Gospel Story Finder

A loving father and mother came to me several years ago wanting to know why their son was not doing very well. A day or two earlier, I had been informed that their son was experimenting with drugs. After hesitating briefly, I told them this. They were shocked and did not want to believe what I had said. But they did, and immediately they began to do all they could to eliminate the problem. Eventually they were successful.

Radmila was baptized on 22 February 1975 in Zurich, Switzerland. She later moved back to Belgrade, Yugoslovia, where the Church was just being organized. In 1981 she served a mission to Montreal, Canada, the first missionary to be called from Yugoslovia. Now she is finishing a graduate degree in physical therapy at Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah. She also helps translate Church materials into Serbo-Croatian, the Yugoslav national language.
As she look back, Radmila says she feels Heavenly Father performed many miracles in her life. Once she questioned the existence of God. Now she knows that God has a strong love for her, and she wants to serve him any way she can.

One devotional that is of lasting memory to me was when I was a student at Brigham Young University in Provo. Ezra Taft Benson, then President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was speaking at the Marriott Center that day. I don't recall upon what topic he spoke, however, I do vividly remember the impression I felt that day; it was this, that no matter what transgressions we may have committed in the past, we could, from that moment on, resolve to choose the right and forsake sin each and every day of our lives. As a result of his talk, I was filled with much resolution and commitment. In fact, I thought I'd take President Benson's message one step further. I made a resolution that from that moment on, not only would I not sin anymore, I would not even make any mistakes! I was very serious about my commitment! So serious, in fact, that while concentrating on "no longer making any mistakes", I didn't realize that I had walked right into the women's restroom. I did not recognize the little lady figure on the door as a clue to where I was headed, nor did I recognize the pink paint on the wall. So intent was I on concentrating that I would never make a mistake again, that I had no intimation I was going into the women's restroom until standing face to face with a young co-ed who was brushing her beautiful, long hair in front of the mirror. All I can remember was getting out of the restroom as fast as I could. I will be forever grateful to that young co-ed for not screaming for campus security. I have rehearsed in my mind several times how shallow my excuse would have sounded to the security officer. "But officer, I was concentrating on never making a mistake, when I walked into the women's restroom and made a mistake." That resolution was obviously revised the very same day it was made.

Anciently, Laie was considered a Pu'uhonua or a place of sanctuary and refuge. In more recent history, Elder Scott D. Whiting said, "Laie is a gathering place and has been since the mid-1800s".[2] I believe it is still today. It's a place that gathers in people like Yee Yee Mon – otherwise known as Olive. Who is from Myanmar
Myanmar is a country of over 55 million people. In spite of this large population, the Church is still emerging, and proselytizing is not allowed. Olive was baptized 17 years ago as one of the first members ever baptized in Myanmar.
Her initial interactions with the missionaries were centered around free piano lessons, but she felt like she should oblige their invitations and listen to their missionary lessons. After one meeting, Olive was given President Hinckley's book entitled "Way to Be." She could not stop reading it. She was impressed by the morals and values covered in the book. It opened her mind, and she was led to answers to her prayers - linking every question she had about the Church, Book of Mormon, and Joseph Smith with the answer that they all had to be true.
Olive was the first Sister to serve a mission from her country, despite her mother's apprehension. But it was Olive's persistence and her display of faith by saving her own money and surviving on noodles for months that influenced her mother to support Olive's desire to serve a mission. Olive served in the Pocatello Idaho mission. It was there that further miracles unfolded.
Olive was born with a severe case of Scoliosis. Not only was her spine S-shaped, but it was also twisted. Her life expectancy was projected to be significantly shortened. However, while on her mission, she was able to see specialists and receive corrective spine surgery and therapy, which greatly improved her quality of life.
After returning from her mission, Olive helped with the translation efforts of Church materials and the Book of Mormon into Burmese. She also learned about BYU–Hawaii and worked hard for admission. She majored in Social Work and was known by many for her work ethic and academic success. She turned down an offer to intern with the UN in New York to instead accept an internship in Salt Lake City at the Burmese Refugee Center, where she could work with her people. While a student, Olive not only worked as a carver at the Polynesian Cultural Center but with the Admissions, where she could help and influence others in Myanmar. Because of her efforts, four others from Myanmar are now studying at BYU–Hawaii.
While at BYU–Hawaii, she met and married her husband, Dustin. They now have a baby girl and another on the way. This is a miracle considering doctors told her that she would likely never have children of her own. She is currently getting her Masters in Social Work at BYU in Provo and intends to return to Myanmar to utilize her degrees to help others.

I felt the lure of Kalaupapa before I ever visited there. In 2003, my wife, Joanna, and I were investigating the Hawaiian Islands in preparation for a research trip and anniversary celebration. I asked her where she would like to visit after my research was completed and she quickly responded, “I don’t care where else we go, but we must see Kalaupapa.” It was high adventure just getting to that remote location. The destination necessitated a precarious mule ride down the highest sea cliffs in the world.1 At last, we spilled out onto a flat peninsula, four-miles of transforming terra firma that changed my life.

The literal translation of Kalaupapa has been rendered “flat plain” or “flat leaf.”2 In either case, I discovered through much reading, many interviews, and multiple firsthand encounters that Kalaupapa is a leveling experience: Here one crosses the boundaries of his or her self-proclaimed beliefs and ethnicity and melds into a community defined only by humanity, a greater realm of brotherhood and compassion. For it is in Kalaupapa where religious denominations and cultural divides vanish—where the love of God and mankind manifest themselves in a truly magnificent way, triumphing over the devastation of leprosy also known as the separating sickness.

During these trying years, Brigham’s future leadership of the Church was being developed. For example, when the Saints were driven out of Far West, Missouri, he went among the brethren asking them to pledge everything they owned “so that we can take with us the Saints who aren’t able to go on their own, who have nothing. We do not want to leave a member of the Church behind who wants to leave.” To the credit of those men, poor as they were, they pledged their money, their cattle, their wagons—everything they owned as a group—to help the poorer Saints.
Brigham not only organized assistance, he set the example of service by driving a wagon carrying his wife, and Vilate Kimball, and their children thirty kilometers out of Far West toward Quincy, Illinois. He unloaded the wagon, set up a tent for the women and children, cut enough fire wood to last a couple of days, and then drove the wagon back to Far West to bring out another family. Then that family camped while he took his and the Kimball family on a further thirty kilometers. He returned to transport the second family over the same route. In that manner he moved his own family and the Kimballs as well as a family that didn’t have the means to leave by themselves. Similar actions were taken by other brethren so that all the Saints could leave Far West.

During the summer, the children often went swimming in the river. A wooden pier came out partway on the deep side of the swimming hole. Those of us who couldn’t swim well would enter the water from the shallow side and play there. One time I thought that I could make it out to the pier. I was wrong. I got out to where I couldn’t touch bottom and started floundering. I remember feeling a hand lifting me up. It may have been one of the older kids, but I can still feel that hand lifting me, and I think that Somebody was watching over me.

Sewing a quilt in my high school sewing class proved to be harder than I’d thought. For one thing, my thread kept getting jammed in my sewing machine, but that problem was easy enough to fix. The harder problem was the swear words. Three young women in my class were working together at the next machine over, and they’d been swearing loudly the entire class period.
The idea of asking them to stop swearing intimidated me. But I’d been taught by my parents and Church leaders that people will often respond well to our invitations to do good as long as we are kind. So I took a deep breath and asked the three young women as nicely as I knew how if they could stop swearing.
Unfortunately, they didn’t take it well. The tallest one gave me a rude answer, and before I knew it, we were arguing. Eventually I gave up and went back to my sewing. Now I was frustrated with the swear words, the three young women, and myself. The last thing I’d wanted to do was start an argument.
As I brooded over my mistake, I heard the three young women swearing again and saw them bent over their machine. I could tell that their machine was jammed the same way mine had been a few minutes earlier. I walked over to their machine and quickly showed them how to fix the problem.
I could feel their eyes on me as I went back to my seat. A moment later, the tallest young woman said, “Hey, sorry about the things we said earlier. Thanks for helping us with our machine.”
“No problem,” I said with a smile. My parents and leaders are right—kindness really works!

Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was fourteen and a half years old, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national victory.
After she was no longer eligible for college competition, she decided to go on a national professional tour. Diane knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew up and over the vault—just like all the other times. But this time was different. This time she turned her body just a little too far. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost six months and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to imagine her life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few centimeters every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“One day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of serious injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics taught me to get back up so I could be a champion again.”
On the day she finally realized she would never walk again, Diane made the decision to return to school to work for her degree. She was lying on her bed with all her scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now Diane teaches a class full of seven-year-olds who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen intently as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all. Just listen to her speak and you’ll hear the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her own laughter frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences opens up the communication between us. They soon forget that I’m in a wheelchair. When they do that, the youth can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though, in a wheelchair, I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose.’ She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The entire time she was a gymnast, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars of just doing handstands for fun, her only fear was of being blind or paralyzed. “I had such uneasy feelings about wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. I would avoid people in wheelchairs. I was afraid that I’d end up in a wheelchair if I got too close to one. It was almost like having thought about it so much somehow prepared me for a wheelchair,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s unconquerable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that is evident in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights are turned down in the room as she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the fun-lover and gymnast, lashes on the screen in time to some fast, contemporary music. When the presentation is over, young people surround her excitedly.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to drop out of school. The third time, she made a goal to become one of the best students in her class, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.”
Diane just shrugs her shoulders and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never handle the situation,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you handle the situation or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

A while back a young woman from another state in the United States came to live with some of her relatives for a few weeks. On her first Sunday she came to church dressed in a simple, nice blouse and knee-length skirt set off with a light, button-up sweater. She wore hose and dress shoes, and her hair was combed simply but with care. Her overall appearance created an impression of youthful grace.
Unfortunately, she immediately felt out of place. It seemed like all the other young women her age or near her age were dressed in casual skirts, some rather distant from the knee; tight T-shirt–like tops that barely met the top of their skirts at the waist; no socks or stockings; and clunky sneakers or flip-flops.
One would have hoped that seeing the new girl, the other girls would have realized how inappropriate their manner of dress was for a chapel and for the Sabbath day and immediately changed for the better. Sad to say, however, they did not, and it was the visitor who, in order to fit in, adopted the fashion of her host ward.

This was an issue with my great-great-grandfather Phineas Wolcott Cook. He was born in 1820 in Connecticut. In his diary he notes that he had made a covenant with the Lord to serve Him if he could find the right way. He attended many churches and at one was asked to “testify [and] join the church [and] be a Christian.” His response was he “could not tell which one to join, there were so many.” He continued to investigate several churches. One doctrine was of particular significance to him. He explained: “Sometimes they found fault with me because I wanted a more liberal salvation for the family of man. I could not believe the Lord had made a part to be saved and a great part to be damned to all eternity.”13 Because of this doctrine, he allowed his name to be taken off the records of one Protestant religion. When the LDS missionaries taught him the true doctrine of the plan of salvation in 1844, he was baptized.

Recently, during my morning meditations, I had a strong impression from the Spirit that Heavenly Father loves me and my family and that He is watching over us and blessing us with mercies and miracles. I felt so much joy and gratitude. Almost immediately after I had that powerful witness things started falling apart for each one of our children’s families. There was a problem for one with his job; another had a miscarriage after hoping for quite a while to have this pregnancy; one had a best friend leave the Church; another had flight delays and missed connections in travel, and another was trying to help a child through emotional depression; another suffered a rejection.
At first I thought it was odd timing for those powerful feelings of God’s love to come to me. But then I realized it was perfect timing. I was specifically given a strong testimony of His love and care for us preceding a barrage of trials, so as to steady and secure my foundation and protect and guide me as the storms of those earthly experiences hit.

Brandon already knew a little about the Church. “I had been to meetings with Teren and with his cousin before,” Brandon says, “but I wasn’t as consistent as I should have been. Then the Palmers invited me to their family home evenings.” One of the first lessons was about Joseph Smith’s efforts to find the true Church. “I liked how Joseph was looking for the right Church, wanting to gain peace and faith like I wanted to,” Brandon recalls. The Spirit bore witness that Joseph’s story was true, and Brandon accepted the commitment to study and pray. That was a turning point. The next day he sent a text message to Brother Palmer: “I asked God, and He told me this is true.”
The more he studied and prayed, the more he found answers. He started coming to seminary, going to church, and meeting with the missionaries. “The discussions were good,” he says. “The missionaries explained things. They made it easier to understand, and they taught me the commandments—the Word of Wisdom, tithing, all of the things that Heavenly Father wants us to do.”
But what impressed him the most was how he felt about showing his love for the Savior through service. “The gospel has brought me closer to Christ,” Brandon says. “I’ve learned a lot about how important it is to serve others, because when you do, you’re serving Him.”

Patrick works on his model car engine.
Photographs by Julian Klemm
Patrick L., 16, from Bavaria, Germany, says his favorite subjects in school are math, physics, and chemistry. In fact, he likes science so much that he wanted to share it with others by writing a book about physics (on thermodynamics and magnetism, to be precise).
He wants to be an engineer for his career, developing technical equipment like automotive engines. (By the way, the headquarters of automakers BMW and Audi are just an hour and an hour-and-a-half away from where he lives.)
But science isn’t the only place where Patrick finds energizing, exciting things.
Yes, Patrick has a deep love of science, but his interests range far beyond cold, hard facts and formulas.
“I’ve written a physics book, but now I’m doing a fantasy book,” he explains. “The book I’m writing is about magical creatures and their world. And then there are a few young people who solve the problems.”
This latest side project was inspired by Patrick’s love of fantasy novels such as the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson series. Writing books on the side is something Patrick got into after his uncle told him how much fun it can be. “He infected me with his joy,” says Patrick.
That infectious joy led Patrick to take what he had learned about the rules and realities of the physical world and write a book about them. It also made him want to create a marvelously fantastical story. And there’s no contradiction in this. Patrick seems to know that truth and beauty and joy can be found in many places. And he wants to find, create, and share those things wherever they may be.
Patrick understands a great deal about the laws of the physical world. But he also looks beyond facts to see beauty there.
“I live near a forest,” he says. “That’s an advantage of living in a small town—you can go into the forest quickly and find peace there.”
He loves the many forest paths for hiking or, especially, biking. “I like cycling. It’s a big hobby for me,” he says. “I ride a lot. I once biked 1,200 kilometers [745 miles] in two weeks.”
Science inspires Patrick’s mind, and prayer inspires his spirit. “I have a strong testimony of prayer,” he says. “You can talk to [Heavenly Father] everywhere.”
Sometimes he likes to go hiking or biking in the forest with his whole family (Mom, Dad, two younger brothers, and two younger sisters) or just with his dad. Often he’ll go by himself. But he always finds peace and beauty in nature.
“Sunrises are especially beautiful around here,” he says. “Sometimes you can see the Alps from here even though they’re so far away. And when the sun rises, it’s mirrored, and with the mountains, you see this gorgeous red sky, and it’s really beautiful.”
In addition to the facts of natural science and the beauties of the natural world, Patrick also values truth—the kind of truth that can be found only through prayer.
“I have a strong testimony of prayer,” says Patrick. “Kneeling down, folding my hands, having peace and quiet, and then praying. This is what I have the greatest testimony of.”
He explains that his testimony comes partly from something he was told in his patriarchal blessing. “It says that I should always remember that Heavenly Father is only one prayer away from me,” he says. “You can talk to Him everywhere. He is there for you everywhere, and you can get answers everywhere.”
His experience with receiving answers to prayer is enhanced, he says, when he takes certain steps. “I feel the Holy Ghost so strongly with some prayers. When I consciously set goals, consciously have questions, consciously sit down and act as it says in the scriptures, and wait and invest time—when I manage to do that, I always have a strong testimony and feel the Holy Ghost.”
Patrick remembers one time he offered such a special prayer. “We talk a lot about Joseph Smith and how at age 14 he prayed and received an answer,” he says. “And so I sat down—I even went into the forest—and I prayed. And I received an answer. Then I was happy. And that strengthened my testimony.”
“When I consciously set goals, consciously have questions, consciously sit down and act as it says in the scriptures, and wait and invest time—when I manage to do that, I always have a strong testimony and feel the Holy Ghost.”
Just as he’s sought to share his scientific knowledge and his creative imagination, Patrick also seeks to share his spiritual knowledge.
Beginning at age 12, he has spent time helping the full-time missionaries. He also once invited a friend to his home to receive the missionary lessons. “We talked about the Restoration. He was interested. He listened well and participated and read scriptures. We read James 1:5, which Joseph Smith had also read. And I had him read from Joseph Smith—History. He was really engaged.”
His classmates at school respect his faith. “Instead of persecuting the Church, they support it,” he says. Even his teacher in his school’s religion class supports him. “He thinks it’s cool that I have faith in God and even helps me to achieve my goals.”
After he finishes school and qualifies for university studies, Patrick also plans to serve a full-time mission. “I’ll probably prepare by reading Preach My Gospel,” he says. “I’d like to stay on the ball and read, do the lessons, and also spend a lot of time with the missionaries.”
Patrick loves to feed his imagination. He’s even writing a fantasy book.
Patrick has learned that there are many things out there that are “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy,” and so he seeks after these things (Articles of Faith 1:13). And when he finds them, he shares them.
Whether in science, imagination, or nature, he finds exciting knowledge and sublime beauty wherever he turns. And he finds the highest knowledge, beauty, and truth through his relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

Some time ago in my high priests quorum meeting, the instructor introduced the lesson by asking each of us to respond to who our hero is and why. As each member took his turn responding, the answers were not unexpected. Of course someone named the Savior, the Redeemer of the world. Another spoke of Abraham Lincoln, who freed the slaves, led the United States through a civil war, and eventually unified the country. Others chose the Prophet Joseph Smith and our beloved current prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley. As each named a hero, I silently concurred and acknowledged that all were men worthy of emulating and that I would be a better person if I possessed some of the qualities that made those men great.
I then turned to a brother on my left and said, “My hero is Jim Newton and his wife, Helen.” Shortly after Jim and Helen’s son Zach received his mission call to Peru, he was taken in an automobile accident. When I heard of the accident, I rushed to the hospital, hoping to hear that Zach was alive and would recover. The parents, in a most dignified and peaceful manner, explained that Zach would now be serving his mission on the other side of the veil. As I witnessed the calm resolve of these two strong parents, I realized that through the pain and anguish there was a peace that could come only through a deep and abiding faith in a loving Father and an atoning Savior. My faith was strengthened, and through their inspiration my resolve to follow their example in meeting similar trials and tragedies was reaffirmed.

Spooked by a ravaging band of Shoshone hunters, Little Wind’s pony has escaped into high rock country. His father, Ten Days Walking, has ridden in another direction with several tribesmen to reclaim a band of village ponies that also fled during the melee.
Fearing that any delay will spoil the chance of catching his pony, Little Wind doesn’t tell his mother of his departure. But he is unaware that beyond the fog-shrouded mesa a giant winter storm is brewing.
Little Wind moved in a hurried, anxious fashion through the deepening drifts of snow. His young eyes eagerly searched the white wilderness beyond the hoof tracks for his stray pony, expecting at any moment to discover the animal patiently waiting for him in the swirls of mist. But as minutes multiplied into hours, all that greeted the boy’s intense anticipation were the dark shapes of some lightning-split scrub oak, a clump of rocks jutting up, or bunches of brushwood scratching together in the new wind.
The wind! It had returned. Its stirrings were barely noticeable at first in the wee rattlings of ice-cloaked underbrush. It was only the piercing chill that invaded even the warmth of Little Wind’s big otter coat that first kindled his awareness of the wind’s growing intensity.
The boy paused to wipe the wintry drippings from his frosted brow and looked with difficulty up the sides of the gigantic ice-blurred mesas. They loomed above him like dark mythical giants that grow out of the smoke and tales spun by the old ones around the great fires. Then Little Wind shuddered at the chilling sight of a formless black cloud mass that loomed over the top of the buttes and out of the mist.
The boy gathered the otter coat more tightly about himself and continued on at an even more urgent pace, all the while feverishly searching for any sign of his pony, whose tracks were now completely obliterated by the snow. He leaned heavily on his sense of hearing to assist him in his search, his ears straining beyond the sound of the crunching beneath his numbed, moccasined feet. But the strident whine of the ghostly wind would have made it impossible to hear the nicker of his pony, even if he were close-by.
More than once Little Wind glanced back over his shoulder through the whirling curtain of ice toward what he guessed was the direction of home. Home. How far away it seemed, farther away even than he was from heaven’s door.
Laughing Water, Little Wind’s mother, stepped out of the family tepee into the howling, icy wind. Worry spread across her countenance like mourning paint. It had been some time since Yellow Fox, himself concerned about his friend’s safety, had informed her of Little Wind’s departure from the village. The awesome skies and unusually cutting winds filled her anxious heart with mounting fear. Even her father-in-law, Red Owl Watching, who was usually optimistic, had lifted himself from his sickbed to gaze with troubled uncertainty. He had seen many frightful storms, but never one such as he now beheld.
Laughing Water had beseeched some of the husbands of the other families to seek out her son, but while they were in full sympathy with her fears and concern, they were without horses. And if they were to venture out into the killing freeze on foot—even a little way—they would most surely perish. Aside from the fact that they had their own families to care for, in the wild swirling snow they would not be able to see their hands in front of their faces, let alone a small boy in an invisible wilderness of driving ice.
Laughing Water brushed the unbidden tears from her dusky cheeks and gave a sidelong glance in the direction taken by Ten Days Walking and the others. His eyes were eagle sharp, even during the foulest weather or throughout the darkest night. She quickly looked back in the other direction, hoping somehow that Little Wind would suddenly appear alive, safe. But the only thing that broke forth from the worsening blizzard was another blast of gale-force wind. Red Owl Watching lifted his raspy, failing voice against the wind and begged Laughing Water to come inside by the fire. “We have enough souls to pray for, good mother. Let it not be that we must pray for you too.” She turned slowly and went inside.
The winds grew wilder still. Little Wind struggled along blindly in the wracking cold, banging his hands together in an effort to keep his blood from freezing up like the tiny prairie streams long since turned to ice. Still he tried to catch some glimpse of his pony, but it was useless. His hands had already become so numb that he could scarcely feel them, and his feet felt as though they were only extensions of his soaked leggings that plodded along through the drifts as if by instinct. The wind tore through his otter coat like a great spear. And everywhere shards of flying ice were so thick that he could not tell where he was going or where he had been.
Little Wind stumbled a few more feet, turning one way, then another. Whirling around to escape the stinging ice, he lost his footing, tripped over a small log fall, and collapsed in the snow. He tried to pull himself up, but a rushing wind slammed against him. In a moment the snow began to cover the small fallen form.
Ten Days Walking and the other braves had at last returned to the village, chilled but successful. Their scattered horses had been recovered. As the Sioux chief dismounted, Laughing Water clutched at his heavy wraps, tearfully recounting the story of Little Wind’s flight into the storm after his pony. Ten Days Walking wrapped his big furs back about his face so that only his eyes were visible, eyes filled with concern and fear. He mounted his buffalo runner again and faced the screaming storm. How can I possibly save Little Wind? he wondered sadly. It had been only with great difficulty that he and the other braves were able to find their village! And the storm was now so incredibly furious that he wondered if even the Great Spirit could find his boy. He reeled his horse around, eyed Laughing Water with stinging emotions, and pitched headlong into the savage white squall.
Little Wind lay beneath a cloak of snow. Still alive, yet unable to move, and on the edge of slipping off into a final, frozen sleep, his thoughts—untouched by the weather—raced home to his father’s fires, his mother’s steaming broth, and the warmth of loved ones pressing near. And with these warm memories, he was ready to make his final journey to the land of the Sky People, who lived beyond the fury of the wind and the thrashing winter blasts, a place where the sun shone forever and the plains were green and fine. He could almost see it now. Surely, he thought, I am on my way to heaven.
He dared to open one eye, just a little. And in his delirium he seemed to see something through the falling snow. It was a glow! Could it really be the welcoming fire in the village of the gods? Yet he had not left mother earth, for the storm still raged about him.
The light grew brighter, nearer. Little Wind opened both eyes, looking with awe and disbelief. The glow came from … an animal! It was the old buffalo that he had befriended in the great four-legged’s final hours, the one with the broken horn and the ghostly blue eyes! Little Wind looked harder, scarcely able to believe what his eyes were beholding—a white glow in a white wind. “The spirit of the great four-legged!” he muttered as the bison seemed to drift nearer still, its pale blue eyes watching the boy in the snow.
In his mind, Little Wind started to question the animal’s presence. Why would the old buffalo … ?
Suddenly his father’s words, spoken to him on the great hunt when he had pleaded compassionately for the bison, came back to him as if on the wind. “Such kindness,” Ten Days Walking had promised with prophetic surety, “will one day return itself upon you, my son, whether this old four-legged lives or dies. And this because of the goodness of your heart.”
The huge animal figure, still immersed in a strange glowing light, paused a moment before Little Wind then lay down beside him, its great fur coat engulfing the boy like a blanket of heavenly warmth.
Ten Days Walking plowed forward on a prayer through the raw, heaving weather, his cries for his son muffled by the louder cry of the wind. Suddenly he pulled up, for in the lee of a jack pine he saw the outline of a figure under the snow, one so clearly seen that it was almost as though a light pointed toward it.
Ten Days Walking piled off his horse and scooped Little Wind up into his arms. He quickly bundled the boy inside his furs. But how odd, he thought, that the boy still feels so warm! He wiped tears of thanksgiving from his eyes and stood there in the storm, thanking the Great Spirit for the life of his son.
After a moment, Little Wind spoke softly. “Did you see the light, Father? It was the spirit of the old buffalo. I saw him. The Great One sent him to keep me warm until you could find me.”
The mighty Sioux warrior chief hugged his son with matchless pride, lifted his head heavenward in the fury, and cried out his gratitude with a reverence Little Wind had never heard before. Then Ten Days Walking mounted his horse with Little Wind beneath his wrappings, gave the buffalo runner its lead, and let instinct carry it in the direction of home.
Little Wind never found his pony, but that day his testimony of the love of the Great Spirit soared as high as the eagles. Two weeks later his grandfather’s spirit made its journey to the lodge of the Great One. Fifteen years later, Little Wind would take his father’s place as chief of the tribe. And the story of that day, when the spirit of the old buffalo came to a young Sioux boy to return life for life, would be told and retold around the fires of every Indian nation for generations to come.

Tamika nodded. “Tell me about when Grammy Rose escaped.” Tomorrow they were visiting a place where her great-grandma Rose might have stayed, and she wanted to hear the story again.
“Again?” Gram laughed. “All right. That’s one of my favorites too.” She leaned back and got comfortable.
“Your great-grandma Rose lived on a big farm called a plantation with her mama and daddy. They were slaves, and they wanted to be free,” Gram said. “One day, Rose’s mama died of a fever. Her daddy decided it was time to escape with Rose.”
Gram’s fingers traced lines along the quilt as she talked, like she was tracing a map of the journey.
“They left at night and followed the North Star. It’s part of a constellation called the Big Dipper,” Gram said. “Back then, slaves called it the Drinking Gourd.”
“What’s a gourd?” Tamika asked.
“It’s like a squash. Slaves would use hollowed-out gourds as spoons to scoop water from buckets to drink,” Gram said. “Rose and her daddy followed the Drinking Gourd north. People from the Underground Railroad helped them along the way.”
Tamika nodded. She knew that the Underground Railroad wasn’t really a railroad. It was a name for the people who helped slaves escape to safety. Tomorrow Tamika and her mom were going to a house called Slave Haven, where some of the slaves hid on their journey north.
“But we don’t know for sure if Grammy Rose stayed in Slave Haven,” Tamika said.
Gram looked thoughtful. “That’s right. Rose couldn’t write, so we don’t know the exact places she stayed,” Gram said. “But when I was a girl, Rose told me her story, and I wrote it in my journal.”
As Mama tucked the blankets around Tamika, Gram told her one more thing about Rose.
“Grammy Rose always said that miracles from God brought her safely north. That taught me to look for miracles every day,” Gram said. “Like warm sunshine.”

One of our daughters, after giving birth to a baby, became seriously ill. We prayed for her, administered to her, and supported her as best we could. We hoped she would receive a blessing of healing, but days turned into months, and months turned into years. At one point I told her that this affliction might be something she would have to struggle with the rest of her life.
One morning I remember pulling out a small card and threading it through my typewriter. Among the words that I typed for her were these: “The simple secret is this: put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him.”
She did put her trust in God. But her affliction did not disappear. For years she suffered, but in due course the Lord blessed her, and eventually she returned to health.
Knowing this daughter, I believe that even if she had never found relief, yet she would have trusted in her Heavenly Father and “[left] the rest to Him.”

“My Mother opened a little country store to help keep our family out of debt. I worked with her in the store quite a bit. She taught me about respecting and serving people. Once, when I was fourteen, my mom and dad went to Salt Lake City for a conference and left me to take care of the store. The Hutterites in our area wouldn’t go to the bank to cash their huge grain checks, so Mom was an insured cashier, and we would sometimes have thousands of dollars in the store safe. I knew the combination to the safe, and I knew that my parents trusted me, so I opened and closed the store on time and took care of the customers.”

Sister Kapp believes that “the way to be happy and feel good about yourself and to please Heavenly Father is to learn to be obedient. Even if we don’t understand why we should or should not do certain things, if we will just trust in our parents and in the wisdom of our Father in Heaven, one day we will understand. My hope is that every child will develop the self-discipline to do what he knows is right. When we’re obedient, we’re happy; when we’re disobedient, we’re not happy. It’s just that simple. Let us, then, choose to be happy.”

Lorenzo Snow wrote of such an experience:

Some two or three weeks after I was baptized . . . I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work . . . , and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. . . .

. . . That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence. [In Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Company, 1884; reprint, 1975), 7–9; emphasis in original]