Gospel Story Finder

I relate two experiences to demonstrate what I mean. A man in one of our organizations was transferred to New York City to direct the work of one of our radio stations. He had never been to New York before, but he located one of our chapels and attended church the first Sunday he was there. He was welcomed into the priesthood quorum as a brother, and his wife and children were similarly welcomed and were soon right at home.
In contrast, at the same time another young man whom he knew was sent by his company to operate another station. Though he was a member of a church with many times the membership of the LDS church, he found it most difficult to feel at home and soon asked for a transfer back to his original station. It might have been his fault, or it might have been the fault of his church. However, in our Church if the individual and the quorum are functioning as they should, all Church members should feel happy, wanted, and accepted wherever they go.

It was about that time Bob began talking again about going on his mission. We hadn’t mentioned it much, but then one day he said, “Well, I guess when we get home I’ll start getting ready for my mission.” From then on, he talked about a mission more and more. One night, about 1:00 A.M., after a long, hard day, he rolled over in his sleeping bag and said, “Dad, tell me about eternal life.” We talked for about two hours. Then, with his last effort, he said, “That’s what I want” and fell asleep. For me that made the whole trip worthwhile.
We slowly regained our lost time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small Eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had sailed over every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we carried our equipment around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.

As a young child, I believed we had a prophet and that he spoke the truth; but I’m not sure I understood that the prophet was speaking to me personally. When I was a young wife and mother, my husband spent two years in the air force. We lived in military housing on Long Island, New York. While tending our young children, I often visited with neighbors who had come from all over the country. One day as a neighbor and I were talking about our beliefs, she became curious about what was different about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I told her briefly about the Restoration, and I explained that the restored Church of Jesus Christ has a living prophet today. This really seemed to pique her interest, and she wanted to know what the prophet had said. As I started to tell her about the Doctrine and Covenants and modern revelation, she said, “But what has he said lately?” I told her about general conference and that the Church had a monthly publication with a message from the prophet. Then she got really interested. I was so embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t read the current message. She concluded our conversation by saying, “You mean you have a living prophet and you don’t know what he said?” In that situation I hadn’t shown what it meant to sustain.

I had a couple dollar bills and was at the store with my family, so I bought a bouncy rubber ball. My little three-year-old sister really wanted to play with it. When we got home, I gave her the ball. She was so happy that she bounced it up and down the stairs, laughing and smiling. When she got tired of the ball, she came to find me. “Here, Brek, you can have it back,” she said. I felt good that I could share with my sister.
Brek Carper, age 7, with his sister, AlexusSpearfish, South Dakota

I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

Sharing sorrow is what has strengthened Lee Hing Chung and his wife, Kumviengkumpoonsup. Six years ago, he lost an arm in an industrial accident. Sick and unemployed, he became despondent. Support from his wife, children, and other members pulled him through.
Today hope shines in his eyes as he speaks of the present and the future, including being sealed to his wife and children in the Hong Kong Temple. “Before we joined the Church, I was primarily concerned with making money,” he says. “Now I have different priorities. There are many people out there who have lots of money, but they don’t have love. We have found that.
“Many people at church are the only members in their families,” he continues. “When I attend church on Sunday with my family, I am so grateful that we are together and that we can be together forever.”
As he speaks, he gestures toward a picture of the Hong Kong Temple hanging prominently on a wall. “One day I was reading the scriptures and looked up,” he relates. “The first thing I saw was that picture, and I experienced such a strong, peaceful feeling from the Holy Ghost. We pray every night that we can be together as a family. The presence of the temple reminds me to be good, to be disciplined, to be worthy.”
Although still unemployed, Brother Lee is at peace with his circumstances. “There are challenges in life, certainly,” he acknowledges. “But I have faith in Jesus Christ. We will be all right.”
In addition to preparing for the temple, the Lee family has been busy doing missionary work. One neighbor family has already joined the Church through the family’s missionary efforts, and a second family is investigating. “The parents told us they were impressed with our children and asked why they were different,” Sister Lee explains. “They said the children were respectful, obedient, and cooperative with each other. We told them it was simply the Church.”

When I was about eight years old, I attended Lafayette School, which was very close to Temple Square. One day at lunchtime, my mother took me out for lunch at the Lion House, which is a house where President Brigham Young used to live. While we were there, she noticed President Heber J. Grant eating lunch. Taking me over, she introduced me to him, and he shook my hand. I knew he was different from other men. Since that time, I have shaken hands with the next eight Presidents of the Church. Each time, I could feel the honor and dignity of the prophet.

It was July 4, 1976, and the huge, yellowed stones of the Western (Wailing) Wall, all that remains of the enclosure that was once part of the resplendent glory of Solomon’s Temple, echoed with singing: “God is with us; no one can defeat us.” The golden city of Jerusalem, made more golden by the ruddy glow of the setting sun, sang her victory song. Israel had amazed the world that morning with her daring commando raid on the airport at Entebbe, Uganda. Ninety hijacked Israeli hostages, facing the threat of death, had been rescued and flown back to Israel.
On the evening of that eventful day, I photographed soldiers and civilians whirling together in dancing circles, singing and praising God. The dusky evening light merged colors and shapes into a oneness. I stood next to a soldier as he leaned his head against his arm to pray at the rough stone of the Wall, while behind us common folk and government officials blended their voices in vocal prayer and thanksgiving for the glory of Israel.

Eole Montredon, 15, comes to seminary every school morning, even though she isn’t yet a member of the Church. “In many ways,” she says, “it’s like I’ve been a member my whole life because I’ve grown up around the Church, and I’m familiar with the gospel.”
She says she loves to come to seminary because “it’s good for us as young people to study the scriptures together, even if we have to get up before the sun to be there.” Seminary starts at 6:00 a.m., so she gets up at 5:00. “Some of my friends think I’m crazy, but then when I explain what we’re doing, they think it sounds all right. Besides, I feel the Holy Ghost when I’m there. It’s a good feeling that I remember all day long.”
One of her favorite Bible stories is David and Goliath. She says it gives her courage to know that the Lord will help small people conquer big problems, because she faces a challenge that sometimes seems as large as Goliath to her. Her parents are separated, and although her mother is an active member who would love to see her become a Latter-day Saint, Eole’s father insists that she wait. And so, to honor her father, she is waiting, patiently living the gospel, and praying that someday his heart will change.
“If I could give a message to the youth of the Church,” Eole says, “it would be to come to seminary every weekday and to church every Sunday, because the more you do, the more you will see how good it is and how it makes you strong.” Even though Eole can’t enjoy the heritage of multiple generations in the Church—not yet—she knows she can work today to build that heritage for generations to come. “I know I need to start now,” she says, “and if I remain faithful, good things will happen.”

The salesman said, “It’s rather interesting that you should ask those questions. A few nights ago I was at the airport in Salt Lake City and it was extremely crowded. I hadn’t been there very long when your ‘boss’ came in. The only empty seat was right next to me, and there I was smoking a cigarette. As he sat by me I turned away from him and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. He then put his arm around me and said, ‘Never mind, young man. We know that not all of the people in the state of Utah are members of the Church.’”
Then the salesman told me that the man, President David O. McKay, my “boss,” had asked him basically the same questions that l had.

Jane’s family struggled during their first years in the Salt Lake Valley, and though they lacked even the most basic necessities, Jane shared what little she did have with her neighbors. When Brother Lyman, a neighbor, received a call to serve a mission in California, he left his family with few provisions. His wife, Eliza Partridge Lyman, wrote, “Jane James let me have two pounds of flour, it being half of what she had.”

I wanted to thank you for the article “Speak Up!” in the August 1996 issue. Where I work, I am sometimes laughed at or teased for having the morals that I have. Every one of my co-workers knows I’m LDS. When they tease me about my standards, I just try to laugh it off. When I read this article, I knew it was just for me. Now when I get laughed at, I speak up for the Church and the gospel. Thank you so much for giving me the courage to do so.
Amber BlackburnCrofton, Maryland

Emma could hardly wait for Suzan’s birthday party.
“The party will be even more fun because Michaela will be there,” Emma said to Mother on the way to Suzan’s house.
“I know,” said Mother. “It’s always fun to be with your best friend.”
When they got to Suzan’s house, Suzan’s mother invited all the children into the playroom.
“Let’s play dolls,” Suzan said.
Everyone ran to get a doll. Emma picked up two dolls and gave the prettiest one to Michaela.
After that they played with teddy bears. Michaela picked out two teddy bears and let Emma choose one to play with.
Next, all the children played house. Suzan got to be the mother because it was her birthday. The other children sat around the table and pretended to eat.
“Would you like some of my cookies?” Emma asked Michaela, offering her some pretend cookies.
“Oh, thank you,” said Michaela. “May I pour you some more milk?” She poured pretend milk into Emma’s glass.
Then they played musical chairs. One by one, Suzan’s mother removed the chairs until only one chair remained. Emma and Michaela were the last two players.
Emma knew only one of them could win the game by sitting on the chair when the music stopped. Emma didn’t want Michaela to lose the game. But she knew Michaela would want her to try to win too.
When the music stopped, Emma just stood there, looking at Michaela. Then Michaela smiled. Emma smiled back at her and knew just what to do. They both sat down and shared the chair!

Marine preserves—areas where purple sea anemone, baby crabs, and starfish live undisturbed by human collectors—are scattered along the California coastline. Here people wandering among the rocks may observe, but not touch, the sea life moving in the rising and falling tide.
On other beaches, though, people mingle more freely with the sea life. Here, sea creatures cast ashore by storms are fair game for beachcombers who stuff them into brightly colored pails of seawater and transport them inland and away from their natural element.
Naturalist Loren Eiseley had an experience on one of these beaches that has become a well-known parable on the preservation of life. Very early one morning, Eiseley encountered a solitary man searching the shoreline after a storm.
“Do you collect?” asked Eiseley. “Only like this,” replied the man, casting a struggling starfish far out to sea, “and only for the living.”
“The stars … throw well,” he observed. “One can help them.” (The Star Thrower, New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, p. 172.)
This man, whom Eiseley called the “star thrower”, was no ordinary collector. His sole interest was to save the starfish from anxious tourists, to protect their right to swim again in the ocean.

The second truth reemphasized in my missionary life is that the Lord communicates in a miraculous way his purposes to achieve. A new elder in Italy by the name of Gary D. Shaw, in following the promptings of the Spirit, discovered this reality. Elder Shaw had been in the mission field only two weeks when his senior companion became ill. The elders, as a consequence, had to remain in their apartment all day. Elder Shaw was moved by the Spirit and had a great desire to talk to someone about the gospel, so he picked up the phone book in which more than three million names were listed. He chose three. There was no response to the first call. To the second, a woman answered and informed Elder Shaw that she wasn’t at all interested, and to make matters worse, declared that she couldn’t understand his poor Italian and atrocious mode of speech. On the third try, a man answered. Elder Shaw introduced himself and received a warm response. The man said his name was Mabiglia and that he would gladly receive the elders. This he did. The appointment, made so miraculously, turned into a spiritually uplifting and inspiring occasion. After the first lesson, Mr. Mabiglia said, “How wonderful! I’ve worked for two years in a bank located on the street where the missionaries have done street-board tracting. Again and again I have practically brushed them as I passed them on the street, but I was too shy to respond to them. Now, in this miraculous way, I have met you.” At this point we should change the “Mister” to “Brother,” for after receiving the lessons, the man contacted by telephone was baptized, and Brother Mabiglia is now serving in the presidency of the Naples Branch.

Recently I met a young man who was receiving the missionary discussions. He had read the Book of Mormon and felt he had received answers to his prayers. He was now faced with the decision of whether or not to be baptized.

This was a rather remarkable young man. He had experienced some severe tests in his life, and he had demonstrated great courage and resourcefulness. The prospect of becoming a member of the Church, however, gave him a different kind of challenge.

As we talked about this newest and most important decision with which he was faced, he asked, “Why are so many people critical of Mormons?” He then described some of the things he had experienced at the hands of friends, family, and fellow employees for having associated with the missionaries. “I’m not sure I can live with that kind of feeling against me if I join the Church,” he said. “Why can’t I believe what your church teaches, but just go on being a good Christian without becoming a Mormon?”

It isn’t difficult for us to know what the consequences will be for this young man if he chooses not to be baptized because of the fear of incurring ill feelings from family and friends. He is, of course, perfectly free to make this choice, but he is not free to determine the consequences of that decision.

The young man to whom I referred in the beginning of my remarks has a very important decision to make. In the final analysis he cannot hedge on his decision. He must be willing to face the consequences of baptism and membership in the Church if he is ever to enjoy the blessings that Church membership can bring. He must be willing to pay the price. This will require much trust and faith on his part. It is so with each of us whenever we face challenging choices. You young men of the Aaronic Priesthood have a tremendous trust placed in you by the Lord, and he expects you to measure up—to stand up and be counted. All of you came here to be winners. The Lord’s work will prevail, and you will have much to do with the success of his kingdom.

At Young Women camp in the mountains of California, girls and leaders waited for dinner in an A-frame lodge. As we waited, some girls noticed something under a table. A hummingbird had somehow flown into the lodge, couldn’t find its way out, and finally collapsed on the floor. They asked me to help.
The bird looked near death, its beak wrapped with cobwebs and its feathers askew. I gently put it into a cup and carried it outside. I hoped it would recover on its own but realistically expected it to go the way of all nature. However, as I tipped the cup to gently deposit the hummingbird onto the ground, in mid-slide the hummingbird grasped the rim of the cup with its tiny talons. I held the cup upright, the bird perched on the rim, its eyes closed. Now what?
One leader, seeing the bird, mixed a solution of sugar and water and brought it to me. First I gently brushed the cobwebs from the needle-sharp beak. The bird didn’t flinch. Then I dipped a finger in the sugar water and held a drop to the tip of the beak. The drop disappeared, even though the bird didn’t move. Perhaps the liquid seeped into the beak? I dipped my finger again and held it to the bird’s beak. This time a tiny tongue, thinner than a hair, licked my fingertip.
For 10 or 15 minutes, the hummingbird drank one drop after another. By then, several other leaders had gathered around me, and I offered them a try at feeding it.
Suddenly the bird opened its eyes, and its ruffled feathers fell instantly into place. After drinking a couple more drops, it started its wings, warmed them for a second, and flew straight up. It hesitated a moment above us, and then shot away.
We stood there, stunned. And then, as suddenly as the bird had flown away, the spiritual lessons came:
Often, as we reach out to the less active, our efforts don’t seem to make a difference. But the love we offer does slip into the cracks—like the nectar into the unmoving beak of the hummingbird—providing spiritual nutrition that one day may produce results.
At times we can’t go further on our own; we need a kind, caring hand up.
Sometimes people get tangled in the cobwebs of sin or addiction and need the help of a friend or priesthood leader and the Savior’s assistance to get free.
We need regular spiritual nutrition in order to endure, else we run out of spiritual strength and fall victim to evil influences.
The hummingbird kept hanging on. Literally. Hanging on made all the difference. At times, we must simply endure in faith as we deal with the painful and sometimes horrible challenges of life.
The New Testament says that the Master is aware of even the sparrow’s fall (see Matthew 10:29–31). I now know He is also aware of a hummingbird’s fall. And He is aware of you.

An army of protesting Brigham Young University students recently invaded the sleepy little town of Santaquin, Utah. Many called it “their day of violent protest.” They violently protested against those who riot—and they actively demonstrated that students can change things within the system and at the same time make the world a much better place for others.
About one thousand students, divided into well-organized work details, shoveled, hoed, scraped, painted, pruned, and picked up as block by block they transformed Santaquin.
Before October 10, Santaquin, to many, was dying. Established in pioneer times as a small farming community and manpower pool to help defend against Indians in neighboring areas, it hasn’t grown much since. Its population today is about one thousand—many too old, too young, or too infirm to help much with the town’s problems. The younger inhabitants have a habit of leaving for steady jobs or more urban opportunities in their lives. Those who have stayed have become increasingly frustrated with their efforts to maintain and improve the town.
Before October 10, many of the students interviewed weren’t sure that constructive voluntary action was really possible. Many had served before on other less successful projects and were dubious about whether a project could be so meticulously planned that it would be of substantial value.
“I guess I first tossed this out to a political science class when we were talking about voluntary action one day,” said Dr. Doyle Buckwalter, assistant professor of political science at Brigham Young University, the man credited with sparking this idea among the students. “I told them that Santaquin has a fine spirit, and that all it needed was a little manpower, organization, and material help. They grabbed the ball and have been running with it ever since. One student body officer even made it a part of his campaign platform.”
At the end of the day, Santaquin had several acres of new park, complete with sprinkling system, fifteen picnic tables, and a fireplace and barbecue pit; new tennis courts; and dozens of shiny new street address markers. Many old homes were sanded down and painted; and old, dilapidated barns and other buildings were torn down and hauled away. Vacant lots, some on the town’s main street, were cleaned, and flower bulbs were planted in what had been widows’ weed patches.
“What a paradox!” said Chris Mould, a U.S. Housing and Urban Development executive who was representing Secretary George Romney at the Santaquin Day operation. “You know, the classic example of voluntary help in the United States has always been barn raising. This is the reverse—people volunteering to tear down old barns. It’s great! I’d much rather be here than back in Washington.”
At the end of the day, Cam Caldwell, BYU vice-president of student relations, summed up the day’s activities: “We can see that voluntary effort really pays off. We tapped a little student power, and now the community is improved and we have seen success. This kind of program has great potential. Already we have seen what it has done to motivate other people in the community to make contributions on their own. We hope this kind of program will catch on at other universities. We challenge them and urge them to try to save our communities—to protect and help them so that they will be better places to live.”
University Personnel
“I was in St. Louis yesterday for a convention of college presidents. Two of us left early; I came here to see you rebuild Santaquin, and the other president went to see what was left of his ROTC building. This is the kind of voluntary militancy that all students throughout the country should be engaged in.”
—President Ernest L. Wilkinson
“The old and infirm become totally frustrated when trying to accomplish a task like this.”
—Dr. Doyle Buckwalter
Students
“This is one of the most exhilarating things I’ve ever done. I’m totally ecstatic! Just think what the consequences would be if we established a national precedent today. I mean, if every college or school did this, just once a year, can you imagine what would happen?”
“I think it is great. I have been involved in projects like this before, but never this well organized. This is really meaningful.”
“I’ve seen activity on this scale in the Bay area—but then, the riots weren’t exactly approved.”
“I volunteered for painting, but somehow I ended up on the demolition bus … so that’s why I am the only girl helping to tear down this old barn. But it’s kind of nice!”
“It feels good for a change. In school you don’t really get the chance to get out and actually work with your hands.”
“To help someone else helps me inside. In a way, it’s almost selfish.”
“People who say that people don’t care for each other just haven’t tried this.”
“It’s good to think of someone else for a change, because in school one gets a little self-centered, worrying about his own problems.”
“I love it. This morning I pulled weeds and now I am painting.”
“As a physical therapy major, I’d say this is the best kind of therapy.”
“As a physics major, I am studying the force vectors of digging this ditch. Seriously, this is great! I think it is out-of-sight that so many people will come out and do something to improve their environment, rather than just sit around and complain.”
“To me, it’s a kind of peaceful protest.”
“I think it’s a good way to show that things really can be done through the system. You know, a lot of people have lost the vision of how to work through the system.”
“You get a great feeling of brotherhood by all working hard together.”
“This is a great chance to really practice a little of the charity that the Savior talked about; the chance really doesn’t come often enough.”
“It’s neat—no protests, just action.”
“I wish it would catch on around the world, but that means that people would have to think about others before themselves.”
“It’s good exercise, after nothing harder than making your bed. It really feels great.”
Townspeople
“This will unite the people of Santaquin more than anything we have ever had.”
“It sure changed my image of youth today.”
“I’ve tried to paint my house myself, but my leg has been so bad. I painted for two years and only got the front porch done.”
“I think it is something for these young people to get out and mix with us.”
“It’s really different from what you see in the news about college kids.”
“It’s wonderful, boy; just beautiful.”
“Few people, even those who live here, will recognize how much was done this day.”
“These kids are doing a swell job. It just has to change people’s ideas about kids nowadays.”
“It is sad that the other kind of activity is getting so much publicity.”
“Man, they sure made a difference in my neighbor’s lot. I’d better hurry home before they tear my whole house down!”

Clipper was a beautiful sorrel. He was half thoroughbred and a well-trained cow pony. When we turned him loose in the field after a hard day’s ride, he would kick up his heels and run and buck just like a frisky colt. One day I was trying to drive our cow home but to no avail; so I roped her, wrapping the rope around the horn of my saddle. Just as she came to the end of the rope, the cinch on my saddle broke, and both the saddle and I ended up on the ground under Clipper. He had been running hard and was excited, yet he stopped instantly and did not move a muscle until I was out of danger.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.