Gospel Story Finder

For reasons known only to himself, my husband left our marriage with little or no explanation to his family and friends. Perhaps in an attempt to make sense of his decisions, many of my in-laws made assumptions without asking me any questions. They came to some incorrect conclusions. Usually I heard their comments indirectly, which was frustrating because I had no opportunity to respond with the truth. These comments hurt me, and I often felt my integrity was in question. I wondered if these people I had been so close to had ever really known me.
Two years after my divorce, I was told that one of my former spouse’s relatives had made a comment implying I was unforgiving. The remark began to fester inside me. I wanted to clear my name; I wanted to tell that man just how wrong he was. As I counseled with my bishop on the matter, I realized that what was important was that Heavenly Father and I both knew the truth about my relationship with my former husband and my contribution to the marriage. I suddenly felt at peace. I knew I could talk to this man about his comment if I chose to, but I no longer felt it mattered much. Because of the Atonement I could let the hurt feelings go. I did not need to suffer because of this man’s—or anyone’s—opinion of me.

A friend related this experience her husband had while attending medical school. "Getting into medical school is pretty competitive, and the desire to do well and be successful puts a great deal of pressure on the new incoming freshmen. My husband had worked hard on his studies and went to attend his first examination. The honor system was expected behavior at the medical school. The professor passed out the examination and left the room. Within a short time, students started to pull little cheat papers out from under their papers or from their pockets. My husband recalled his heart beginning to pound as he realized it is pretty hard to compete against cheaters. About that time a tall, lanky student stood up in the back of the room and stated, 'I left my hometown and put my wife and three little babies in an upstairs apartment and worked very hard to get into medical school. And I'll turn in the first one of you who cheats, and you better believe it!' They believed it. There were many sheepish expressions, and those cheat papers started to disappear as fast as they had appeared. He set a standard for the class which eventually graduated the largest group in the school's history."[8]

The young, lanky medical student who challenged the cheaters was J. Ballard Washburn, who became a respected physician and in later years received special recognition from the Utah Medical Association for his outstanding service as a medical doctor. He also served as a General Authority and as the president of the Las Vegas Nevada Temple.

We ought to remember we don’t dictate to God the timing of His answers to us and the content of what comes in response to our prayers. I learned this when I was about 16. I was in the pageant at Hill Cumorah. I lived in New Jersey at the time, and they had some of the youth from New Jersey and New York as participants. I thought I had a deep belief in the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon and felt that they were true and that the First Vision was as he described it. I thought, “This is the perfect chance. I’ll go to the Sacred Grove one night after the performance and get the final confirmation I need there.”

So I did. I went there late one night. It was a beautiful summer evening. Nobody else was there—perfectly reverent and peaceful. And I prayed. I didn’t ask for anything specific. I just said, “Can I have some confirmation of my belief?” Really I wanted a testimony of my feeling about the Prophet and the Book of Mormon.

Nothing happened. I prayed a long time—I’m sure more than an hour. Nothing. I was really disappointed. I said, “What did I do wrong? Why didn’t the Lord answer me? Wasn’t it the perfect place, the perfect time? What should I have done that I didn’t do?”

Later, what I was looking for came, but it was at home in a quiet moment when I was reading the Book of Mormon. That witness from the Holy Ghost flooded over me, and I knew. I knew I knew. And when I looked back on the experience, I said, “Why didn’t He answer my prayer then? Why was it later?” I learned two important lessons from that:

First, you don’t have to be any place special for the Lord to answer your prayer. You don’t have to make a pilgrimage to Palmyra or Jerusalem or anything like that. He knows where you are. He knows your name. He can answer you right here, right now, any moment.

And second, you don’t dictate to God. You just don’t tell Him what and when. That comes according to His will and His timing and His wisdom. He loves us; He knows what’s best for us, and our job is to be open. Our job is always to be willing and ready to receive. Then He knows what’s best and when to answer us and how to answer us. So, after all is said and done, we still have to live by faith.

Our little blue car rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car, which contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town (population 880) for the big city of 26,000, was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.
After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August came to an end, I began to get more excited about attending this big school that had almost as many people as the whole town I left.
With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to my first period class. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.
As the days continued, I found that the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the music I liked and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to my old school for my last year of school. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.
Although I was a member of the Church, I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house where I used to live. There was at that time no branch there and our family seldom traveled the distance to the nearest ward. When we moved, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, even after she explained it to me. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.
Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “there is another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”
Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

SGS: As my husband mentioned, we were in Australia on 9/11. We were attending a mission presidents’ seminar, and most of the attendees were U.S. citizens. When word was received of the tragedy, the thoughts of everyone there turned first to their own families and then to the many people from all over the world at Ground Zero; the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.; and that hallowed field in Pennsylvania. The schedule of the meetings we were attending was modified, and everyone attempted first to check on the safety of loved ones and then gathered around television sets to watch the events of the day unfold.

Through the miracle of the Internet and the ingenuity of one of the Area Office personnel, we were able to hear the quickly arranged special broadcast from the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. The music of the Tabernacle Choir was soothing, and the remarks and assurances from President Hinckley were comforting to us all.

Because it would have been impossible to travel home immediately, even had we wished to do so, we were able to complete the seminar and then spend a delightful day in the beautiful city of Sydney. We enjoyed the sights we visited but were especially touched by the people we saw. We observed long rows of Australians lining up before their public buildings to sign condolence books for their American friends and loved ones. We saw hastily crafted signs placed in store windows expressing sympathy for those who had suffered or lost their lives, and we saw people connecting with each other in loving, remarkable, and, we thought, atypical ways. Total strangers were courteous and expressed sentiments of compassion and concern to each other.

On our flight from Sydney to San Francisco several days later, we saw people not previously acquainted connecting with one another in sensitivity and kindness. The tragedy had identified for almost everyone an increased appreciation for each other and for the land of America. Seemingly this had nothing to do with politics or even nationality, but it had much to do with appreciation for the blessings of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” (see Declaration of Independence) we experience and too often underappreciate.

I have one other thought I should like to express. Brigham Young was a great defender of the Prophet Joseph Smith. There were Judases in the ranks in that day, just as there were in the Savior’s day, and just as we have today, some who are members of the Church who are undercutting us, who are betraying their trusts. We are shocked when we see the places from which some of these things come.
Brigham Young was invited by some of these men who were trying to depose the Prophet Joseph from his position as President of the Church; but they made a mistake by inviting President Brigham Young into their circle. And after he had listened to what their motives were, he said something to this effect: “I want to say something to you men. You cannot destroy the appointment of a prophet of God, but you can cut the thread that binds you to the prophet of God, and sink yourselves to hell.”
There was a pugilist there by the name of Jacob Bump, so the story goes, who doubled up his fists and started toward President Young, who replied to this man’s threats: “I would like to lay hands on a man like you in defense of the Prophet Joseph Smith.”
Remember that, brethren. You cannot destroy the appointments of the prophets of God. The Lord knows whom he wants to preside in his church, and sometimes it takes a lot of practicing, guiding, testing, before he may know whether or not one of us is prepared for the present assignment.

When I was four years old, I found out that I had to get my frenulum (a part of the tongue that connects it to the mouth) clipped. I was really scared the day of my operation. I said a prayer to Heavenly Father that everything would be all right. At the hospital, the doctor gave me some medicine, and I went to sleep. When I woke up, the next thing I knew I was in my mom’s arms, and I didn’t cry. I believe that Heavenly Father helped me through the operation without feeling pain.

Not long ago, a friend recounted to me an experience he had while serving as a mission president. He had undergone a surgery that required several weeks of recuperation. During his recovery, he devoted time to searching the scriptures. One afternoon as he pondered the Savior’s words in the 27th chapter of 3 Nephi, he drifted off to sleep. He subsequently related:
“I fell into a dream in which I was given a vivid, panoramic view of my life. I was shown my sins, poor choices, the times … I had treated people with impatience, plus the omissions of good things I should have said or done. … [A] comprehensive … [review of] my life was shown to me in just a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. I awoke, startled, and … instantly dropped to my knees beside the bed and began to pray, to plead for forgiveness, pouring out the feelings of my heart like I had never done previously.
“Prior to the dream, I didn’t know that I [had] such great need to repent. My faults and weaknesses suddenly became so plainly clear to me that the gap between the person I was and the holiness and goodness of God seemed [like] millions of miles. In my prayer that late afternoon, I expressed my deepest gratitude to Heavenly Father and to the Savior with my whole heart for what They had done for me and for the relationships I treasured with my wife and children. While on my knees I also felt God’s love and mercy that was so palpable, despite my feeling so unworthy. …
“I can say I haven’t been the same since that day. … My heart changed. … What followed is that I developed more empathy toward others, with a greater capacity to love, coupled with a sense of urgency to preach the gospel. … I could relate to the messages of faith, hope, and the gift of repentance found in the Book of Mormon [as] never before.”
It is important to recognize that this good man’s vivid revelation of his sins and shortcomings did not discourage him or lead him to despair. Yes, he felt shock and remorse. He felt keenly his need to repent. He had been humbled, yet he felt gratitude, peace, and hope—real hope—because of Jesus Christ, “the living bread which came down from heaven.”
My friend spoke of the gap he perceived in his dream between his life and the holiness of God. Holiness is the right word. To eat the flesh and drink the blood of Christ means to pursue holiness. God commands, “Be ye holy; for I am holy.”

Three years later, in 1823, Joseph was no longer so sure. He no longer felt as righteous as he once had. Part of Joseph’s uncertainty may have been because he was just seventeen and still figuring things out. Part of it may have been because he felt like he was hanging out with the wrong crowd. In fairness, three years earlier the Lord had commanded Joseph not to attend any of the then-existing churches. Consequently, Joseph mingled with “all kinds of society” and was left to “all kinds of temptations.” He felt condemned for his weaknesses and imperfections and worried that he was now “offensive in the sight of God.”
One night, 200 years ago last Thursday, Joseph decided to pray before going to bed. He wanted to be forgiven of his sins. He wanted to know that God still approved of him. Because his first prayer had been answered so dramatically with a visit from God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ, Joseph had complete confidence that he would be visited by them again. Instead, something unexpected happened. The little room that Joseph shared with his brothers got brighter and brighter until Joseph could see the figure of an angelic man floating near him in the air. The man introduced himself as Moroni, a long-dead prophet who had buried a gospel record engraved on gold plates. He said Joseph would translate this record, and by doing so would bring about the restoration of the priesthood in fulfillment of biblical prophecy.
Now this strikes me as far more than Joseph asked for. I think he wanted something like the revelation he received earlier: “Joseph, thy sins are forgiven thee.” Instead, he got three separate visitations by a previously unheard-of angel with instructions about digging up an ancient record, prophecies about his name being had for good and evil among all nations, and warnings about the wicked burning as stubble. To me, this doesn’t sound like a very comforting message.
Joseph couldn’t have known then what millions of readers know now: The Book of Mormon that he was about to translate would answer the very questions he prayed about. Could he be forgiven of his sins? How can we know that God approves of us? Is it possible to become better people? Who gets to be saved? How does that happen?

Returning again to Karl G. Maeser, on one occasion he was leading a party of young missionaries across the Alps. As they slowly ascended the steep slope, he looked back and saw a row of sticks thrust into the glacial snow to mark the one safe path across the otherwise treacherous mountains.

Something about those sticks impressed him, and halting the company of missionaries he gestured toward them and said, “Brethren, there stands the priesthood. They are just common sticks like the rest of us—some of them may even seem to be a little crooked, but the position they hold makes them what they are. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.”

As December approached, I was busy preparing for the rush of the Christmas season. For four years, Christmas festivities had been held in our home, but this year I felt overwhelmed. When I discussed with my husband everything we needed to do—buy presents, prepare food, and do many other things—we decided to cancel the Christmas party and do something different this Christmas. We wanted to do something that we could give as a gift for the Savior.
Throughout December, we held family home evenings about the life of Jesus Christ, went to the temple, and planned family service projects. My husband was a bishop at the time, and we decided that on Christmas Day we would sing for all the widows in the ward. As a family, we began to practice several hymns we would sing. My children loved to sing “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, no. 206).
On Christmas Eve, we made cards with special Christmas messages and prepared treats to take on our visits. I was pleased to see our family so united and happy to serve others with such love. I could feel the spirit of Christmas.
On Christmas Day, our children were eager to make the visits. With each home we visited, we felt happier, and it seemed that the hymns became better each time we sang. When we arrived at the last house, it looked like no one was home. We waited a few minutes, and the children began to get restless. Eventually an elderly widow came out to meet us with her Sunday clothes on and her hair nicely combed. When she saw us, her eyes filled with tears. I became emotional as well and could hardly sing.
As we returned home, our five-year-old daughter told us she didn’t want to go home but wanted to keep singing. Before I could respond, my nine-year-old said, “We’ll just do it again next year!”
For our family, this was an unforgettable Christmas because we lifted others and showed our love for Jesus Christ. As I reflected on the events of the day, I felt the love of the Lord and remembered His words, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

Young: I could go on for an hour if you want. At the beginning of my mission, I remember praying and praying that I would feel like I was doing something worthwhile. After about two weeks, we started teaching a little family out in a village. Most of the conversation was going right by me, because I was just starting to get hold of the language. The mother started crying, and my companion asked her what was wrong. She wanted to explain that she’d had a dream. In the dream she had seen a great white building. Down in Honduras there aren’t too many of those. People were dressed in white and they were going in and out of this beautiful building. Then she said, “Outside that building, waiting to take us in, was Elder Young.”
I realized she was talking about the temple, even though she didn’t know it. And I said, “Look what I’m involved with, helping people to be eternal families.” And it happened. The family was baptized a couple of weeks later and I got a letter last summer telling me they were sealed in the Guatemala Temple.
That’s something more important than any football success I might have. That’s something I can say for myself later, that I was involved in something like that.

Ever since I was little, I was fascinated by the stories of Church leaders who served in the armed forces. Many of them have been war heroes and great examples of valor and humility in their home countries. Their experiences inspired me to participate in my country’s military.
When I was 13, I entered a school known for its strict military discipline and infantry training. My schedule was demanding. I often was so exhausted by the end of the day that my scripture study and seminary participation seemed impossible.
By my second year at school, I had made plans for my life: upon finishing school at age 18, I would go directly into officer school and graduate four years later as an officer in the Guatemalan Army. All my wishes and dreams seemed to be coming true.
One day I told my mom about my plans, and she asked, “When are you planning to serve a full-time mission?” From that day forward her question lingered in my mind every time I thought about my future.
I still had a rigorous schedule, but I started to show more interest in my spiritual training. I started attending seminary, working with the full-time missionaries, and participating in Church activities. Following the advice of my older brother who was serving a full-time mission, I also began reading the Book of Mormon.
When I was training to be a paratrooper, we had very intense training each day. We would get back to our barracks almost crawling, but I always found the strength to read the Book of Mormon. Daily reading of the scriptures strengthened my spirit and helped me continue with my training.
One evening several of my friends gathered around my bed to ask me some questions about the Book of Mormon and the Word of Wisdom. It was my opportunity to be the best kind of soldier—one who defends the truth and brings freedom through a firm and convincing testimony of the Book of Mormon.
When I was 19, I enlisted again in an army—the army of God, the most powerful army of all. I had the privilege of standing shoulder to shoulder with the valiant elders and sisters of Zion in the battalion of the Mexico Puebla Mission. Girded with the armor of God, we proclaimed the gospel and fought for liberty with courage and strength.
We are fighting against the hosts of darkness, but the victory belongs to God. I want to continue to be a brave soldier, enlisted for our King. We have powerful weapons: the Book of Mormon, the Holy Ghost, and the fulness of the gospel. We are led to victory by living prophets. If we train and prepare ourselves for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ, He will give us crowns of honor in celestial glory.

Now the two missionaries that met us on the street in Colombia and turned us over to the office elders remained unknown until four years ago. All we knew was that one of them had red hair.
Again, let me read from Elder Mellor’s journal – April 5, 2002:
I heard the most wonderful conversion story at my Colombia missionary reunion last night:
A couple there told us all about how they came to join the church. Their presence at the reunion was a bit unusual because they were Americans. The missionaries invited them to attend church. The following day the young men picked them up and helped them to attend church. They introduced them to a new set of Elders working in that branch and after the meetings said goodbye. That was their last contact for 28 years.
At the reunion our mission president introduced them as a couple that had to travel all the way to Colombia to find the LDS church. They now live in Rexburg, Idaho where he is a professor at BYU-Idaho. He has served as a bishop twice and been in a stake presidency. He also plays in the Orchestra at Temple Square. Their son has served a mission (in Colombia, Cali) and they adopted a Colombian girl who served a mission in Utah (Provo). They were so excited to tell their story and see the Elder who had taught them the discussions (and had baptized them). Their only disappointment was that they never knew the names of the first Elders they met who took them to church. Through the years they had asked the Elders that baptized them and they couldn’t remember. The couple only remembered that one of them had red hair.
As I listened to their story my heart jumped because I remembered walking down the street with my red-haired companion when this couple came by. I also recall my sadness not to have been able to teach them. After they told their story I later went up to them and introduced myself. I was quite surprised at how happy they were to see me. I had felt that I had played such a significant role. As we recounted the events of those two days and the good people they had met over the years that had prepared them to hear the gospel we both got teary eyed. What wonderful people! She related to me that the Elders who taught them didn’t know the discussions in English and had to use their books to help them as they taught. Their whole lives had changed since joining the church. Many, many people had prepared them over the years by little acts of Christian love and charity. Then came the right moment and circumstances when they ready to hear more.
Bob Mellor concludes:
As I look back on all this, I have to admit; turning this beautiful family over to another set of Elders was one of the most heart-wrenching ordeals of my mission – even though I knew it was the best thing for them. … I didn’t want my selfish, personal desires to interfere in any way with what was the best opportunity for them to be nurtured in the Gospel.

Like my parents, I needed courage to live the gospel. I spent one year as a soldier in the German army. Most of the soldiers used bad language, smoked, and did other things I knew I should not do. Sometimes I felt alone, but I always tried to keep Heavenly Father’s standards. My officers respected my commitment and allowed me time off to participate in Church activities.
On the last night of a soldier’s service, the soldier and his friends would drink a lot of alcohol and have a rowdy party. I thought and prayed about what I should do when my last night came. When it did, I told the group of soldiers serving with me, “Let’s do something that has never been done before.” We dressed in our best suits and went to say a quiet good-bye to our army leaders. Our major couldn’t believe it. I felt that Heavenly Father had guided me to find an answer to my problem. Looking back, I can see that the greatest blessings in my life have come by following the counsel of prophets and keeping God’s commandments.

Saturday was finally here. It was time for our surprise adventure!
“I hope we’re going to the trampoline park,” I shouted from the backseat. Mom wouldn’t tell us where we were going, but the street we were on looked familiar. …
Then it hit me. We were going to the care center. Our school class had gone there a few times. We each had a “grandparent buddy” to talk to and play games with. My buddy was named Bill, and he was pretty cool.
But not as cool as a trampoline park, I thought as Mom pulled into the parking lot. When my brother saw the red and tan building, he groaned.
“This is going to be the worst day ever!” he grumbled. “This isn’t a fun adventure at all.”
Mom looked at us from the rear-view mirror. “Oh come on, give it a shot. By the time we’re through, you just might change your mind.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t so sure. I helped Mom carry bags of small quilts into the lobby. It felt calm and peaceful inside.
“Do you know why I like coming here?” Mom asked. I shook my head.
“I feel the same way here as when I see new babies at the hospital,” she said. “Like I’m close to heaven.”
Close to heaven. I liked that.
We showed the receptionist at the front desk the quilts we wanted to hand out, and he led us to a room where we could visit.
“Is Bill still here?” I asked. “The one who’s married to Ruth and likes baseball?”
One of the workers nodded. “Oh, yes! Bill is still here. We sure love him.”
We started talking with some of the people, and it was actually pretty interesting hearing about their lives. And after a while, I saw Bill sitting in his wheelchair.
“Hi, Bill!”
He didn’t look like he remembered me, but that was OK. I picked out a small quilt with a baseball pattern and laid it on his lap.
“He gets cold a lot, and that will really help him,” said one of the workers standing nearby. “His wife will be happy to see it. She comes to visit him every day.”
Our visit wasn’t long, but it was long enough to see Bill smile. On our way out, we read a piece of paper posted on Bill’s door that told some fun things about his life. We learned that he grew up on a farm and learned to play baseball from his stepmother.
“Hey, Mom, look!” I pointed to a line on the paper. “He was so good at baseball that he was going to sign on with a professional team! But then he served in the military instead.” It was neat to learn a bit more about Bill.
Soon we were back in the van, buckling our seatbelts.
“So?” Mom asked us. “What did you think?”
I smiled. “I actually had fun. And I feel really happy. I think it’s because we helped Bill.”
As Mom drove home, we talked about different ways we can show people love and how the Spirit tells us when we are making good choices. We were all feeling so great that we decided to go back and visit another day.
What a great day! I thought as we pulled into our driveway. It was a fun adventure after all.

In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination, to press onward and to measure up to the stature of true potential. But the way is rugged, and the course is strenuous. So discovered John Helander from Göteborg, Sweden. John was a young adult. He had the same yearnings for the blessings of success as do all. But John is handicapped, in that it is difficult for him to coordinate his motions.

At an activity of young people in Kungsbacka, Sweden, John took part in an 800-meter running race. He had no chance to win. Rather, his was the possibility of being humiliated, mocked, derided, scorned. Perhaps John remembered another who lived long ago and far away. Wasn’t He mocked? Wasn’t He derided? Wasn’t He scorned? But He prevailed. He won His race. Maybe John could win his.

What a race it is! Struggling, surging, pressing, the runners bolt far beyond John. There is wonderment among the spectators. Who is this runner who lags so far behind? The participants, on their second lap of this two-lap race, pass John while he is but halfway through the first lap. Tension mounts as the runners press toward the tape. Who will win? Who will place second? Then comes the final burst of speed; the tape is broken. The crowd cheers; the winner is proclaimed.

The race is over—or is it? Who is this contestant who continues to run when the race is ended? He crosses the finish line on but his first lap. Doesn’t he know he has lost? Ever onward he struggles, the only participant now on the track. This is his race. This must be his victory. No one among the vast throng of spectators leaves. Every eye is on this valiant runner. He makes the final turn and moves toward the finish line. There is awe; there is admiration. Every spectator sees himself running his own race of life. As John approaches the finish line, the audience, as one, rises to its feet. There is a loud applause of acclaim. Stumbling, falling, exhausted but victorious, John Helander breaks the newly tightened tape. (Officials are human beings, too.) The cheering echoes for miles. And just maybe, if the ear is carefully attuned, that Great Scorekeeper—even the Lord—can be heard to say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”10

“I needed a personal second witness of Jesus Christ,” says Jodi Burr of Danville, Pennsylvania. “I wanted to know Christ. I had no doubt of his reality and atonement, but I wanted to come to a knowledge of him as a person and as a loving God. As I reread the Book of Mormon, no individual verse or story provided what I was looking for. However, my knowledge of Christ formed piece by piece as I studied about him in the various Book of Mormon settings.
“I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting, and my soul was flooded with the Holy Spirit as I received what I had longed for—a second witness of Jesus Christ. After church, one sentence kept repeating itself in my thoughts: ‘I know the Master; I know the Master.’ This testimony is priceless to me. What I was given that day was exactly what I had been searching for—‘and it came to pass’ through reading the Book of Mormon.”

Across the ocean in Clay County, Missouri, Michael Arthur, another great-great-great grandfather who was not a member of the Church, also had a choice: persecute the Mormons or help the Mormons. He chose to give jobs to Lyman Wright, Wilford Woodruff, and others and offered the use of a cabin on his farm where Joseph Smith disbanded Zion’s Camp and organized a stake. Michael Arthur also wrote to the newspapers and spoke passionately against the persecution of the Saints in Missouri.

The summer of 1870 was a good time to live in the valley of the Great Salt Lake and to be 16 years old! The pioneers’ original settlement was becoming a bustling city, and there was work for anyone willing and able.
That is just what young Robert Hemphill Gillespie was. Bob had gained a reputation for being good with horses and cattle and for being a hard worker.
Bob already had a fine horse and the necessary gear for it—a big accomplishment for such a young man, especially one who had been on his own with no home or parents since he was nine. He had proven himself to be trustworthy and dependable, and people liked to hire him.
One fine June day, Bob accepted a job that required him to cross 100 miles (160 kilometers) of the Great Salt Lake desert. Today people can cross this desert in a car in less than two hours. But on that day more than 130 years ago, it took many hours on a horse. Friends told Bob to be sure and take along some water, so he filled a canteen and set off.
Bob had never crossed a desert before, and he didn’t realize the danger of needing water and having no place to get it. He drank all the water he had before he had covered even half the distance. When he and his horse really began to suffer, Bob figured they still had about 60 miles (98 kilometers) to go.
He thought, “Oh, if I had only saved some of the water! It was warm, but it was wet! If I hadn’t hung the canteen on my shoulder where it was so handy, I might have a little left now!”
He thought of all those swallows of water he had taken when he was not in real need as he was now! In desperate hope, he turned the canteen upside down above his mouth once more. The water really was gone! Fear made him urge his horse to go faster—for a while. Then he noticed that his horse was sweating, and he slowed down.
Soon Bob’s tongue was so swollen he couldn’t close his mouth. His horse was suffering too. “We have to have water!” Bob said to himself.
Just then he saw a small cabin a short distance off the trail. A cabin meant there would be water! He immediately turned in that direction. When he reached the cabin, he found it deserted. There was a deep hole in the ground nearby, and there appeared to be water at the bottom. Bob climbed inside. There was a little water! But there were also dead birds, a dead rabbit, and maggots! The water was bad. Sorrowing, Bob climbed out, mounted his horse, and returned to the trail.
Then he remembered his mother teaching him to pray when he was a small child. He had not prayed in a long time, but he decided to try. Looking around for a suitable place, he left the trail again. He found a large, low place, dismounted, knelt, and began to pray, pleading for water: “Please send me a drink, Lord. Yes, and a drink for my poor horse too! My fine, good horse! Please, Lord!”
Bob thought of rain. “God, canst Thou send rain, please?” he prayed. “Please forgive me, Lord, but we need a drink. Please make it rain. I thank Thee, Lord. Amen.”
After his prayer Bob felt a little better. He climbed back on his horse and rode on, still filled with thoughts of the heat, his thirst, and his horse’s thirst.
Recalling that he had asked for rain, Bob began to scan the sky for clouds. All he could see was one tiny cloud, far to the southwest. He watched that cloud closely, wondering and thinking. After a while he noticed a little wind coming toward him from the direction of that little cloud. Could it be drifting his way? It seemed larger now too. “Yes, Lord,” he said aloud, “I prayed for rain.”
Soon a drop of rain hit his hand. Another hit his saddle, another hit the horse, and then one hit his hand again. Suddenly there came a rain shower from that one little cloud! Within a few minutes, water was rushing down the trail and into a little ravine beside the trail, reaching almost to the horse’s knees! The horse bowed his head and drank. Bob dismounted, got down on his belly, and gratefully drank his fill of the muddy water. Then he refilled his canteen. Refreshed, he and his horse continued on their way.
After riding just a short distance, Bob found that the trail and the ground all around him were hot, dry, and dusty once again. It was then that Bob fully realized what had happened. Halting his horse, he again dismounted and knelt on the dusty trail. Again he prayed with a full heart: “I thank Thee, Lord, for making rain come from a small cloud in the desert so my horse and I could have a drink.”
From that day until Bob died at the age of 86, he told this experience many times to his children and grandchildren. They never tired of hearing it, and they have passed it on to their children and grandchildren.
The most thrilling moment every time Bob told the story was when he bore his testimony: “Now, children, don’t ever let anyone convince you that the Lord can’t answer your prayer, for I know that He can!”