Gospel Story Finder

Photograph courtesy of Stefanie D.
I had always been an active member of the Church, but after my divorce, I lost focus of Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and my faith. I met someone, and we started living together. My whole life changed. I felt that I was totally in the dark, and I stopped attending church because I felt that I didn’t belong.
But I did continue attending institute. And during this time, a service missionary I met at institute invited me to join BYU–Pathway. I was hesitant, but she promised it would change my life. So I decided to try it for one semester. However, I soon had my first child and didn’t know how to handle being a new mom along with pursuing an education, so I quit.
Later on, I remembered how great I felt during that one semester. I had felt so close to Heavenly Father and wanted that feeling back. So a year later, I started BYU–Pathway again, and many blessings came into my life right after.
I started a beautiful repentance process, married the man I was living with, and even received my temple recommend. Later, I was called to be the Relief Society president. Now I am serving as an institute teacher and love it! My husband has also been learning more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
We will be able to take all the knowledge we learn into the next life (see Doctrine and Covenants 130:18–19). BYU–Pathway is not just an education—it brought me back to the Lord’s wonderful path.
Stefanie D., Wanica, Suriname

Born in Ixelles, Belgium, 5 October 1935, Charles Didier recalls that his father, Andre, a Belgian Army officer, was captured at the beginning of World War II. After escaping, he stayed hidden and saw his family only during occasional surprise visits. Elder Didier looks back on a time after his own ninth birthday:
“Because the secret police were looking for him [his father], we were searched—and barely escaped. We went to where he was hiding in Antwerp Province, and from there to live with my great-grandmother in Flanders.” Then Belgium was liberated. “I vividly remember the soldiers trying to get away on bicycles, the airplanes coming, the shooting, and the Allied troops coming into the village.”

Our prophet is also a good example of someone who looked with his spiritual eyes, felt and understood with his heart, and then helped. President Gordon B. Hinckley was only twenty years old when his mother died. He had younger brothers and sisters at home, and everyone in the family was very sad. Ramona was sixteen and about to graduate from high school. She had no dress for that special occasion, and she thought nobody noticed. But her older brother Gordon saw her need, understood how she felt, and helped. Using some money he had saved for graduate school, he bought her a new dress. His kindness made her feel loved.

Some years ago I worked in the Missionary Department of the Church. We were developing materials to help missionaries be better and do better. One of the General Authorities shared this experience about repentance:
“A little over a year ago, I had the privilege of interviewing a young man to go on a mission. Because he had committed a major transgression, it was necessary for him under then-existing policy to be interviewed by a General Authority. When the young man came in, I said, ‘Apparently there’s been a major transgression in your life, and that has necessitated this interview. Would you mind telling me what the problem was? What did you do?’
“He laughed and said, ‘Well, there isn’t anything I haven’t done.’ I said, ‘Well, let’s be more specific then. Have you … ?’ And then this General Authority began to probe with some very specific questions. The young man laughed again and said, ‘I told you, I’ve done everything.’
“I said, ‘How many times have you …’ He said very sarcastically, ‘Do you think I numbered them?’ I said, ‘I would to God you could if you can’t.’ He said, again quite sarcastically, ‘Well, I can’t.’
“I said, ‘How about …’ And then the General Authority probed in another direction. He said, ‘I told you. I’ve done everything.’ I said, ‘Drugs?’ He said, ‘Yes,’ in a very haughty attitude. I said, ‘What makes you think you’re going on a mission then?’ He said, ‘I know I’m going. My patriarchal blessing says I’ll go on a mission, and I’ve repented. I haven’t done any of those things for this past year. I have repented, and I know I’m going on a mission.’
“I said, ‘My dear friend, I’m sorry but you are not going on a mission. Do you think we could send you out with those clean, wholesome young men who have never violated the code? Do you think we could have you go out and boast and brag about your past? You haven’t repented; you have just stopped doing something.
“‘Sometime in your life you need to visit Gethsemane; and when you have been there, you’ll understand what repentance is. Only after you have suffered in some small degree as the Savior suffered in Gethsemane will you know what repentance is. The Savior has suffered in a way none of us understands for every transgression committed. How dare you laugh and jest and have a haughty attitude about your repentance? I’m sorry, you are not going on a mission.’
“He started to cry, and he cried for several minutes. I didn’t say a word. Finally, he said, ‘I guess that’s the first time I have cried since I was five years old.’ I said, ‘If you had cried like that the first time you were tempted to violate the moral code, you possibly would be going on a mission.’
“He left the office, and I think he felt I was really cruel. I explained to the bishop and the stake president that the boy could not go on a mission.”
About six months later the same General Authority returned to that city to speak in a lecture series held in the evening. When he finished, many young adults lined up to shake hands with him. As he shook hands, one by one, he looked up and saw the young man that he had previously interviewed standing in the line about four back. The General Authority relates the following:
“My mind quickly flashed back to our interview. I recalled his laughing and haughty attitude. I remembered how sarcastic he was. Pretty soon he was right in front of me. I was on the stand bending over, and as I reached down to shake his hand, I noticed a great change had taken place. He had tears in his eyes. He had almost a holy glow about his countenance. He took my hand in his and said, ‘I’ve been there; I’ve been to Gethsemane and back.’ I said, ‘I know. It shows in your face.’ We can be forgiven for our transgressions, but we must understand that just to stop doing something is not repentance. If it had not been for the Savior and the miracle of forgiveness, this young man would have carried his transgressions throughout all eternity. We ought to love the Savior and serve Him for this reason and this reason alone” (Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, Sweden Area Conference, Youth Session, Aug. 1974).

The missionary recommendations that arrive daily at Church headquarters present a spectrum of preparedness. Let me share with you just one or two comments gleaned from the period I served on the Missionary Committee. One recommendation form contained this comment written by the bishop: “John is very close to his mother. She would be happy if he were assigned to a mission close to their home so she could phone weekly and visit him on occasion.” As I read this comment to President Spencer W. Kimball, who assigned the missionaries then, I wondered what his reaction would be. Would he assign the young man to California or Washington, that he might be near his Oregon home? Without raising his eyes from the assignment sheet, President Kimball said, “Please assign this young man to Johannesburg, South Africa.” Another missionary recommendation contained the comment from the stake president: “This young man was instrumental in bringing his stepfather into the Church about a year ago. His stepfather told me it was because of Jerry getting up each Sunday morning and going to church that caused him to wonder what kind of church could have that much influence on a boy.” In many respects, a mission is a family calling. The letters which a missionary sends to Mother and Father are packed with power—spiritual power. They are filled with faith—abiding faith. I’ve always maintained that such letters seem to pass through a heavenly post office before being delivered to home and family. Mother treasures every word. Father fills with pride. The letters are read over and over again—and are never discarded. I trust parents will remember that their letters to a missionary son or daughter bring home and heaven close to him or to her and provide a renewal of commitment to the sacred calling of missionary. God will inspire you as you take pen in hand to express to one you love the feelings of your soul and the love of your heart.

At the funeral service for the mother of Elder Marion G. Romney, held in Provo, Utah, her son-in-law, Brother John K. Edmunds, gave the following account: “In their early married life, Brother and Sister Romney lived in Mexico. Brother Romney [like the father of President Benson] was called on a mission. There was no feasible means of support, yet he went and his wife sustained him. One day she grieved because she wanted to write her husband a letter but did not have sufficient money to buy a postage stamp. She prayed and then took a walk through the orchard that autumn day, kicking the leaves as she walked along and thinking of her husband. She noticed a shiny object on the ground and discovered it to be a coin—just the right amount for several postage stamps.”
Her letter had been written. Now, through the intervention of God, it could be mailed.
Brethren, think of the family blessings received by the Romney and Benson families, which blessings followed the commitment to missionary service.
I think of my own grandfather, Nels Monson, who waited seven years for his sweetheart to become his bride. The first entry in his missionary journal expressed eloquently his gratitude: “Today, in the Salt Lake Temple, Maria Mace became my eternal wife.” The entry written three days later was more somber: “Tonight the bishop came to our house. I have been called to serve a two-year mission to Scandinavia. My dear wife will remain at home and sustain me.” I treasure such faith. I cherish such commitment.
I commend the many couples who now go forth to serve. Leaving the comforts of home, the companionship of family, they walk hand in hand as eternal companions, but also hand in hand with God as His representatives to a faith-starved world.
To the many who contribute of their means for missionary service, I express the thanks of the Church and the sentiments of my soul. The gratitude of God may come soon. Then again, it may come as it did to Brother Fetzer—after thirty-three years. This I know: It will come. It will bless. It will comfort. It will sanctify.

Many years ago at stake conferences, we would show a film clip to illustrate the theme of the message we were presenting. During the course of a year, as we traveled around the Church on our assigned stake conference visits, we became very familiar with the content of the film. We could almost quote it by heart. The message has remained in my mind over all these years. The film was narrated by President Harold B. Lee and gave an account of an occurrence in the home of his daughter. It goes something like this:
One evening the mother of the home was frantically trying to finish bottling some fruit. Finally the children were ready for bed and were settled down. It was now time to get to the fruit. As she began to peel and pit the fruit, two little boys appeared in the kitchen and announced that they were ready for their bedtime prayers.
Not wanting to be interrupted, the mother said very quickly to the boys, “Why don’t you just say your prayers alone tonight, and Mother will just keep working on the fruit?”
The older of the two sons firmly planted his feet and asked, “Which is the most important, prayers or fruit?” (See Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Harold B. Lee [2000], 143–44.)

This story took place in Canada.
Dieter wanted to listen to general conference. He tried to sit still. He tried to listen to the talks. But having autism made it hard for him to focus. He wiggled on the couch. He played with his toys. He ran around.
Then he looked over at Dad. Dad was sitting quietly and listening to the speakers. Dieter wanted to be like him. So he got out his art supplies. Maybe coloring a picture would help him sit quietly.
While he colored, Dieter listened to Elder Jeffrey R. Holland speak. Elder Holland told a story about Jesus. Jesus asked a rich young man to give all his money to the poor.*
Dieter wanted to help people who didn’t have enough money too. And he had an idea.
“Mom, I want to paint an owl,” Dieter said. “Can you draw one for me?”
“Sure,” Mom said. She drew an owl.
Dieter dipped his paintbrush into some paint. He painted the owl’s wings first. He made some feathers brown and some feathers orange. As he painted, he listened to the other talks. Even when all the talks were over, Dieter kept working. He wanted the owl to be perfect.
At last Dieter was done. He showed the owl to Mom.
“It looks great!” Mom said. “Should we hang it up?”
Dieter shook his head no. “I want to sell it and give the money to help people who don’t have enough money. Like they talked about in conference.”
Mom smiled. “Let’s see what we can do.”
She posted a picture of Dieter’s painting to sell online. Mom wrote that said Dieter would give the money to a shelter for people without homes.
The next day, Dieter and Mom checked the post. Dieter couldn’t believe it! Lots of people wanted to buy his picture. He was glad so many people wanted to help.
A restaurant in Dieter’s city asked to buy the painting. They said they would pay 10 times more than Dieter and Mom had asked for! Other stores asked him for paintings too. Dieter had more work to do!
Mom traced more animals, and Dieter got out his paints. He painted a wolf, a lion, and an orca. He liked the orca the best. He named it “Otis the Orca.” A grocery store near his house bought it. The next time Dieter went to the store, he saw it hanging on the wall!
“Look, Mom!” Dieter pointed to the painting.
“Wow!” Mom said. “Now whenever we come here, we can remember how your talents helped people.”
Dieter was proud that people liked his paintings. But he was even happier that he could help others. He was glad he had listened during general conference.
Dieter made paintings to sell because he wanted to help people. How could you help others?
Illustrations by Natalie Campbell

As I think about rejection I'm reminded of a story about what occurred in Rome, Italy many years ago. Many years ago when in an airport one had to pay an exit tax to get out of the particular area. There was a young missionary that was returning home and four other missionaries accompanied him to the Rome airport. They needed a dollar for the exit tax and he didn't have it, nor did the missionaries who accompanied him; that sounds familiar. The young missionary went up to two sisters who were waiting for a flight, that were serving in another religion, and he said to them, "Sisters I'm trying to get back to the United States and I don't have a dollar for the exit tax, I'd like to know if you would you loan me the dollar." The one sister looked at him and said, "Do you mean if I give you a dollar, you'll go back to the United States?" And he said "Absolutely." She pulled out a five dollar bill and said "Here's a five dollar bill, and take your four friends with you."

When the Saints began to settle in Nauvoo and surrounding areas, a French Catholic priest by the name of Father John Alleman, who lived in neighboring McDonough County, needed transportation to visit a sick member of his church. The Prophet Joseph Smith provided him with ferry service to cross the river, and a carriage to his destination.
As an expression of respect, Joseph Smith commented, “The priests attend to their people faithfully and mind their own business, whereas others are continually bothering the Latter-day Saints.”

Let us walk these clearly defined paths. To help us do so we can follow the shortest sermon in the world. It can be found on a common traffic sign. It reads, “Keep Right.”

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.

“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”

Kelley could not find Samuel’s wife. Kelley knew her name, but Samuel’s wife just wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It was like unraveling a mystery, and it was frustrating. “His wife had a nickname, and we had to get a special form for the census to get her record. Then we had to put their names in code before we asked for it. We would do these names in code, and then we were wrong, wrong, wrong.”
For a little while one Saturday afternoon in Anchorage, Alaska, Kelley Staats, a Beehive in the Anchorage Sixth Ward, got a taste of what doing family history was really like. Even though Kelley was having a hard time for a few minutes, she was actually having a great time figuring out how to find information from census, cemetery, immigration, and church records.

Long ago a woman tearfully told me that as a college student she had made a serious mistake with her boyfriend. He had arranged for an abortion. In due time they graduated and were married and had several other children. She told me how tormented she now was to look at her family, her beautiful children, and see in her mind the place, empty now, where that one child was missing.
If this couple understands and applies the Atonement, they will know that those experiences and the pain connected with them can be erased. No pain will last forever. It is not easy, but life was never meant to be either easy or fair. Repentance and the lasting hope that forgiveness brings will always be worth the effort.

I have a necklace that has a small rod on it. It was given to me as a Christmas present and reminds me to hold to the rod.
One Sunday I put it on for church but forgot to take it off, so I wore it to school the next day. Someone asked me, “What is that? A dog whistle?”
“Oh, it’s a reminder to hold to the iron rod,” I said. “It’s something in the Book of Mormon.” That led to questions: “What is the Book of Mormon about?” “What sets Mormons apart from other Christians?” They asked about the temple and all kinds of other things. What was amazing was that as I was talking, I felt the Spirit guiding me about what to say next.
I’m sure I was afraid at first, but taking those kinds of opportunities—even small ones like that experience—is so important. A few months previously, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited our stake. The Friday before the meeting, friends asked me about my plans for the weekend. I was really excited about his visit, but I stopped myself from telling friends about it. How easy would it have been to say, “I’m going to see an Apostle”? But I worried that they wouldn’t know what I was talking about or that they would think it was strange, so I just talked about my plans for Saturday and didn’t mention Sunday at all. That could have been a really great opportunity to share a little bit about my faith with my friends, but I pushed it away. I regretted it afterwards.
I’ve learned since then to never be afraid. A lot of times friends will be interested and ask to find out more, but even if they don’t, my friends generally respect what I do and say when it comes to the Church.
Missionary work can be scary, because the gospel is close to your heart and you don’t want people to ridicule what you say. A scripture mastery verse, Romans 1:16, really gets to me: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.” This helps me to speak up before the feelings of fear hit me too hard. And I know that Heavenly Father blesses us as we do.

I had a memorable experience with this principle when I was a student. I always worked hard in school to try to learn and prepare for the future. I knew that in order to leave poverty, I would have to find a career that would open doors to new opportunities in life. I also knew that in order to obtain this type of career, I would have to focus on my education.
As important as education was to me, I made the personal decision to forgo studying on Sundays. As a member of the Church, I knew the Lord had said that the Sabbath is His day, not ours. I tried to make purposeful decisions about what I would do on this special day. However, even after having made this decision, at times I was tempted to bend my own rule, especially when I had a test coming up. I would think, “It’s not bad; it’s just studying. I can go to church in the morning and study in the afternoon and evening.”
But as I remembered the promise I had made that I would remain active and faithful to the counsel of the Lord’s prophets, it was much easier to stick to my decision to not study on Sundays and instead use the Lord’s day for service and worship. I had already decided to remain faithful, so for me it was just a matter of interpreting what the Lord had said about the Sabbath day and applying His counsel as best as I could in my life.
I ended up excelling in my studies and obtaining a good career that helped me provide for my family. I know that because I kept my promise to the Lord, He blessed me to be able to create a better life.

Sister Hamilton and I served in Africa for five years. One of our Area Seventies, and a dear friend, was Elder Khumbulani D. Mdletshe.

Khumbulani learned of the Church in 1980 in a township outside of Durban, South Africa, at the age of fifteen, and he was baptized soon after.

A few years later, at age nineteen, he was called to serve as a full-time missionary in the London England Mission. He was one of the first Black members from South Africa to serve a full-time mission.

It might be hard to imagine, but Elder Mdletshe had never heard of the previous Church policy that restricted Black Africans from holding the priesthood. He simply had never been exposed to it. As Elder Mdletshe tells this story, one day as he and his companion were out tracting, they introduced themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to a man who then asked:

“You are a Mormon?” Before I could say a word, [the man] continued, “And you are black!” I looked at my hand to see if I was still black, and indeed I was. . . . Finally, I said to him, “Yes, I am black, and I am a Mormon.” He continued, “You are lost, Brother! How can you be a member of a racist church? Mormons do not accept blacks in their church.”40

This stopped Elder Mdletshe in his tracks, since he had never heard this before. As they left the man’s house, Elder Mdletshe turned and asked his companion, “What was that all about?”

The companion did the best he could to answer Elder Mdletshe’s questions, and in doing so informed him of the priesthood and temple restrictions that had previously existed for members of Black African descent.

Elder Mdletshe thought about this new information for several days and finally concluded that he could no longer be a member of the Church, let alone serve as a missionary. He made an appointment with his mission president to let him know that he would be returning home and resigning his membership.

Elder Mdletshe wrote:

President Pinegar had me come to his office. I rehearsed what had happened . . . and voiced my decision to return home to South Africa. I . . . told him that I could not be a member of a racist church. . . .

After listening patiently to me, my mission president said, “Elder Mdletshe, . . . all I know . . . is that all worthy men can [now] be ordained to the priesthood [and that Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son in the Sacred Grove].”41

I now quote from Elder Mdletshe:

President Pinegar helped me understand two things during that exchange:
One, [while it is true that] the Church did not ordain Black people to the priesthood [for a season], that is the past, and we do not have reasons as to why it happened; and
Two, he helped me understand that since I have a testimony of the restored gospel, including Joseph Smith having been called of God to restore [Jesus Christ’s Church] to the earth, why should I walk away? [With] those two truths firm in my mind and heart, I decided to stay.42

And that decision has made all the difference. Brother Khumbulani Mdletshe went on to become highly educated. He has been sealed in the temple and, with his beloved wife, Futhi, has raised a faithful family. He has served in the Church in Africa in many capacities, including Area Seventy and mission president.

Finally, I also want to offer an unexpected metaphor today, which certainly wouldn’t have been in this address had I not needed three and a half weeks in intensive care at the burn unit of the University of Utah Hospital after severely burning my feet. The immediate impression upon going in there was a sense of unconditional acceptance, not inappropriate for the first university founded by Brigham Young! There is a sense of entrusting each patient to participate in their own healing: a commitment to professionalism, a solidarity with those who are in pain, and a massive commitment to the progression of healing.

You might think that it is just about comfort and affirmation, but building a beloved community means seeing beyond the comfort. I will never forget seeing the sense of community that Dr. Giavonni Lewis has built in that place and the extraordinary capacity of nurses and ­doctors to help patients through the most difficult, stretching, and painful times. Especially moving was seeing how much it cost nurses and ward staff to help patients move sore and tight skin. One little boy—let’s call him Keith—had been in that unit since the Fourth of July, when an adult had thrown a firework at him, causing significant injury. He had grown to love the staff even as they were asking him to do things that hurt. Being able to love people who help us to grow and who stand with us in our pain is a beautiful example of the nature and the cost of building a beloved community.

Nauvoo was swampy and unhealthy. As soon as the Saints began to settle, they were struck with malaria. “It was a very sickly time,” said Wilford Woodruff. “Joseph had given up his home in Commerce to the sick, and had a tent pitched in his dooryard and was living in that himself.” During this period of suffering, the Prophet called upon the power of the priesthood and went among the sick on both sides of the river, healing many.
The following summer the epidemic increased and many died. In 1841, Sidney Rigdon preached “a general funeral sermon” for the deceased, as workers hurriedly drained the swamps in an effort to control the dreaded disease.

Alan picked up one of the beer cans and studied it. “When’s the last time I held one of these?” he thought to himself.
It was in high school and he had been working at a gas station after school. He was just finishing up one night when a carload of kids from high school came in to get a dollar’s worth of gas. The driver, Nick Hill, got out and talked to him. Alan and Nick had played on the football team.
“Hey, when are you through working?” Nick asked.
“In about five minutes.”
“Why don’t you come with us? We’re just driving around. We’ve got an extra girl.”
“I should get home,” Alan said.
“You’re not afraid to go, are you?”
“No.”
“Then come along.”
“My folks’ll expect me home.”
“So what? You’re old enough to do what you want, aren’t you?”
“Okay, I’ll come, but just for an hour,” Alan said.
He had been in the car for only a few minutes when someone handed him a can of beer and an opener. He nervously stared at the can for a long time. The girl beside him looked at him with curiosity.
“Are you through with the opener?” someone in front asked. He handed the opener forward and gently placed the unopened can on the floorboard of the car.
Nick drove the car to an overlook above the town and parked. There were a few nervous jokes, and then it grew silent. Alan turned and looked at the girl next to him. She smiled awkwardly at him.
“Do you want to take a walk?” he finally asked her.
They got out and walked down a path near the edge.
“It’s a nice view,” he said.
“Yes, it really is.”
“I forgot your name,” Alan said.
“Candy.”
“Oh, sure. I’m sorry about tonight. I’m not very good at things like this.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t drink the beer.”
“No.”
“Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were. I was wondering what you’d do.”
“They said they were just going to drive around,” Alan said.
“You knew what it’d be like, though, didn’t you?” she asked.
“I guess so. Maybe I did. Maybe I just got tired of always saying no to people. Why did you come?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s fun to be asked—to be important to somebody—even for just a few hours. I can’t take being a nothing.”
“Is that what you think you are?”
“Yes. Isn’t that what you think I am?”
“No. You’re special.”
“I wish I were. I dream that I am—a movie star or something like that. But I’m just plain.”
“Can I teach you a song? A Mormon song? Would you mind?”
“What’s the name?”
“‘I Am a Child of God.’”
When they got back, they made noise purposely so Nick and the others would know.
“How long are we gonna be here?” Alan asked.
“We just got here,” Nick replied.
“I need to get home.”
“What’s the matter, are we corrupting you? We found your beer in the back. You didn’t drink it.”
“I don’t want it. You drink it.”
“Are you ever going to grow up and act like a man?” Nick asked.
“You don’t mean act like a man. You mean act like you. Never. I never want to be like you. Does that answer your question?”
Nick got out of the car, as did one of his friends. There was a fight, and before it was over, it was Nick and his friend against Alan. When they were through, they drove off and left him and Candy. After they stopped the nosebleed they both walked down the dirt road to the highway where they phoned a friend who came and gave them a ride back to town.
Alan tossed the empty beer can into the garbage container.

In 1856, two handcart companies, with 1,075 pioneers under the leadership of James G. Willie and Edward Martin, left later in the year than planned, and they encountered early winter storms in present-day Wyoming (see Kate B. Carter, comp., Heart Throbs of the West, 6 vols. (1939–51), 6:360–61).

Peter Howard McBride, then but a boy of six years, was a member of the Martin Company. His father, after helping push handcarts through the icy river, died in the snow and freezing cold that night. Peter’s mother was sick; his older sister Jenetta watched out for the younger children. Her shoes had worn out, and her feet left bloody tracks in the snow. On the banks of the Sweetwater River the wind blew their tent down during the night. Everyone scampered out as the snow covered the tent—everyone except little Peter. According to his account: “In the morning I heard someone say, ‘How many are dead in this tent?’ My sister said, ‘Well, my little brother must be frozen to death in that tent.’ So they jerked the tent loose, sent it scurrying over the snow. My hair was frozen to the tent. I picked myself up and came out quite alive, to their surprise” (Peter Howard McBride, quoted in Susan Arrington Madsen, I Walked to Zion, 41, 43, 45–46).

“I’m 18, too, and had been inactive for several years. Recently this changed. My branch president began visiting me, and he gained my trust to the point that I talked with him about my problems. This greatly relieved the burden I was carrying.

“The missionaries also began visiting me. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying again. Much of this was because of a long period of fasting, praying, and fellowshipping by members of the Church. Because these people would consistently show their love for me, I gradually came around. They also showed me how the Church could help me with personal goals.

“If you truly want to reconvert your friend, try doing with him what my friends did with me. And pray for the Lord to soften his heart. With God’s help, he’ll come around. I know I did. But it may take a while.”
Braun ThompsonAustin, Minnesota