Gospel Story Finder

BARBARA: I have a friend I am really close to at school. We were both trying out for something. We worked together, and helped each other, and we even prayed for each other. Then talking with her the other day, I found out she isn’t a member of our church. She is a Buddhist! I was so surprised! The whole time I had been treating her like a Mormon. We had become really close; she came up to me one day, started crying, and told me how much she appreciated me. And I thought, if we could only treat everyone as if he were a member, then we’d have no problems.

Aurelia stood on the bank of the Mississippi River and looked back across it. Never before in her eleven-and-a-half years had she been west of the wide river, and now here she was in Iowa.
She shivered in the February cold and tucked one hand into her coat. With the other, she held George’s hand. He was only six and was her responsibility. Ellen, thirteen, and nine-year-old Catherine walked ahead with seven-year-old Howard; little Lucy rode in the wagon with Mama, who was still very sick. But Aurelia and George stood and looked back across the river to Nauvoo.
Aurelia murmured, “Farewell, Nauvoo,” and turned with George to face the west. It would be a long journey to the Rockies, but she had her family and the true gospel. She was ready.

I was stationed in Osaka, Japan, when World War II closed. The city was rubble, and the streets were littered with blocks, debris, and bomb craters. Although most of the trees had been blasted away, some few of them still stood with shattered limbs and trunks and had the courage to send forth a few twigs with leaves.
A tiny girl dressed in a ragged, colored kimono was busily gathering yellow sycamore leaves into a bouquet. The little child seemed unaware of the devastation that surrounded her as she scrambled over the rubble to add new leaves to her collection. She had found the one beauty left in her world. Perhaps I should say she was the beautiful part of her world. Somehow, to think of her increases my faith. Embodied in the child was hope.

In 1946 I was assigned by President George Albert Smith to go to war-torn Europe and reestablish our missions from Norway to South Africa and to set up a program for the distribution of welfare supplies.

We established headquarters in London. We then made preliminary arrangements with the military on the continent. One of the first men I wished to see was the commander of the American forces in Europe. He was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany.

When we arrived in Frankfurt, my companion and I went in to seek an appointment with the general. The appointment officer said, “Gentlemen, there will be no opportunity for you to see the general for at least three days. He’s very busy and his calendar is filled up with appointments.”

I said, “It is very important that we see him, and we can’t wait that long. We’re due in Berlin tomorrow.”

He said, “I’m sorry.”

We left the building, went out to our car, removed our hats, and united in prayer. We then went back into the building and found a different officer at the appointment post. In less than fifteen minutes we were in the presence of the general. We had prayed that we would be able to see him and to touch his heart, knowing that all relief supplies contributed from any source were then required to be placed in the hands of the military for distribution. Our objective, as we explained it to the general, was to distribute our own supplies to our own people through our own channels, and also to make gifts for general child feeding.

We explained the welfare program and how it operated. Finally, he said, “Well, gentlemen, you go ahead and collect your supplies; and by the time you get them collected, the policy may be changed.” We said, “General, our supplies are already collected; they’re always collected. Within twenty-four hours from the time we wire the First Presidency of the Church in Salt Lake City, carloads of supplies will be rolling toward Germany. We have many storehouses filled with basic commodities.”

He then said, “I’ve never heard of a people with such vision.” His heart was touched as we had prayed it would be. Before we left his office, we had a written authorization to make our own distribution to our own people through our own channels.

The assignments given us may be difficult. Years ago I was on a mission in England. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. [The mission president] said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. Finally he invited me in. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”

I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people.

I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way. May we place our trust in our Father in Heaven, to go forth with willing hearts, that we may be worthy of His blessings.

At the Missouri River they transferred to a small steamboat. It arrived near Council Bluffs, Iowa, very late at night, in the darkness, and passengers and baggage were unloaded at a fast speed and in confusion. At daybreak the weary travelers located their scattered luggage, then assembled at the Church’s emigration campground. There they were organized into companies of tens, fifties, and hundreds by Church emigration agent Joseph Young. William, being a military veteran, was named captain of the guards.
Wagons and teams had to be prepared, baggage loaded, food supplies purchased and packed, and teamsters trained. While this work was being done the camp was struck by a violent storm with high winds, torrential rains, and vivid lightnings. Cattle broke loose and stampeded, doing great damage. Lightning killed at least two Saints and badly injured several others. Floods washed gullies 3 meters deep in places. During the storm William, as captain of the guards, was called on to help a sister give birth under a collapsed tent—both mother and son remained his lifelong friends in Utah. The company needed two or three days to recover from the storm, and many Saints never found boxes and bags washed away by the flash floods.

I would like now to relate one last very personal experience in faith that demonstrates these six suggestions.
On July 29, 1977, Sister Cook and I had just finished visiting the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission and were stalled in the Cochabamba, Bolivia, airport for some five hours. I recall that we were very tired, having had few hours of sleep the night before. We were both delighted to have a few hours rest in the airport. As I was drifting off to sleep, I had a very strong feeling that I should awaken and write down some ideas. The desire to sleep was strong, but the promptings of the Spirit were more powerful. I did write; in fact, I wrote for nearly three hours, solving some organizational problems I had struggled with for a number of years previously. I felt a great outpouring of the Spirit on that day and excitedly wrote down each inspired thought. The experience took most of the time of the delay.
We were then off to La Paz, Bolivia. We were graciously met by President and Sister Chase Allred at the airport and driven in their van to the mission office. We locked the car and left our luggage and briefcase in the van.
Upon entering the office, the president was confronted with the difficult case of a woman whose husband was dying. While President Allred and I assisted with her needs, Sisters Cook and Allred left for the mission home.
When the president and I returned to the van, I realized immediately that all of our goods were gone but assumed that Sister Cook had taken them with her to the mission home. While we were driving toward the home, I discovered that the right front window-wing had been damaged and began to fear that our goods had been stolen.
Arriving at the mission home, we found that our luggage had indeed been stolen. The loss of a substantial amount of money and all our clothing created an immediate but only temporary problem. More disheartening than all was the fact that my scriptures were in my briefcase along with the inspired ideas I had just received in Cochabamba. The overwhelming sensation of discouragement, anger, and inability to do anything about the situation was overpowering.
My wife and I prayed alone. We prayed with those present. We tried to enjoy our dinner but could not. Who could know of the great loss I personally felt? The scriptures had been given to me as a young man by my parents, a sacred inscription placed in one of them by my mother and in the other by my since-deceased father. I had spent literally thousands of hours marking and cross-referencing (and loving every moment of it) in the only tangible earthly possessions I had ever considered of much value. I had on many occasions instructed my wife that if there were ever a fire in the home, she should first remove the children and then, if there were time, save my scriptures and not worry about anything else.
The president and I had much to discuss as we were to be together only that evening. However, I felt a strong impression that we must do all in our power to recover the scriptures. After supper, all present knelt in prayer once again. We determined to search the immediate area near the mission office and in a nearby field, hoping that the thief or thieves had taken the salable items and discarded the English books.
In the prayer we pleaded that the scriptures would be returned, that the persons who had taken them would be led to know of their unrighteous act and repent, and that the return of the books would be the means of bringing someone into the true church.
Eight to ten of us then loaded into the van with flashlights and warm clothing and drove up to the mission office in the central city. We scoured vacant lots across the street and adjacent streets and alleys; we talked with guards and anyone else we could find and exhausted all possibilities. No one had seen or heard anything. Finally we returned home, dejected, able only to pray individually and wait. President Allred and I worked late into the night to finish our business, and the next day Sister Cook and I flew back to Quito, Ecuador, where we lived.
During the next few weeks, the missionaries searched the lots again. They looked in hedges and garbage cans, searched a nearby park, placed a sign on a wall where the books were stolen, requesting their return, and kept a watchful eye to see if the books might show up in an unexpected place nearby. In sheer desperation, trying to do all in their power, the missionaries decided to place an advertisement in two daily newspapers, offering a reward and giving explicit information concerning the books.
In Quito, Ecuador, I began a personal spiritual struggle that was a very difficult one for me. After nearly three weeks, I had not studied in the scriptures at all. I had tried on numerous occasions, but every time I read a verse I recalled only a few of the many cross-references I had made over twenty years. I was disheartened, depressed, and had no desire whatsoever to read. I prayed many times expressing to the Father that I had never tried to use my scriptures for any purpose other than glorifying his name and trying to teach others the truths that he had taught me. I pleaded with him to do whatever had to be done in order to have them returned. My wife and little children prayed incessantly for the same blessing. Even after two or three weeks they continued praying every day, “Heavenly Father, please bring back daddy’s scriptures.”
After about three weeks, I felt a strong spiritual impression: “Elder Cook, how long will you go on without reading and studying?” It seemed to me to be a test or a trial and to have something to do with the “cost” of the blessing I desired. The words burned, and I determined that I must be humble and submissive enough to start all over again. With my wife’s permission to use her scriptures, I began reading in Genesis in the Old Testament, marking and cross-referencing once again.
On August 18, a friend, Brother Ebbie Davis, arrived in Ecuador from Bolivia and laid my scriptures on my desk along with a manila folder which contained the papers that I had written in Cochabamba and some recently prepared mission budgets that were also stolen. He indicated that they were the only things recovered, that he had been given those items by the mission president in La Paz as he boarded the plane, and that he did not know how the books were found, but that I would be told when I arrived there in the next few days to tour the mission.
The joy I experienced in that moment and later that day is indescribable. To realize that my Heavenly Father could, in some miraculous way, lift those books out of the hands of thieves in a city like La Paz and return them intact, not one page removed, torn, or soiled, is still beyond me. How the faith of our family and many Bolivian missionaries was rewarded! That day I promised my Father that I would make better use of my scriptures and my time as instruments in his hands for teaching the gospel.
On Sunday, August 21, I flew to Guayaquil, Ecuador, and on to La Paz, Bolivia, arriving on August 22. Upon arrival I was given the following account:
A lady had been in one of La Paz’s hundreds of marketplaces. She saw a drunk man waving a black book around. She had the strongest spiritual impression that something holy was being desecrated. She approached the man and asked him what it was. He did not know but showed her the book. She asked if he had anything else. He pulled out another black book. She asked if there were more. He removed a folder full of papers that he said he was going to burn. She then expressed the desire to purchase those things from him, to which he agreed, for the price of 50 pesos or about $2.50, U.S. currency.
After the purchase had been made, she felt totally taken back by what she had done. She realized the books and papers were in English—she didn’t speak, read, or understand English—and she had no desire to have any English books. It would have been like one of us paying nearly 10 percent of our monthly income to buy some books in a language we could not read. She immediately began a search for the church that was named in the front of the books. After approaching a number of other churches, she finally arrived at the mission office in La Paz, directed by the hand of the Lord. She had never heard of the reward nor of the advertisement in the newspaper, which was to appear that very day. She did not ask for any money, not even to reclaim the 50 pesos that she had paid. The elders received the books with rejoicing and paid her the reward anyway.
She told the missionaries that she was associated with a Pentecostal sect, but listened very intently as they unfolded the gospel to her. She recalled reading something about Joseph Smith from a pamphlet she had picked up in the street two or three years earlier. After their first discussion with her, they reported, “She is a golden contact.” After the second discussion, she committed to baptism. Two weeks later, September 11, 1977, on a Sunday afternoon in La Paz, Bolivia, Sister Maria Cloefe Cardenas Terrazas and her son, Marco Fernando Miranda Cardenas, age 12, were baptized into the true church of Jesus Christ by Elder Douglas Reeder.
Who could describe my deep, discouraging, depressing, disheartening, overpowering feelings of helplessness when the scriptures were lost? Who could describe my great feeling of joy and rejoicing when we saw the power of heaven revealed in this miraculous way? Our Heavenly Father does hear and answer the prayers of his sons and daughters if they exercise faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. The Lord said: “For verily I say unto you, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith.
“Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.” (Mark 11:23–24.)

On my mission, rejection and failure were as much a part of our everyday lives as eating and breathing. It was easy to expect rejection and anticipate that our investigators would lose interest in our message. But five weeks in one particular city taught me a valuable lesson. It was a city where no one had ever had much success. But someone forgot to tell my companion or me. We got along famously. We worked hard. And we had fun. We met lots of people interested in our message. We had a thriving investigator class each Sunday in this tiny branch. Miracles were happening in people’s lives. And we felt we were just scratching the surface of this golden city.
Why did we have so much success there? I believe the Lord blessed us with success because of our attitude. My companion and I loved working together. We were united. We worked hard. We honestly believed the city was a gold mine just waiting to yield up its treasures. Attitude has a lot to do with faith. Faith has everything to do with success. And faith is contagious.
Unfortunately, I was late in understanding this lesson. I failed to make the connection between the fruits of our labors and the way we labored. Consequently, I was not able to apply this principle as successfully in my next two assignments.
There are probably many other things I would do differently if I had the chance to serve my mission over again, but these four stand out in my mind. If you look at these ideas carefully, you’ll see that they fall within the qualifications the Lord Himself outlined for His servants: “And faith, hope, charity and love, with an eye single to the glory of God, qualify him for the work. Remember faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, brotherly kindness, godliness, charity, humility, diligence” (D&C 4:5–6).

“I hope each young man who has been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood is given a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling, as well as opportunities to magnify that calling. I received such an opportunity as a deacon when the bishopric asked that I take the sacrament to a shut-in who lived about a mile from our chapel. That special Sunday morning, as I knocked on Brother Wright’s door and heard his feeble voice call, ‘Come in,’ I entered not only his humble cottage but also a room filled with the Spirit of the Lord. I approached Brother Wright’s bedside and carefully placed a piece of the bread to his lips. I then held the cup of water, that he might drink. As I departed, I saw tears in his eyes as he said, ‘God bless you, my boy.’ And God did bless me—with an appreciation for the sacred emblems of the sacrament and for the priesthood which I held.

I know from my own life that Eliza’s experience can be our own long after we leave childhood. In the early years of my career, I worked hard to secure a tenured professorship at Stanford University. I thought I had made a good life for myself and for my family. We lived close to my wife’s parents in very comfortable surroundings. By the world’s standards, I had achieved success. But I was given by the Church the chance to leave California and go to Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. My lifetime professional objectives might have been a pavilion dividing me from a loving Father who knew better than I did what my future could hold. But I was blessed to know that whatever success I had in my career and family life to that point was a gift from God. And so, like a child, I knelt in prayer to ask what I should do. I was able to hear a quiet voice in my mind that said, “It’s my school.” There was no pavilion shielding me from God. In faith and humility, I submitted my will to His and felt His care and closeness.

When I was in the fourth grade, I had a variety show to sing in. Some of the girls were singing a bad song. I didn’t like it. When I got home, I told my mom about it. She talked to my dad, and my dad told my principal. The girls had to sing a better song. The program turned out good because I wasn’t afraid to speak out about a bad song. I know that Jesus Christ was happy.
Hydee Rushton, age 10Sun River Valley Ward

I was excited! Spring was here, and I could play outside without a coat. Kindergarten was almost out for the summer, and I was getting ready to play ball and help Dad with the garden. But I forgot all about Mother’s Day. I didn’t remember until my Primary teacher reminded us the Sunday before. I knew then that I would have to have a secret meeting with Aaron and Jarom.
Aaron and Jarom are my two brothers. Aaron’s four, and Jarom’s only two, but he’s real smart. He can talk really good. In fact, he can do nearly everything Aaron and I can.
That night when we were in bed, I talked to Aaron and Jarom and told them that next Sunday was Mother’s Day and that we just had to get Mom a present. We knew Dad was going to give her something—he always does. But we wanted to give her a big surprise just from us.
We thought about giving Mom a motorcycle or a horse or a pickup truck. Those things would have made good presents, but we knew we couldn’t ever get anything like that till we were a lot older.
We finally decided that we would get all our money together and go to Brother Bob’s store to buy Mom something.
The next day after I came home from school, Aaron and Jarom and I walked to the store. We only had two dollars and three quarters and a dime and four pennies. It wasn’t very much, but we thought we could get Mom something she’d like.
Well, there really wasn’t much in Brother Bob’s store for Mother’s Day, because he sells mostly food and things like that. We looked at the bubble gum, but Mom doesn’t like bubble gum very much. We looked at some boxes of candy because Dad sometimes buys it for her. She likes candy, but just one of those boxes of chocolates with a big bow on it costs lots more money than we had. There was a real good pocketknife inside a glass case, but it cost over ten dollars. There was a watch inside the case too. It was just a little one, not like the big one Dad wears. We figured that since it was such a little watch, we probably had enough money to buy it. But when we put our money on the counter, Brother Bob said we didn’t have quite enough.
We were going to go to the big store by the ice-cream place, but that was a long way away. You have to cross the highway to get there, so we decided not to go. Instead, we each bought a sucker and went home.
On the way home we decided that if we couldn’t buy something for Mom, we’d make something. I remembered that Mom once said she’d sure like a rocking chair to rock Jared in at night. An old rocking chair wouldn’t be very hard to make. We had wood and nails and tools and everything at home.
Every day after school Aaron and Jarom met me at the corner. Then we ran around to the backyard and worked on the rocking chair. Jarom didn’t work much; he just kind of watched us. He’d get tired and go into the house for his blanket, but he always came back and sat on a box and rubbed his blanket and sucked his thumb. We still liked to have him there because it was his present too.
We had a hard time trying to build Mom that rocking chair though. We’d seen Dad hammer and saw, but he had bigger muscles than Aaron and I. I scratched my hand with the saw, and Aaron got silvers in his hands trying to hold the boards still. And I hit my thumb, trying to hammer in a nail.
We worked every day till Saturday, but by Saturday we still didn’t have a rocking chair. We’d hammered some boards together, but they were rough and had crooked nails sticking out of them. It didn’t look like any rocking chair we’d ever seen. It looked more like a table. But Mom didn’t need a table; she needed a rocking chair.
It was hot. Jarom had his blanket and was lying down on a box, sucking his thumb and looking at our rocking chair. I was thinking, and Aaron was over by the grapevine hunting for something. Pretty soon he yelled, “Hey, Alma, come here! Look what I found!”
I threw my hammer down, and Jarom left his blanket and ran over to the grapevine with me. Under the branches, sitting on some crunchy leaves, was a big, fat horned toad. He was brown and had little bumps all over him.
I’d seen horned toads before, because Aaron likes to catch them. But this one was one of the best horned toads I’d ever seen. Aaron picked it up and tickled its tummy and rubbed it against his cheek so he could feel the bumps.
Aaron said, “I know, Alma! Let’s give Mom some horned toads! She said that she thinks they’re cute and that they’re funny to watch when they run. Let’s look for some more, and we’ll each give her a horned toad for Mother’s Day.”
There’s an empty lot behind our house that’s covered with weeds and rocks and other good places for horned toads to hide. Jarom went there with us, too, but he had to leave his blanket behind, because it would get weed stickers in it.
We hunted for a long time, and finally we found another horned toad. It was almost suppertime. We were about ready to give Mom just two horned toads, when suddenly Jarom saw a tiny one. I grabbed it. Now we each had a horned toad to give to Mom.
When we went into the house, we didn’t let anyone see the toads. I found an empty shoe box and put some rocks inside so the horned toads would think they were still outside. Then we wrapped the box in newspaper and punched some holes in the top very carefully.
The next day, after the family came home from church and Primary, Mom started fixing dinner. After my brothers and I helped her set the table, we went out to the garage and brought in our present. I put the box on Mom’s plate so she’d know we hadn’t forgotten about Mother’s Day. Aaron and Jarom and I were grinning as Mom tried to guess what was in the present. She was going to shake it, but we told her she’d better not because it might break. She kept trying to guess, but she couldn’t. Not even Dad could guess what our present was.
After family prayer and the blessing on the food, I told Mom to open our present. I knew we couldn’t eat until Mom had opened it.
She took the paper off really slow, and then she took the lid off the shoe box. Her eyes got really big, but she didn’t say anything, and we weren’t sure if she liked our horned toads. We didn’t know if she thought they were too little or not the right color. But then she got a great big smile on her face, and she looked at Aaron and Jarom and me. Her eyes were sparkling like they do sometimes when she’s real happy. We knew then that she was glad to get those three horned toads.
She got up and gave us each a great big kiss and said, “I’ll never forget this Mother’s Day. Horned toads are the best Mother’s Day surprise I’ve ever received!”
After we’d all had a good look at the horned toads, Dad said we should take them out to the garage for a while. But Mom said it would be OK to put them on the chair by the telephone if we wouldn’t bother them while we ate.
After dinner, Mom looked at her horned toads and said, “I don’t like to see toads closed up in an old shoe box. Why don’t you boys build them a house outside where they won’t feel sad and where we can go to visit them.”
The next day after kindergarten, Aaron and Jarom and I went out in the backyard by the grapevine. We’d seen lots of horned toads there, so we knew that that was one of their favorite spots. We found a shady place where there were lots of crunchy leaves. We got some rocks and put them in a little pile under the grapevines, and that was Mom’s horned-toad house. The horned toads really liked it. As soon as we let them out of the shoe box, they waddled as fast as they could into their little rock house.
Those horned toads were our very best Mother’s Day present. And Mom said one of her favorite times of the day was when she went out to the grapevine with Aaron and Jarom and me and watched her very own horned toads.

Julie was sad. Nana—Grandma Marilyn—was in the hospital, and Mother had gone to visit her.
“What’s wrong, Julie?” Angie, her older sister, asked. “Are you having trouble with your math homework again?”
“No,” Julie replied. “Math is OK. I’m worried about Nana. Is she going to get better?”
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong with her.”
“Why aren’t you as upset as I am? Won’t you miss her if she doesn’t get better? What if she dies? Don’t you love Nana?” Julie had tears in her eyes.
Angie gathered Julie into her arms. “I think Nana will get better, and of course I love her,” Angie said. “But even if she dies, we can be together forever.”
“I thought that meant that Nana would always be with us, that I’d always be able to go to visit her, that none of us would ever die,” Julie said.
“No.” Angie smiled. “We’ll all have to die sometime. Being together forever means that because our family has been sealed together in the temple, after we leave this life, we can be together forever as a family in Heavenly Father’s kingdom.”
Julie sighed. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me see if I can help. Next month Mark and I are going to be married,” Angie said. “Do you know where we are being married?”
“Sure, that’s easy. You’ve been planning for months to be married in the temple.”
“Actually, for as long as I can remember, I’ve planned on being married in the temple. The reason is that when we are married in the temple, we will also be sealed together as an eternal family unit. The brother who will perform our marriage has the priesthood authority to join us as husband and wife not just for this life, but for forever. Because we will be sealed in the temple, if we live righteously, we and any children we have will be sealed together as a family for eternity. Because Nana and Grandpa John were sealed in the temple, and Mom and Dad were sealed in the temple, we are all sealed together as a family even after this life.”
“And that’s all there is to it?” Julie asked.
“No. We also have to live as an eternal family. For example, we need to try to live the gospel, love one another, have family home evening, pray together, help each other, and be kind to one another.”
“Thank you for helping me feel better today,” Julie said as she hugged Angie. “I’m glad you’re my sister forever.”
“So am I,” Angie said.

At one point, Graydon and Donna, who had been bringing up the rear with their father, stepped into some quicksand—more accurately, water-saturated sand. Graydon quickly leaped free, but Donna struggled too hard and was soon in the bog up to her waist. Graydon and his father couldn’t pull her out, and the others were too far ahead. But Chris Jones, who had arrived later in the day and started the hike with a friend, caught up to them from behind like the Cavalry. Between the four men, a branch, and stepping stones that kept sinking in the mud, she was extricated, a little shaken after the half-hour ordeal. “Guess I don’t have to find those scissors to cut your legs off,” Chris laughed, trying to cheer her up.

“Let’s enter,” Kristy urged her twin brother Derek. So after school they did.
As an incentive to keep the youth out of trouble and off the streets on traditionally mischief-filled Halloween night, community merchants had donated a good used car as a prize for the one teenager contacted and found home before midnight.
Not much was mentioned of the contest or the twins silent dreams until supper time October 31st, when Kristy expressed her distinct confidence and anticipation. A strong hunch that she would be the winner left her expectant all evening while at the door she met one “trick-or-treater” after another. Derek attended volleyball practice, returning home exhausted. By 10:30 he was fast asleep.
Soon treats were depleted, porch lights extinguished, and younger brothers and sisters retired with mild stomach aches from overindulgence. Even Kristy relented and went to bed. Only Mother was still reading when at 11:45 the shrill ring of the telephone sent her flying in response. “This is radio station KPCS wishing to speak with … Derek,” she was told. As if by prearrangement the entire household flared alive. Father switched on the radio to listen in on the conversation. Several youngsters squealed into Derek’s bedroom, dragging their groggy brother to the downstairs extension phone. Suddenly realizing the implication of this late disturbance, he became fully alert. Incredulous as it seemed, his brain registered the fact that he had won the coveted automobile. Hundreds of teenagers must have put in their names. Yet he would be the one to drive home the prize the very next afternoon. Nothing this exciting had ever happened to him before.
Understandably, the family had trouble settling down. Finally, having drifted off to dreamland, Derek visualized himself on gleaming hubcapped “wheels,” gliding noiselessly through throngs of cheering friends. Later he found himself whizzing breathlessly past open spaces in a fire-red machine, and before waking to reality, he was the one roaring down main street in a fabulous convertible, accompanied by several of the most gorgeous girls he had ever seen—the envy of all his peers.
Indeed, the next day Derek was the center of attraction when word of his good fortune spread at seminary and at school. “What kind of a car is it?” he was asked repeatedly. No one knew. Some speculated on a late model; others, less optimistic, suspected an old “clunker.” But when at last classes had finished Derek was to find out.
The vehicle his eyes beheld proved to be beyond his expectations, much nicer than those owned by anyone in his circle of friends. That purring beauty was his, all his. Was he ever going to have a ball!
Delighted and proud he was greeted by his equally pleased family, all assembled on the front lawn. Neighbors soon joined them. Each was given a ride. Definitely this was Derek’s finest hour. Soon the dealer’s license plate had to be returned. Well, tomorrow insurance matters could be worked out.
The subject did come up and was thoroughly considered and discussed with earnest efforts made to help Derek’s car get on the road. Yet it simply could not be done. The painful truth was that funds had been extremely limited with one brother in the mission field, another due to leave and depending on family assistance. Even Derek, a senior in high school, had been forced to drop out of basketball because he was unable to afford the tournament travel expenses. Scraping up nearly $400 for licensing and insurance was impossible under the circumstances.
So there stood the apple of Derek’s eye, evoking a pronounced pounding of his heart every time he glanced at it and extracting each spare minute of his time with polishing and sprucing it up to top performance. Particular care was lavished on achieving the finest reproduction from its stereo system. How he yearned to drive it!
Still, hope prevailed. Perhaps an after-school and Saturday job was the solution. Unfortunately, scores of jobless hopefuls saturated the market. Weeks of filling out applications, interviews, and callbacks produced no results.
One blustery December day Derek noticed a vaguely familiar figure stomping through the deep snow. Seconds later he recognized it as belonging to Sister Taylor. Her family had been experiencing incredible hardships. First, their business had gone bankrupt. Then they had lost their home, recently also their car.
Ever so subtly and ever so quietly a thought began creeping into Derek’s subconscious mind. On reaching awareness, he tried desperately to push it out. However, once conceived, it would not be suppressed. No matter how hard he fought the impulse, gradually a plan took shape, one which caused him to alternate between gladness and sadness. And so, at first reluctantly, but soon with stern determination, the young man made a difficult and noble decision.
Christmas Sunday at priesthood meeting someone mentioned, “Did I see Brother Taylor driving your car today, Derek?” “I sold it to him,” was the reply.
This prompted several priests into simultaneously responding, “But they have no money.”
“They had enough,” answered Derek with a wistful grin. Audible only to himself he added, “They had one dollar.”

Years later, when a good friend of mine took her own life, I decided to do some fundraising for a suicide bereavement group. One day I got a phone call from one of the group coordinators. She said there was another volunteer opportunity and my name just wouldn’t leave her mind.

She asked if I would be interested in volunteering as a support worker for a rape crisis center. As a support worker, I would meet with victims, talk them through what was going to happen, and tell them about the importance of counseling. I would also just be a support to them and their families. I told the woman that I felt the reason my name kept coming to her mind was because of what I had been through. I received the training and worked as a volunteer support worker for a couple of years.

This experience was so rewarding for me. Each time I would get the call to go to the crisis center, I always said a prayer. I would say, “Heavenly Father, You know this person, You know what she has been through, and You know what she needs to hear. Please let me be an instrument in Your hands to help them hear what they need to hear.”

As I helped victims work toward recovery, I would tell them that they had a choice. I would say, “Are you going to stay a victim or be a survivor? Some days you’ll feel that power is taken from you, but you can take the power and control back by not letting the memory of the event destroy who you are. That is how you become a survivor.”

Sometimes victims are not ready to go to counseling for a long time, but I would always encourage them and tell them that it is so important to go when they are ready. I always tried to make sure that a person who walked in as a victim would walk out as a survivor. On my way back home, I always thanked Heavenly Father for allowing me to be of some small help to others. This gave me the strength to move forward in my own life.

Four months later, Trevor entered the font again—this time to baptize his own mother. Once again, his best friends were there for Trevor, with Cody baptizing Trevor’s younger sister and Justin baptizing his younger brother.
Seeing Trevor with his mother was a powerful experience for Justin. “There was a glow around them,” Justin said. “They were extremely happy because they knew that they were on the path to being together forever.”

During my first couple years in high school, I was a little embarrassed to be a member of the Church because my religion was so different from those of my friends. I didn’t make much of an effort to share my beliefs.
I only felt brave enough once or twice to invite a friend to church, and each time I was extra careful to make sure it wasn’t on a fast Sunday. If I take her to a testimony meeting first, she’ll never want to come back, I thought. But one summer I learned a lesson about the power of testimony meetings.
School was out, flowers were blooming, and my younger sister Natalie and I were eagerly awaiting youth conference. Natalie, as usual, decided to bring along some friends—nonmembers named Tareneh and Angel. I thought they’d probably like youth conference, except for the testimony meeting.
We all had a great time together going to classes, dancing, and socializing. Then came the last activity of the weekend—Sunday’s testimony meeting.
The Spirit was overwhelming; it seemed to make our hearts expand. I was sure everyone in the room could feel that Spirit, but I still couldn’t help wondering if Angel and Tareneh thought Mormons were weird because they go up to the microphone and pour out their hearts to a few hundred people.
But before I knew it, Tareneh went up to the microphone to bear her testimony. I couldn’t believe it! She told everyone that although she wasn’t LDS, she knew there was something special about the Church because of the way she felt during the meeting. She, like everyone else, had felt that amazing spirit.
Angel is a little shy and didn’t bear her testimony, but she later told us that she had wanted to. She eventually joined the Church.
That day I learned that a testimony meeting can be a powerful missionary tool because of the strong spirit that comes with it. I also realized it was wrong to let self-conscious, embarrassed feelings get in the way of sharing the gospel. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about being a Latter-day Saint.

Seemingly little lessons of love are observed by children as they silently absorb the examples of their parents. My own father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.

One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, “Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.” Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying in his arms like a china doll his crippled uncle. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with such affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so he would have a fine view while I occupied the rear seat.

The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho.

As I desired to understand the scriptures and the doctrine, I started to learn things—things started to click. This had an effect on me and led me to start doing things differently and also to go to my bishop and talk to him about things I had been carrying around and good things I wanted to make happen in my life.
For me, this was a crossover between gaining a testimony and understanding what the Atonement can do for me. I worked pretty closely with my bishop. I’d always been close with him, but as soon as I got serious and got into the scriptures, I began to recall things that I had done and that I didn’t want to carry with me. So I started talking to my bishop about certain things so that I could be free of the burden. I went to him, and we spoke and counseled together. Afterward, as I left the bishop’s office, it was like I was free, a big burden was lifted off of me.
That’s when an understanding of the Atonement—of what the Savior has done for us—came to me. And that’s when I truly felt that He knew me, He did this for me, and He loved me. Having the courage to go to my priesthood leader and talk to him helped me so much. I had a very tender, sweet relationship with my bishop because he took the time to work with me. And the scriptures were the catalyst.