Gospel Story Finder

May I offer two ideas that have been helpful to me when I have felt fearful? The first one came in the form of advice from Sister Michaelene Grassli, Primary general president. I served under her on the Primary General Board. We were on a training assignment together when a local leader began to describe in glowing details the auxiliary leaders who had come to that area the year before. As she told about the wonderful things they had done and expressed her hopes that we would do the same, a sick feeling began to settle in my stomach. That night after our hostess had left, I expressed to Sister Grassli my fears: I was afraid my performance would be far less than those who had come before, and I would certainly be a disappointment to everyone and probably an embarrassment to her and the Church. She said, “I have had those same feelings, but it is comforting to me to know that I need only be concerned that what I do and say is acceptable and pleasing to the Lord.” Her words brought such immediate peace to my mind that I have repeated them over and over to myself in countless situations.
As women, we like very much to please others—sometimes seeking approval so frantically that we become torn and confused by the conflicting needs of those around us. Concentrating on pleasing Heavenly Father brings peace, a respite from fear and anxiety. Think of that, young women, the next time you are asked to perform in church, or visit an inactive member of your class, or plan an activity: “I only need to worry about pleasing the Lord.” I think some of your fears will evaporate. The prophet David said: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Ps. 27:1.)
The second idea that has been helpful to me was reportedly expressed by Vincent van Gogh, a famous painter. He said, “I am always doing what I can’t do yet in order to learn how to do it.” A large part of conquering daily fear is simply doing things that we don’t know how to do—yet.
Are there things you don’t know how to do yet, that you are doing anyway? What about trying to make conversation with a young man at Mutual even though you feel very awkward? What about working hard in school even though it feels discouraging? I have often heard Sister Janette Hales, our Young Women general president, tell young people to work hard. She has said, “Working increases our abilities, and as you feel your abilities increase, you will feel more secure.”
I’ve just finished reading Eleanor Roosevelt’s biography. She was the wife of a president of the United States, but her influence went far beyond politics and position. Her life stands as a beacon to all women as someone who magnificently developed her own gifts through her service to others. This was a woman whose early life was ruled by fear and self-doubt. She described herself as an awkward adolescent, unattractively tall, with protruding teeth, dressed inappropriately, and so ill at ease with others her own age that parties and dances were dreaded occasions. How did she move from that to the kind of confidence that allowed her to contribute so widely?
She said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.” (Karen McAuley, Eleanor Roosevelt, New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1987, p. 105.)
As we concentrate on pleasing the Lord rather than others and continue to work hard, doing the things we don’t know how to do yet, we will experience personal growth. We will increase our confidence in Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. This faith assures us that in the end, we will not only survive but we will know great joy and happiness.
After the death of Christ, Paul was converted and became a great missionary. He had a junior companion, whom he loved as a father loves his own son. When we pick up their story in 2 Timothy, they are separated in their service. Timothy is lonely and afraid—being a missionary can be a fearful business. Paul is in prison in Rome. He writes Timothy a letter: “To Timothy, my dearly beloved son. …
“I thank God … that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day;
“Greatly desiring to see thee, being mindful of thy tears.” (2 Tim. 1:2–4.)
Isn’t that a tender letter? Pretend it is coming to you from one who is mindful of your tears.
Paul then goes on to remind Timothy of his strengths: “I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee.” (2 Tim. 1:5.) He reminds Timothy that both his grandmother and his mother were women of faith.
Think of some of the strengths that your grandmothers and mother have passed on to you.
Then Paul asks Timothy to remember to use the gift of the Holy Ghost: “I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.” (2 Tim. 1:6.)
Are you remembering that you have had hands laid on your head—that you have been given a gift? Use that gift to conquer your fears!
And then my favorite part of the letter: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” (2 Tim. 1:7.)
Are those just the things you want when you are fearful—power, love, the ability to think clearly?
Paul ends one of his letters: “All that are with me salute thee. Greet them that love us in the faith. Grace be with you all. Amen.” (Titus 3:15.)
All that are with me salute you. We love you and are aware of your fears and your faith. I bear you my witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, that he loves me, that he loves each of you, and that he will help us to replace our fears with faith. I say these things in his name, amen.

When he was eight years old, he wanted to be baptized. His nonmember father felt that Howard should be older before he chose to join any church. Even though he knew Heavenly Father wanted him to be a member of the Church, young Howard also knew it was important to do what his father wanted him to do. He honored his father by waiting for his permission. Five months after his twelfth birthday, Howard was baptized.

I served for many years in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles with Elder LeGrand Richards. He died at the age of 96. He told us that as a boy of 12 he attended a great general conference in the Tabernacle. There he heard President Wilford Woodruff.
President Woodruff told of an experience of being prompted by the Spirit. He was sent by the First Presidency to “gather all the Saints of God in New England and Canada and bring them to Zion.”
He stopped at the home of one of the brethren in Indiana and put his carriage in the yard, where he and his wife and one child went to bed while the rest of the family slept in the house. Shortly after he had retired for the night, the Spirit whispered, warning him, “Get up, and move your carriage.” He got up and moved the carriage a distance from where it had stood. As he was returning to bed, the Spirit spoke to him again: “Go and move your mules away from that oak tree.” He did this and then retired once again to bed.
Not more than 30 minutes later, a whirlwind caught the tree to which his mules had been tied and broke it off at the ground. It was carried 100 yards (90 m) through two fences. The enormous tree, which had a trunk five feet (1.5 m) in circumference, fell exactly upon the spot where his carriage had been parked. By listening to the promptings of the Spirit, Elder Woodruff had saved his life and the lives of his wife and child.
That same Spirit can prompt you and protect you.

One day I witnessed evidence of the Spirit and the courage to follow counsel. It was in a second grade elementary classroom. The student-teacher held the children captive with her storytelling skills. In great detail she told of a cross old man whose name was Mr. Black. In contrast, the account was given in similar detail of a Mr. Brown who was kind and thoughtful and loved by everyone. At the conclusion of the story, the teacher asked the children, “How many of you would like to be a neighbor to Mr. Brown?” Every hand was raised high. Then almost as an afterthought, she inquired if there was anyone who would like to have Mr. Black for a neighbor.
A little boy in a faded green shirt near the back of the room began to raise his hand, which brought a ripple of quiet amusement from the children. Hesitating only briefly, he looked around at his friends and still mustered the courage to hold his hand high and to stand alone in his difference. When called on for an explanation to his single vote, he spoke in a soft tone. “Well,” he said, “I’d like Mr. Black to be my neighbor, because if he was, my mom would make a cake for me to take to him, and then he wouldn’t be that way anymore.” A hush fell over the room. Everyone felt something wonderful that they couldn’t explain. A little child broke the silence like a benediction: “Oh, I wish I’d said that!”
We had all made a quick decision about who would be the best neighbor, but only one, just one, had a spirit within, a discernment that allowed him to see what might be.

Youth in the Boston Massachusetts Stake shared their testimonies with heart and voice when they presented the program “From Cumorah’s Hill,” a musical presentation about the Book of Mormon. The program was originally scheduled for two performances, but was extended to three to accommodate everyone who wanted to attend.
The program gave the youth the opportunity to become better friends with each other, but the best part, says Laurel Maureen Maskell, was the audience reaction. “It was great to see their faces and see the people who had been touched by the Spirit.”

Recently I had the opportunity of congratulating a special young lady upon her graduation from college. Knowing she had achieved this lofty goal under extreme difficulties, I said, “Would you mind telling me in one word how you were able to achieve this great accomplishment?” While she paused momentarily, words like courage, determination, and faith flashed through my mind as I anticipated her answer. Then without hesitation she said, “Elder Ashton, the word is commitment.”
Most of us who have ever heard of the great American leader Abraham Lincoln will recall what he said of his mother: “All that I am, all that I hope to be, I owe to my Angel mother.” (In Abraham Lincoln’s Philosophy of Common Sense, ed. Edward J. Kempf, 3 parts, New York: The New York Academy of Sciences, 1965, 1:60.) But how many of us know what his mother’s last words to him were? They were “Be something, Abe.”
Not only is this wise counsel, but it also expresses the yearnings of most fathers’ and mothers’ hearts to have their children be something. Simple terms, but, oh, how powerful, “Be something.” I am so pleased she didn’t say, “Be someone.” She said, “Be something, Abe.” There is a significant difference. In the dictionary someone is defined as “conceived or thought of, but not definitely known,” while something is identified as “a person or thing of importance.”
Abraham Lincoln’s mother knew her son, his potential, and the rocky roads ahead of him; hence, she wanted him to commit himself promptly to being steadfast and immovable in living and promoting deeds of courage and faith in the lives of all mankind.
A word of hope is poured out on every generation of people by those who advocate accomplishment, an exemplary life, living up to one’s abilities, and keeping one’s commitments.
True happiness is not made in getting something. True happiness is becoming something. This can be done by being committed to lofty goals. We cannot become something without commitment.
Commitment as a word cannot stand alone. We must always ask, “Committed to what?” As all of us blend into the programs of the Church, it behooves us to set goals for ourselves in order to reap the blessings of self-improvement and excellent performance in given assignments.
“Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness;
“For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.
“But he that doeth not anything until he is commanded, and receiveth a commandment with doubtful heart, and keepeth it with slothfulness, the same is damned.” (D&C 58:27–29.)
As we search for good causes, we must consider our own needs, but also we must live in compliance with gospel teachings.
President Spencer W. Kimball at the Regional Representatives Seminar of April 3, 1975, said, “I believe in goals, but I believe that the individual should set his own. Goals should always be made to a point that will make us reach and strain. Success should not necessarily be gauged by always reaching the goal set, but by progress and attainment.”
In setting our own goals we need to examine our own needs and abilities. The direction in which we are moving is more important than where we are at the moment. Goal setting should cause us to stretch as we make our way.
Self-examination is most difficult. Surveys have shown that most people take credit for success to themselves, but blame their failures on external forces or other people. It would be well, when confronted with problems, to be able to ask the same questions the Twelve Apostles asked during the Last Supper.
“Now when the even was come, he sat down with the twelve.
“And as they did eat, he said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.
“And they were exceeding sorrowful, and began every one of them to say unto him, Lord, is it I?” (Matt. 26:20–22.)
When our progress seems to be at a standstill, it is well for us to ask who is at fault. Is it I? Am I sufficiently committed to righteous goals? Do I have the courage, fortitude, and wisdom to apply self-examination—or will I be inclined to try and decide which of my associates will fail?
William Clement Stone, a Chicago millionaire, in an interview said, “Only if you have drive, the push, ‘the want to’ will you succeed in any field.” He went on to say, “Regardless of your religious beliefs, read the Bible, the most inspirational book of all time. And learn to employ the power of prayer.” This man had learned the value of commitment. He had the “want to.” He had also learned to turn to God for direction, guidance, and help.
Many people are motivated by spiritual goals. The question is, “For what reasons?” Is it because of good feelings and promised rewards, or is it because of fear of not living the commandments? The best motivation is toward the positive. Total commitment to correct gospel principles brings joy, satisfaction, and the abundant life.
Dale Carnegie once said, “If you are not in the process of becoming the person you want to be, you are automatically engaged in becoming the person you don’t want to be.”
However, we must realize not all problems of life can be solved at once. A commitment to solve our daily needs and the reaching of immediate lesser goals will bring meaningful successes. Realize that God will judge you by the way you make use of all your possibilities. It is wise and proper to want to make the most of every opportunity, but don’t quit or weep because of failure or disappointments. Break down big commitments into smaller ones that you can handle. Then self-esteem will grow and commitment toward goals of greater magnitude will become possible. The journey of success is long and is dotted with a series of commitments to worthy goals. A person does not become committed to worthwhile goals just by making the declaration or decision. It must be daily progression toward established purposes.
When one is wholly committed, added strengths and talents become evident. Assistance comes from unexpected sources. Who of us has not accepted some assignment with fear and trepidation, feeling totally inadequate to take on such a responsibility? But with concern and obedience we move forward—working hard and praying often. As the task is completed, to our surprise, we have been successful. We humbly realize that our own abilities have been added upon.
Goethe wrote, “What you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.” (Faust: Vorspiel auf dem Theater, 1:227, as translated by John Anster, Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery: Prelude at the Theatre, 1:303, 1835.) We would add that commitment has genius, power, and magic in it.
The scriptures say it this way: “For I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Ne. 3:7.)
A truly committed person does not falter in the face of adversity. Until one is committed, there is a chance to hesitate, to go off in another direction, or to be ineffective. Members within our ranks who are committed to living the gospel of Jesus Christ will not be affected by the rationale of hecklers.
Our enemies are becoming more hostile with each passing week. They seem intent on not only deceiving the uncommitted among us but on leading astray even the elect. They criticize our leaders. They scoff at what we consider to be sacred. They mock ordinances and covenants we know to be true and holy. They delight in discovering and sharing human flaws and frailties among our leaders past and present rather than acknowledging and benefiting from the truths they taught. They go to the tree, and instead of enjoying the fruit thereof, they point out the scars discovered on the tree trunk.
Do not be deceived. God will not be mocked. (See Gal. 6:7.) We have no intention of quarreling or demanding equal time to refute. We invite the dissenters as well as all others to open their eyes and see the beauties and thrills available to those who walk in His path looking for the good.
For example, it is a sad day in the life of any individual or group when by present training, attitude, and design, they would go to a football game and judge the participants by the dirt and grime on their uniforms rather than by how many tackles were made or yards gained.
By the same token, where is the pleasure for these same people who, attending a big league baseball game, will not cheer or clap for the home run hitter who drives in the winning runs but would rather dwell upon the fact that when the star, according to their research, was in grade school he was kept after school for misconduct? Woe unto those who feast on the dirt and the distasteful instead of the fruits.
Contrast those attitudes with that demonstrated by an elderly widow acquaintance of ours who travels to the temple every morning, spends the day attending sessions, and returns home by bus tired and worn just because “I love everyone, even those I cannot see.” Her attendance record? “I go every day it is open. Sometimes when I don’t feel too strong it is difficult, but I make it somehow.” The word is commitment.

Wade remembers making the mistake of asking his brother for advice on what to wear the first day of junior high. “If you really want to make an impression,” his brother told him, “wear a suit and tie.” Wade believed him, donned the suggested attire, and set out for school. When he realized his mistake, he wanted to go home and kick his brother.
Even with such an embarrassing start, Wade managed to have a decent year. He realized that what you wear is not half as important to other people as it is to you. Most people hardly notice.

Two summers ago I heard someone talk about missionary work for those who aren’t serving a full-time mission. The speaker told us how important members of the Church are for the Churchwide missionary effort. He asked us to make a focused effort to help the missionaries in our wards by bringing a friend to Church activities and Sunday meetings. I decided that I would pray for missionary opportunities and make an effort to act on the promptings I would be given.
I started my first week of school and met a new guy named Chris, who had moved from across town. Chris was really cool and we soon became friends. One day I invited him to a combined youth activity at a corn maze. On the drive to the corn maze, Chris started asking questions about the Church. As I answered his questions, he asked me how I knew so much. I told him that we learn about the gospel in Church meetings and in seminary. To my surprise, Chris asked when seminary was. I told him it was every morning at six. I thought for sure that he would not be interested in waking up that early, but he surprised me again by asking me to pick him up on my way there.
Chris began attending seminary and church. He also started to meet with the missionaries. And a year later he was baptized. I had the opportunity to baptize Chris, and it was an amazing experience that I will never forget. I believe this would not have happened if I had not prayed for missionary opportunities. Heavenly Father knows each of us, and He helps us if we ask for it.

Saturday, February 7, 2004, found my wife and me in a hotel in Gijón in northern Spain, where I was serving as president of the Spain Bilbao Mission. As we finished our evening meal, I checked my cellular phone for any messages I had not heard. It did indeed indicate that a missionary had called. I noted who it was and pushed the appropriate button to call him back.
The missionary answered the phone, and after a brief greeting, I asked him what he needed. He was surprised and replied that he had not called me. I insisted that my phone had registered a call from him, but he repeated that he had not called.
We ended our conversation, but five minutes later he called me back and said, “President, I have a problem that is really making me feel uncomfortable, and I’m beside myself over it. I prayed and asked the Lord for help to know what I should do. I didn’t feel like calling you, but while I was asking the Lord what to do, you called. I was surprised because I had not called you. I knew the Lord was telling me I needed to talk to you immediately.”
We talked for a time, and his problem was solved.
When I spoke with him two days later, I asked the elder again if he had called me. “No, President,” he replied, “that was the work of the Lord.” He verified that his telephone showed he had not dialed my number, even by accident.
The Lord said, “Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers” (D&C 112:10). Alma, teaching his son Helaman, said, “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good” (Alma 37:37). We must do what our Heavenly Father desires in order to feel the peace we constantly need. That unexplainable call was undoubtedly an answer to a young missionary’s prayer.

Well, it was that kind of a relationship that we shared with each other, and about a semester later he came to me and asked, “Could I ask you a favor?”

I said, “Please do.”

He said, “You know, in addition to being a teacher here on the faculty, I am a part-time minister of the First Methodist Church in Glendale, California.” (I grew up in Hollywood, California, and that’s where I was living at the time.) He said, “You know, Paul, in our young married group, of which I am a sponsor, we are studying other religions, and we have never had a Mormon come and talk to our group. Would you come and be a guest speaker?”

Well, I could see a chance to raise my grade, so I said, “Why, I’d be honored to.”

So on the appointed day I drove over to the First Methodist Church in Glendale. And you know how many Protestant churches align themselves on existing corners, often competing at the same hour, and the traffic was horrendous this particular morning, so I made a pass around the building and came by once more trying to find a place to park. There was a gentleman standing just off the curb, and he was waving me down. So I pulled over and he said, “Are you Mr. Dunn?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Dr. Davis described your car. If you’ll get out, this gentleman will park it for you.”

(Now just a little editorial note: Have you ever noticed how many firesides we have invited special speakers where they had to park a long way off? Think of a LeGrand Richards when somebody wasn’t thoughtful enough to be out there. I just testify from my General Authority’s vantage point: It happens, even in the true Church. Spiritual courtesy and consideration are so vital to receiving the Lord’s spirit.)

Well, I was escorted in, and we went down some stairs through a long corridor. And I stopped in my tracks. The refrain from the song “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was being played on an organ. I thought I was having a revelation. I said, “What’s that?”

They said, “We’re trying to set the stage for a Mormon talk.”

I said, “Thank you.” I walked through the door, and seated before me were two hundred young adults—in kind of an oversized Relief Society room, beautiful in appointment, with a large fireplace. On the mantle over the hearth were two large candelabras with many candles casting a soft light on a picture. Do you know what the picture was? The Salt Lake Temple and the Tabernacle, framed. And I said, “Oh, thank you.” There wasn’t a peep in the audience, reverently listening to a strange hymn. I was escorted to the front of the room. I took my place; they had an appropriate devotional. Then Dr. Davis said some very nice things about me, as guest speaker, and turned the time to me. I tried as hard as I could to represent you properly, to teach some Methodists about the difference between Mormons and Protestants, Catholics, and Jews. When I had finished, there were about twenty minutes of inquiry, questions from the group that were thoughtful and courteous. I was then escorted to the back of the room, a benediction was offered, and one by one the couples filed out, saying such things as “Thank you, thank you. We haven’t understood you people. You have helped us today. Thank you, thank you.” Three days later I got one of the nicest notes I have ever received. It’s still in my Book of Remembrance. Every time I hear the word Methodist, I feel warm and good.

Youth of the Las Vegas Nevada and Las Vegas West Stakes joined forces to hold a youth conference using the Bicentennial of the United States Constitution as a theme.

On Friday after school, the youth met and divided into groups. They had prearranged with ward families to gather items of clothing and gifts to send to a Central American orphanage. They also purchased 30 copies of the Book of Mormon. They wrote their testimonies, had them translated into Spanish, and glued the translations along with their photographs in the fronts of the books. The groups returned to a central meetinghouse for a dance following dinner.

Saturday there were workshops held on subjects related to freedom. Following the luncheon the finals of the USIQ (United States Intelligence Quotient) game were held. Previously each ward had held practice games and playoffs to select a four-member team that would represent them in the finals. The questions were projected on a large screen, and teams responded as quickly as possible with the answers.

The evening was set aside for sports activities. A special testimony meeting was held early Sunday morning before the youth conference participants returned to their own wards for regular Sunday meetings. The conference concluded with a large fireside held Sunday evening.

Sometimes I wanted immediate blessings from Heavenly Father. I thought He’d bless me with fewer panic attacks just because I went to church. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t work that way. I often have to push through the attacks and attend church before I can see His blessings.
Now I’ve realized I can also ask for help from my parents and medical professionals. I still have bad days, but they don’t control me. Instead, they help me prove to my Heavenly Father that I love Him and that I’ll fight through this challenge with His help.

Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him, even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I couldn’t remember it. Then I said a quick, little prayer, and suddenly my talk came back to me. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember things is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

Even though I was baptized when I was eight years old, I didn’t always do the right things. When I was a teenager, I started hanging out with a group of guys, and we started getting into things I knew weren’t good.
After my sister got married, she helped me come back to the Church. I learned about the importance of the Word of Wisdom and treating my body well.
But one day, I committed another serious sin. I felt that I couldn’t have the Spirit or the power of the priesthood with me. I felt very worthless and didn’t think I’d be able to complete my responsibilities at church, like blessing and passing the sacrament.
But the gospel taught me that we can always repent. It was hard to go see my bishop and confess my sin. It was hard to know people could see me walk into the bishop’s office. But I wanted the Lord’s peace, and I wanted to repent.
My bishop said a prayer with me and told me that the Lord is always merciful to those who seek to repent and that I’d be able to recover from my mistake. I’ve now started reading the scriptures and praying, and I know it helps me resist temptation.

President Hinckley’s grandfather, Ira Nathanial Hinckley, lost his parents and was sent from Michigan to Springfield, Illinois, to live with his grandparents. As a teenager he walked to Nauvoo, Illinois, and met the Prophet Joseph Smith.
He traveled westward with the pioneers. During the U.S. Civil War he volunteered for service in the Union army guarding the transcontinental telegraph line. Later he was sent by Brigham Young to Cove Creek, Utah, where he built the fort that stands today.
On the trek west, Ira Hinckley stayed back for one season to plow the prairies and plant grain that he would not harvest. The harvest belonged to those who came afterward. The forebearers of Brother and Sister Hinckley planted fields of faith for those who followed them.

Red Squirrel had started on her strange mission at dawn. Spring had come and tiny leaves were unfurling like tattered banners, but the air was misty and cold.
The river carried her canoe along swiftly. Now she only used the paddle to steer her fragile craft away from boulders, but it would take two days of hard paddling to return against the strong current. She watched carefully for logs or other hazards ahead. If the canoe overturned, she could not long survive in the icy water, fed by melting snow high in faraway mountains.
Can I find the lonely grave site again? She wondered. Will the wooden cross still be standing to mark it? The Indian girl sighed deeply and rested the paddle across her lap, pondering whether her quest would bring happiness or more sorrow to the white man and woman waiting at her village.
Running Elk, a scout for the army, had brought the couple to see Chief Standing Bear. Their son and his friend had started west almost two years ago. Except for a letter from Kansas, where the two young men had joined a wagon train, they had never heard from them again. The father felt that both of them must have died on their journey, but the mother had stubbornly refused to abandon hope.
A recent letter from a physician in Oregon had renewed the couple’s hope and their fears. The doctor was treating a young man who suffered from amnesia and had no memory of his past. However, the patient carried some papers containing two names. One was a letter addressed to their son, Benjamin Allen. The other was to his friend, Zeb White.
Dr. Barkow’s description of his patient did not help. Both young men were tall and had blue eyes and dark curly hair. Members of the wagon train had disbanded and settled over a wide area before the patient had been brought to the doctor. From the meager information he had gathered, one of a pair of young men on the train had drowned in a flash flood. A carpenter among the group had carved the victim’s name on a wooden cross the party had placed on the grave. If they could find the lonely grave, the couple would know if the doctor’s patient were their son or his friend.
The tribe had gathered and listened as Running Elk translated the white man’s story. The location of the grave was said to be near Tracy’s Ford on the Oregon Trail and downriver from their village. Had one of Chief Standing Bear’s people seen the cross?
Red Squirrel was very shy. She did not want to step forward, although she had seen the grave last fall while gathering nuts. No one else moved. She looked at the sad faces of the youth’s parents and could not remain silent. Hesitantly, eyes downcast, she stepped out of the group of women and children.
“I have seen the place,” she told her chief. “The marker still stood last fall, at one end of a grave covered with a pile of stones. I can find it again.”
The gray-haired couple was filled with dismay when Chief Standing Bear said that the slim young girl would go alone at dawn and return in a few days. They had expected to go along, possibly with a few braves to guide them. The chief sensed their disappointment, but he was tactful enough not to tell them that white people were too clumsy for their bark canoes, especially in the flooding spring current. He considered the girl capable of going alone. True, she could not read, but she was a basket and rug weaver, who carried many beautiful designs in her head. She would remember and be able to draw the lines carved on the grave marker that only the distraught parents could read. The chief arose and entered his tepee, ending the talk.
Now that she was close to her destination, Red Squirrel watched the boulders strewn along the riverbank. When she saw a round one split down the middle like a ripe melon, she expertly used her paddle for a rudder, and the canoe whipped through the cleft rock into still water. It would soon be dark, so the Indian girl used bent twigs and pine boughs to erect a wickiup for shelter. Then she built a cooking fire. She would search out the grave tomorrow.
Early the next morning Red Squirrel’s heart hammered with dread as she approached the mound of stones and stared at the tilted cross. She wished the carved letters could speak to her so she would know if she would carry good news or bad news back to the village. The heavy responsibility overwhelmed Red Squirrel. She did not want to bring more sorrow to the elderly couple. Carefully she went over the letters again and again, making certain she remembered all the strange lines.
A glint of gold at the base of the cross caught her eye. It was a locket with a broken chain. This would be another clue as to which man was buried here, but she worried about taking something from a grave! Reluctantly, she removed her beautiful turquoise necklace and hung it on the cross. Her father had spent many hours polishing and drilling the stones, and she was very proud of it. Leaving it was a great sacrifice, but it made her feel better about taking away the gold one.
When the boys shouted that Red Squirrel had returned, the people gathered near the river to greet her. She was drenched and trembling from cold and fatigue. However, she had fought a fierce two-day battle against the strong waters and won. Red Squirrel’s mother wrapped a blanket around her daughter and tried to lead her away to change into dry clothing, but she refused. Her news—good or bad—must be delivered first. Mrs. Allen almost wept when she looked at the exhausted girl.
Red Squirrel picked up a stick. Then she walked away from the group and smoothed out a place in the soft dirt. Mrs. Allen, her face ashen with mixed hope and dread, started to follow. Gently, her husband drew her back. This girl, who could neither read nor write, was an important key to the knowledge of their son’s fate. Their watching her draw the unfamiliar lines might make her nervous.
When she had finished the drawing, Red Squirrel stood, waiting. She forgot how cold and miserable she was as the troubled parents approached. Her eyes misted at the way they clung together for support. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and turned away, not wanting to watch them.
Red Squirrel jerked as if she had been struck when the mother suddenly cried out and began to weep. She turned and then whispered a prayer of gratitude when she saw that the woman’s tears were of joy and relief!
“Zeb White! It’s poor Zeb who lies there, not our Ben,” the father murmured. His voice broke from the emotion and strain.
“This necklace had hung on the marker, until the chain broke,” Red Squirrel said. “I left mine in exchange.”
The woman took the necklace and pressed a catch and the locket sprang open to reveal tiny pictures of a man and woman. “Zeb’s parents,” the woman whispered. “Oh, how my heart goes out to them. We’ll send them the locket.”
“Yes,” Mr. Allen agreed softly, wiping his eyes. “Now we’re going to Oregon and get our son and take him home!”
Mrs. Allen went to see Red Squirrel before she and her husband left the village with Running Elk the next morning. She knew that the girl would not accept payment for her help. A gold lapel watch, a gift from her husband on their thirtieth wedding anniversary, was the most treasured piece of jewelry she owned. It opened like the locket, and opposite the watch face was Ben’s baby picture and a curled whisp of his hair.
The mother felt no regret as she pressed the watch into the hand of Red Squirrel’s mother to give to her daughter. The gift Red Squirrel had given them was beyond value.
Their son still lived!

A soft breeze was coming off the lake as a group of teenagers gathered on a stage under an outdoor pavilion. It was cool and quiet under the roof. Even though there weren’t any walls, the brightness of the sun and the noise of camp seemed to be shut out.
The group in the pavilion were a little disheveled. A few had socks sliding down into their shoes. Most were wearing oversized sweaters of all colors and descriptions. But they had two things in common. They were all wearing navy blue corduroy pants (knickers for the girls and regular full-length slacks for the boys). And they had come to make music.
Most of the group took their places on the risers set up on stage. They were the chorus. Others were unpacking instruments. They were the brass ensemble. With a tap of the conductor’s baton, everyone was ready, all eyes front. Then it started, soft at first, the music written down hundreds of years ago by a composer who wanted to used his talent to praise God. it was a religious selection that combined awe with worshipful rejoicing. As they sang and played, suddenly this group caught the spirit of the music. The joyful sounds shook the rafters. All at once a man who had written hundreds of years ago in Latin was being understood perfectly by modern-day teenagers.
As the last amen faded away, there was a hush. The chorus seemed to be waiting for applause, but there was none. The pavilion seats were empty. It was just a practice session. Still the chorus waited. The power of the music needed some acknowledgment. So they applauded themselves.

Recognizing the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Ghost has always been one of the most tender evidences of God’s love for me. I’ve always felt profound gratitude for the personal guidance I receive from the Holy Ghost. Because of my illness, I had to relearn to do the most simple tasks, and going through that process meant learning to listen in new, important ways. The Holy Ghost helped me with everything from not eating too fast or taking too big a bite when I was relearning to eat to learning whether to push my limit or back off when relearning how to sit or stand up.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort. I was regularly prompted to say, “Tell me your story.” The Holy Ghost taught me of the heroism of these hardworking, overworked angels and instructed me to testify to them of God’s love for them and to acknowledge their nobility. Focusing on something besides my own miserable condition was important training to think of others before myself when my personal needs were so huge.
God’s love is evident in the lessons learned in each of our personalized curriculums and His unfailing companionship through them.
The most important lesson I learned was to praise Him: to acknowledge unceasingly that He is good; that He has all knowledge, love, light, and power; and that His perfect plan has power to save His children. I rejoice in being a part of it.
Praise is more than gratitude. It implies trust, a sense of God’s love for us personally, and an acknowledgement of His consistent comfort and guidance. Praise saved me from despair.
Elder Christofferson concludes his talk: “In the end, it is the blessing of a close and abiding relationship with the Father and the Son that we seek. It makes all the difference and is everlastingly worth the cost.”4
Francis Webster, a survivor of the Martin handcart company, expressed it perfectly: “The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay.”5 I am a witness: it is a privilege indeed.
The image of praise in the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses my joy that God is my Father, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, and that the Holy Ghost is my teacher and testator—that these three are indeed my truest, most unfailing and faithful Friends.
Finish then, thy new creation; true and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee.
Changed from glory into glory, till in heav’n we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise.”6
This beautiful hymn is referencing Revelation 4:10–11:
“The [faithful] fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,
“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou has created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”
We receive those crowns by virtue of the perfect obedience and generosity of Jesus Christ. He shared His earned inheritance with us, who could never earn it without Him. How fitting that we should cast those crowns at His feet, in eternal praise for His goodness and the goodness of our great Father, who would allow that perfect Son to suffer all our hard things with us so that He could share celestial glory with us.
I was spared to witness that I’ve learned these things by the power of the Holy Ghost. For this priceless knowledge, I praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The author lives in Utah.

When Joseph was about six or seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. Although the others recovered readily, Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg. The doctors, using the best medicine they had, treated him, and yet the sore persisted. In order to save Joseph’s life, they said, he would have to lose his leg. Thankfully, however, soon after that diagnosis, the doctors returned to the Smith home and reported that there was a new procedure which might save Joseph’s leg. They wanted to operate immediately and had brought some cord with which to tie little Joseph to the bed so that he wouldn’t thrash about, since they had nothing with which to dull the pain. Young Joseph, however, told them, “You won’t need to tie me.”

The doctors suggested he take some brandy or wine so that the pain might not be so severe. “No,” young Joseph replied. “If my father will sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, I will do whatever is necessary.” Joseph Smith Sr. held in his arms his small child, and the doctors removed the diseased piece of bone. Although young Joseph was lame for some time afterward, he was healed. At such a young age and countless other times throughout his life, Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.

As he visited ward members, Dale sometimes took Ashley with him. One day they visited a less-active member. “I knew that no one would be able to turn away this adorable little girl at my side,” remembers Elder Renlund. He knocked on the door of a man who had angrily dismissed Bishop Renlund’s counselor sometime earlier.
When the man opened the door, he was so large he filled the doorframe. He glared at Bishop Renlund. Four-year-old Ashley blurted out, “Well, can we come in or what?”
Surprisingly, the man said, “I guess so. Come in.”
When they were seated inside, the man told Bishop Renlund he did not believe the Church was true, nor did he believe in Jesus Christ. He kept talking angrily while Ashley played with a toy. Finally she got off her chair, cupped her hand to her father’s ear, and whispered loudly, “Daddy, tell him the truth.”
So he did. Bishop Renlund bore his testimony to the man. He recalls, “The man’s attitude softened, and the Spirit came into his home.”