt inspired to ask him to give me a priesthood blessing. In the blessing, he told me that I had a mission to perform and that I would need all my limbs to perform my mission. He then promised me that not a hair of my head would be damaged from working on the boat and that I would serve with all my fingers and toes intact. During the ensuing months, there wasn't a time when there wasn't a shark in the water with me. I had some pretty close calls. By close, I mean that while I was working, a shark swam just inches away from my nose. I am happy to report that I stand before you today with all my fingers and toes. I pray that you and I will always courageously rely on priesthood power.

I’d like to tell you about the circumstances of Koen’s birth. On Father’s day last year, in Sharlie’s 31st week of a very healthy and uneventful pregnancy, her water broke. They then went to the hospital, and Sharlie was immediately admitted and told she would remain there until the baby was delivered. This is not as routine as it sounds. It is best for the baby to remain and develop inside the womb as long as possible; but, once the water breaks, the risk of infection also increases with time, so it’s a bit of a balancing act.
Of course this was totally unexpected, and the timing could not have been worse (is there ever good timing for such a thing?). Sharlie was working full-time, and Joshua was in his last semester of an accelerated master’s program in architecture, finishing up his final projects. In addition, Joshua was applying for architecture jobs.
The doctors determined that Sharlie would be induced July 5, the beginning of the 34th week. However, the night before, she developed a fever of 104 and began having contractions. Obviously, this was a very scary time for all of us. To quicken the labor and decrease the chances of the infection transferring to the baby, she was immediately induced. Koen was born at 12:07 a.m., July 5, and immediately placed in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Koen weighed 3 lbs 14 oz at birth – he was tiny. The doctors said Koen would likely remain in NICU for 2 months, but he made good progress and was released after only 16 days.
What are the lessons here? 1) We all have trials. Count on it. 2) What is important is how we respond to our trials. I never heard Joshua or Sharlie ask, “Why is this happening to me?” or anything similar to that. Their attitude was more in line with, 1) many others have much more difficult trials, 2) we are in a good hospital with great people and equipment, so everything will work out, and 3) what can we learn from this?

Now, may I close on a personal note to illustrate a dimension of discipleship. Regarding you as graduate students, not as lower-division students, in discipleship, I will speak to you about something we don’t usually speak about in the Church.
We sometimes speak of defining moments. These defining moments in our lives usually focus on single episodes that can sometimes be outwardly, as well as inwardly, quite traumatic. Yet these defining moments are usually preceded by small, subtle preparatory moments. Moreover, the defining moments are also followed by many smaller moments that are shaped by the preceding and defining moments.
Here’s an illustration. In a long ago May, in 1945, there was such a moment for me on the island of Okinawa at age eighteen. There was certainly no heroism on my part, but, rather, a blessing for me and others during the shelling of our position by Japanese artillery. After repeated shellings that overshot our position, their artillery finally zeroed in. They should have then fired for effect, but there was a divine response to at least one frightened, selfish prayer. The shelling halted. The prayer was accompanied by my pledge of a lifetime of service—a pledge that, though imperfectly, I’ve tried to keep. With this blessing and pledge, I was nudged toward discipleship without realizing what service would be required. I knew I had been blessed, and I knew that God knew that I knew. I remembered the pledge after the war when my overseas savings gladly went to finance a mission. This mission, of course, was yet another step in the direction of discipleship.

It was a cold January day when I was asked to serve as Young Women class president. It was my first year in the Young Women program, and though I was not expecting to be the class president, I was overjoyed. I smiled and nodded.
I was then told to start praying about who my counselors should be.
My happiness quickly melted into worry. I worried that I would choose the wrong people, or even worse, that I wouldn’t be able to decide at all!
Later that night, I told my mom I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make a decision. She told me to go to my room, say a prayer, and read a few verses from the Book of Mormon.
I went to my room, still worried. I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. Then I opened the scriptures to where I had left off and read the first verse I saw. It said: “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me” (Moroni 7:33).
Once I had read that verse, I knew that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. He was aware of me and wanted to help me. All I had to do was put my faith in Him, and He would help me know what to do.
I know that God is aware of us and that He will help us if we are willing to put our faith in Him.

I have a dear friend who served as a stake president. The patriarch in the stake over which he presided had experienced some health challenges and was unable to perform in his calling. The ailing patriarch had difficulty moving about and dressing and caring for himself, and his strength was limited. One Sabbath afternoon this good stake president visited the home of the patriarch to encourage him and check on his well-being. As the stake president entered the home, he found the patriarch dressed in his suit and white shirt and tie, sitting in a recliner in the front room. The stake president greeted the dear patriarch and, knowing how hard it must have been to dress himself, graciously suggested to the patriarch that it was not necessary for him to get dressed up on the Sabbath or to meet visitors. In a kind but firm voice, the patriarch reproved the stake president and said, “Don’t you know that this is the only way I have left to show the Lord how much I love Him?”

The stake president was quick to observe. He both heard and felt the lesson, and he applied it. Reverence for the Sabbath day and the importance of respect and appropriate demeanor and dress took on added importance in the ministry of the stake president. The spiritual ability to see, hear, remember, and act upon that lesson was a great blessing in his life—and in the lives of many others.

Another example of unfairness stems from a situation my wife, Ruth, encountered as a child. One day Ruth learned that her mother was taking a younger sister, Merla, to buy new shoes. Ruth complained, “Mom, it’s so unfair! Merla got the last new pair of shoes.”

Ruth’s mother asked, “Ruth, do your shoes fit?”

Ruth replied, “Well, yes.”

Ruth’s mother then said, “Merla’s shoes no longer fit.”

Ruth agreed that every child in the family should have shoes that fit. Although Ruth would have liked new shoes, her perception of being treated unfairly dissipated when she saw the circumstances through her mother’s eyes.

Chills ran up my spine when Gene Forsberg’s call jolted me late on the afternoon of December 29. “Uncle Jay, we took our Varsity Scouts and Explorers on a snowmobiling outing today. One of the boys is lost in the mountains about ten miles east of town. We’ve scoured the whole place. Can you fly me on a search?”
There wasn’t enough time or light. “Gene, get to the Logan Airport as fast as you can.” Despite fearful conditions and odds against finding the boy, we had to try.
Fourteen-year-old Val (not his real name) was on his first snowmobiling adventure when he disappeared. He did not have enough experience, equipment, or training to survive the night.
I bolted from my office, rushed home, jumped into search clothing, grabbed survival gear, and sped to ready a plane. At the same time an adult assistant and three Explorers roared out of the small town of Paradise, Utah, at full throttle into the adjacent mountains to resume the search for Val. This gritty crew had refueled, obtained food and additional equipment. They had no radio to communicate with the plane but would try to coordinate with us.
Already it was 4:25 P.M. when we lifted off the runway to search 20 miles away. A gloomy overcast blanketed the sky and hung around the mountain tops. It was seven days past the shortest day of the year. Darkness was settling. It was bitter cold—certain to be 30 degrees (Fahrenheit) below zero or lower in the northern Utah mountains during the night. We headed for the 8,500-foot level to begin—and tried not to think of what would happen if we were unsuccessful.
The plane swiftly covered the area where the group had done most of its snowmobiling. The search widened as we failed to detect anything promising. Heading east I dropped the plane to a lower level. Val might have gone into Ant Valley. Nothing! Anxiety increased as we looked over the vast expanse. Where could he be? We climbed back to where our exhausted ground crew had rendezvoused. They did not want to risk losing another in the darkness.
We flew south. It soon would be too late. Almost despairing—all choked up and with tears welling—Gene and I couldn’t talk. We needed help. I silently prayed, “Dear Lord, you know how perilous this is. Please direct us to the boy.”
Seconds later I banked the plane left. We were looking out my side of the cockpit into a deep ravine. Gene yelled, “I think I saw something move by those dark trees in the bottom!” We held our breath as I wheeled the plane around and dove in to the head of the ravine. Even though I was concentrating on the flying, out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark figure with wildly waving arms, now out on the open snow. “That’s him!” Gene joyously shrieked as we blasted by.
I breathed a prayer of thanks. “You’re not the only one who was praying,” Gene said. What a wonderful feeling we experienced. A second pass was made down the ravine to assure Val that help soon would be on the way. We lost no time flying the four miles back to our waiting crew.
To impress them that Val had been found, and provide direction, I swung around and approached from the north. This course was straight from the plane—to the snowmobilers—to Val. While I rocked the wings and Gene switched the landing light on and off, we dove into and pulled up from the dark hollow where they kept their vigil. We continued about a mile toward Val, then banked around to return.
Three of the snowmobiles were moving south through the timber, their headlights sparkling like diamonds. The fourth remained stationary and dark. The crew should know now that Val had been located. But how could they find him without some kind of instruction? I handed Gene my pen and orange-vinyl hunting cap. “Write on it and tell them what the score is.”
A blast of icy air hit us when I opened the cockpit window. Into the hollow we dove at 160 miles per hour. I pointed the plane about 45 feet to the right of and 100 feet above the lone snowmobiler so I could see when to drop the cap. As he disappeared under the wing, I let it go. After clearing the hollow I looked back. There was no movement.
“Looks as if I’ve lost my cap,” I said to Gene. “He must not have seen it. He’s not moving.” A moment later the headlight was on and the snowmobile joined the others. It was so dark hardly anything could be seen.
We circled above Val, providing the plane’s lights as a beacon. The snowmobiles were closing the distance fast, flickering lights marking their progress.
We had taken off with a minimum fuel load so we could climb and maneuver more easily. The gauges showed little left. Considering this, and that the snowmobiles were within one-third mile from Val, I peeled off toward Logan and home. I had not anticipated what difficulty this would cause. The rescuers were then totally without direction. They could see only what was illuminated by their headlights. Was this whole effort going to end in disaster?
The following afternoon, Gene walked into my office, grinning widely, my “lost” cap in his hand. One of the snowmobilers had left the cap at Gene’s home. I then learned what he had printed on the visor:
“OK FOLLOW US HE IS IN RAVINE FOUR MILES SOUTH.”
Gene didn’t know how the rescuers got the cap. I had to find out. I contacted the snowmobiler to whom it was dropped.
“Did you see me waving the cap as the plane approached?” I asked.
“No, I was facing away from you trying to get my engine started.”
“Had it been hard to start?”
“No, it hadn’t given me any trouble before.”
“I couldn’t see you move to get the cap. Where did it land?”
“Right on top of my head!” he blurted out. “It sure shook me up when it slid off by my foot!”
“You really hustled to catch the other guys. How did you get the engine started?”
“Just gave the starter rope another pull and it fired up,” he answered.
Experience in searches and drops during 40 years of piloting has proven to me that, conditions at best, scoring a hit on one man’s helmet was next to impossible.
We often have wondered what the outcome would have been if the engine had started earlier, and the searcher had gone without the cap. Not knowing that Val was in the ravine, the crew likely would have wandered in agonizing frustration. His friends found him pretty well shaken (and, oh so happy they had come) about an hour after the plane left.
We are most grateful for our Heavenly Father’s guidance, and that the cap landed precisely where it needed to—to save a precious life.

One of our neighbors, an older couple who has since passed away, had such a home. As we entered their home, one or both of them greeted us with a cheerful smile. Their living room was simple, clean, and orderly. They always invited us to sit down and never seemed rushed. They had a few meaningful pictures on their walls—a family portrait, a favorite temple, and some lovely landscapes. Their home was full of light, and we could feel the Spirit in abundance. It reminded me of the simple elegance of the temple, and I desired my home to feel the same way.

Marcus Robb, 15, Perth. For Marcus, seminary and the scriptures were the key to educational freedom. When he was diagnosed with a reading impairment known as dyslexia a few years ago, he was four years behind in his reading level. Fortunately, that’s when he began seminary, where his teacher emphasized the scriptures. “I decided I would read them,” he says simply. He began waking at 4:50 each morning to read for 40 minutes. It was tough at first. But now, after one year, he is reading on a level with his peers.

I was raised on a small farm in northern Utah. My parents were good, hardworking, industrious people. In order to make ends meet, my father took outside employment. Each morning before he left for work, he would make a list of chores he wanted me to accomplish before he came home that evening.
On one occasion one of the items on the list was to take a small broken part from our hay rake to the blacksmith shop to have it repaired. I was uncomfortable about going. My father hadn’t left any money, and I wondered what I should do.
When all my other chores were finished, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I can still remember walking the mile or so to the blacksmith shop. I even remember how uncomfortable I was as I watched him weld the part. As he finished, I nervously told him that I had no money, but that my father would pay him later.
He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry. Your father’s word is as good as his bond.” I remember running all the way home, relieved that the part had been repaired and grateful that my father was known as a man whose word was as good as his bond.
As a boy I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I knew it was good. It was years later that I recognized that a person whose word is as good as his bond is a person of honesty and integrity, a person to be trusted. In today’s world, there are some who think nothing of breaking their word, their promises, their covenants with man and with God.
Honesty and integrity are not old-fashioned principles. They are just as viable in today’s world. We have been taught in the Church that:
When we say we will do something, we do it.
When we make a commitment, we honor it.
When we are given a calling, we fulfill it.
When we borrow something, we return it.
When we have a financial obligation, we pay it.
When we enter into an agreement, we keep it.
President N. Eldon Tanner related the following experience: “A young man came to me and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in arrears, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledges’” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1966, 99).
We are all familiar with the statement “Honesty is the best policy.” For members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, honesty is the only policy. We must be honest with our fellowmen. We must be honest with our God. We are honest with God when we honor the covenants we make with Him.
We are a covenant-making people. We make covenants at the waters of baptism. We renew those covenants each week as we worthily partake of the sacrament. We take upon ourselves the name of Christ; we promise to always remember Him and to keep His commandments. And in return He promises us that His Spirit will always be with us. We make covenants as we enter into the temple, and in return we receive the promised blessings of eternal life—if we keep those sacred covenants.
If we honor the commitments and covenants that we make with God and with our fellowmen, then it can be said of each of us, “Our word is as good as our bond.”