Gospel Story Finder

Because of that example from my father, years later I was able to make a similar decision. I had just been hired by a consulting company, and they flew six of us employees from the Philippines to Sydney, Australia, to join with 400 managers from all over the world for training. We flew first class. A limousine picked us up at the airport and whisked us away to a five-star hotel, where each room had a big basket of goodies. The company wanted to show us that this was a good company to work for, and it wanted its new hires to stay.
After the first day of meetings, we had a gala dinner, a formal affair. We sat about 12 to a table, each with 10 managers and 2 managing partners who were to be our role models in the company. They told us stories about how they started in the company and grew in their careers with it. They told us of multimillion dollar deals they had closed, important businesspeople they had worked with, and major projects they had directed. I heard the names of Fortune 500 CEOs mentioned frequently and was in awe of these men because of the work they did.
We were all feeling great about our opportunities until one of the people at the table asked, “How does your wife handle all of your traveling? You’re constantly gone.” And one of the partners answered, “I was just divorced two years ago.” And the other partner at our table said, “I’ve been divorced for five years.”
I remember my thoughts: “These are not the men I want to be. I don’t think I want to work for this company because I don’t care much about worldly accomplishments if my family is in disarray.” The example of my father made it easy for me to decide to put my family first, and I found another job that allowed me to do so.

In just a few moments, we will listen to our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, a man of undaunted faith in Jesus Christ, a man of hope and peace, loved by God but not spared from the wounds of the soul.

In 1995 his daughter Emily, while expecting a child, was diagnosed with cancer. There were days of hope and happiness as her healthy baby was delivered. But the cancer returned, and their beloved Emily would pass from this life just two weeks after her 37th birthday, leaving her loving husband and five young children.

In general conference, shortly after her passing, President Nelson confided: “My tears of sorrow have flowed along with wishes that I could have done more for our daughter. … If I had the power of resurrection, I would have been tempted to bring [her] back. … [But] Jesus Christ holds those keys and will use them for Emily … and for all people in the Lord’s own time.”28

Last month, while visiting the Saints in Puerto Rico and remembering last year’s devastating hurricane, President Nelson spoke with love and compassion:
“[This] is part of life. It’s why we’re here. We are here to have a body and to be tried and tested. Some of those tests are physical; some are spiritual, and your trials here have been both physical and spiritual.”29
“You have not given up. We are [so] proud of you. You faithful Saints have lost much, but through it all, you have fostered your faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.”30
“By keeping God’s commandments, we can find joy even in the midst of our worst circumstances.”31

Another common experience with light helps us learn an additional truth about the “line upon line, precept upon precept” pattern of revelation. Sometimes the sun rises on a morning that is cloudy or foggy. Because of the overcast conditions, perceiving the light is more difficult, and identifying the precise moment when the sun rises over the horizon is not possible. But on such a morning we nonetheless have sufficient light to recognize a new day and to conduct our affairs.
In a similar way, we many times receive revelation without recognizing precisely how or when we are receiving revelation. An important episode from Church history illustrates this principle.
In the spring of 1829, Oliver Cowdery was a schoolteacher in Palmyra, New York. As he learned about Joseph Smith and the work of translating the Book of Mormon, Oliver felt impressed to offer his assistance to the young prophet. Consequently, he traveled to Harmony, Pennsylvania, and became Joseph’s scribe. The timing of his arrival and the help he provided were vital to the coming forth of the Book of Mormon.
The Savior subsequently revealed to Oliver that as often as he had prayed for guidance, he had received direction from the Spirit of the Lord. “If it had not been so,” the Lord declared, “thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time. Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:14–15).
Thus, Oliver received a revelation through the Prophet Joseph Smith informing him that he had been receiving revelation. Apparently Oliver had not recognized how and when he had been receiving direction from God and needed this instruction to increase his understanding about the spirit of revelation. In essence, Oliver had been walking in the light as the sun was rising on a cloudy morning.
In many of the uncertainties and challenges we encounter in our lives, God requires us to do our best, to act and not be acted upon (see 2 Nephi 2:26), and to trust in Him. We may not see angels, hear heavenly voices, or receive overwhelming spiritual impressions. We frequently may press forward hoping and praying—but without absolute assurance—that we are acting in accordance with God’s will. But as we honor our covenants and keep the commandments, as we strive ever more consistently to do good and to become better, we can walk with the confidence that God will guide our steps. And we can speak with the assurance that God will inspire our utterances. This is in part the meaning of the scripture that declares, “Then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God” (D&C 121:45).
As you appropriately seek for and apply unto the spirit of revelation, I promise you will “walk in the light of the Lord” (Isaiah 2:5; 2 Nephi 12:5). Sometimes the spirit of revelation will operate immediately and intensely, other times subtly and gradually, and often so delicately you may not even consciously recognize it. But regardless of the pattern whereby this blessing is received, the light it provides will illuminate and enlarge your soul, enlighten your understanding (see Alma 5:7; 32:28), and direct and protect you and your family.
I declare my apostolic witness that the Father and the Son live. The spirit of revelation is real—and can and does function in our individual lives and in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I testify of these truths in the sacred name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

The state of New Mexico has a dot-to-dot line called Highway 66. This line comes across the state boundary near the northeastern corner and connects dots Gallup, Bluewater, Grants, and Albuquerque. Although Bluewater is the smallest of these dots, to me it is the most important. Here I was born and raised. It was my world. Here I learned many lessons, not the least of which was one taught by the episode of the “gentile cow.”
In Bluewater, nature is not a soft, sweet, green Mother who gives of her bounty. Here she is a rugged individual who demands the utmost of man’s endeavor for the yield she lets him have. She does have a strong beauty here, however. Mt. Taylor stands to the east and the range of Rocky Mountains to the west. North, toward Gallup, are red sandstone bluffs and black jagged malpais (volcanic ridges). Much of the level valley floor is covered with red soil. When it is dry, which is nearly always, this sandy loam is sifted around fence posts in miniature mountains by the ever-present wind. It used to be a delightful experience to walk barefooted through the sand, but the Russian thistles that thrive here made walking pleasant only for the wary. It was a status symbol to have feet tough enough to walk barefoot over thistles.
An arroya (deep gully) begins from the northwest hills and zig-zags diagonally across the valley. This arroya is usually dry, but in rainy seasons it holds a red, raging torrent. Near the head of the arroya where there is a runoff from the hills, some cottonwood trees have managed to send their roots down deep enough to be sustained by underground water. They are so firmly situated that they are not affected by wind or drought. As a child I had hoped my testimony of the gospel would become as deep-rooted and as unbendable as those cottonwood trees.
Bluewater was really a community divided between the Mormons and the gentiles. Northward lived the rich (we thought) gentiles. They owned the General Merchandise Store and the garage with a gas pump. There also was a small Union Pacific Depot and the United States Post Office. Southward, the Mormons had a little concrete church house and a red brick, four-room schoolhouse. There was not much socializing between the groups. The Mormons went up to the store to get produce and to fill their gas tanks at the garage and get their mail at the Post Office. Few trains ever stopped at the depot, so few people went there. The gentile children came down to school, and the gentile adults came occasionally to Church socials or dances.
During the depression of the 1930s, we lived mostly on potatoes and pinto beans. The ultimatum was, “If you don’t raise it, you don’t eat it.” Momma could make potatoes and beans taste like gourmet food, but she couldn’t make them into milk for the children. In this little town there were no telephones, sidewalks, electric lights, or paved streets—and no dairies. There wasn’t even any money to buy canned milk. A milking cow was a necessity for a family. Our cows were all dry. My parents worried about their eight children. As the oldest child, I worried too.
One day as I helped Momma with the dishes, I asked, “Are we going to starve?” She countered, “We haven’t starved yet, have we?” I knew we hadn’t starved, but we had hungered for variety, and now we needed milk. She continued as much for herself as for me: “So long as we pay our tithing, I can’t think the Lord will let us starve. He has always looked after us.” I knew this was true, and I knew that my parents always paid an honest and cheerful tithe on every cent they received. Every tenth calf went for tithing. I saw Momma write on the calendar each night the number of eggs she had gathered that day, and each month a tenth went to the Lord. I was reassured. Besides, it was spring and new crops were being planted.
One day not long after this, I hurried home from the school bus. As I came up the path to the house, I saw my two little brothers and my sister looking at something by the gate. It was a smoldering cigar butt. I could not think how a fat cigar butt could have gotten inside our gate. The only smoking Mormon I knew smoked thin cigarettes.
“Where did it come from?” I asked.
The answer could only make more questions. “Mr. Thigpen threw it there.” Mr. Thigpen was the arch-gentile. He owned the General Merchandise Store.
“Why was he here?”
Their next answer did nothing to solve the mystery: “He’s going to give Daddy a cow.”
My sister reached out her foot and kicked the cigar butt. We stood aghast. But lightning didn’t strike, and the earth didn’t swallow her up, so my brother took the shovel and covered the remains with sand.
Daddy came out of the house and put a bridle on the horse that was in the corral. Momma came out and said, “Are you going now?”
“Yes. Mr. Thigpen said to come get a cow. He’ll change his mind when he sobers up, but we’ll milk her tonight anyway.”
He threw the saddle on the horse’s back and fastened the cinch. “I’ll be back in a little while.” He got on the horse and trotted off to the north. I was too mystified to ask if I could go too.
While Momma got supper, I worked on my lessons. I had to get them done before dark because we were out of coal oil for the lamp. Momma put wood in the stove. She stirred the food in the kettles, then pushed the kettles to the back of the stove where they would keep warm but not burn. She took the bread from the oven and turned it out of the pans onto the sideboard by the stove. Then she set the table.
By this time the children who had been watching at the gate came running through the house. “Daddy’s home! The cow’s here!” They ran out of the kitchen door. I ran out too. Momma followed with a milk pail. My brother quickly opened the corral gate. We all watched as the beautiful little Jersey cow with the big milk bag stepped daintily inside. She stood waiting to be milked. No prima donna ever had a more appreciative audience.
Daddy milked the cow. We stood there listening to the sharp zing of the stream of milk as it hit the pail, beating itself into a standing foam that soon muffled the zing to a mellow swish. We all filed into the house behind Daddy who carried the milk pail. He opened the stove door to light the darkened room. He strained the milk and set the pitcher on the table. Momma broke a warm loaf of bread and set the beans, potatoes, and bread on the table. We all sat down, and Daddy said the blessing on the food and thanked the Lord for his kindness to us that day.
Mr. Thigpen did come back a few days later. He was a bit chagrined by his generous offer. However, he saved face by offering Daddy a job to pay for the cow and also to draw “store pay.”
“Well,” said Momma, “we don’t know in what way the Lord will help us. I never thought a drunk gentile could answer a prayer.” The roots of my testimony anchored about ten feet deep.
It has been many years since we sat around that table eating our supper by firelight, but the scene is as bright to me as an unshaded light bulb. I have traveled many fine lines on the map and eaten many remarkable meals. I have sampled milk that has been pasteurized, homogenized, pulverized, refined, and vitalized, but no milk has ever surpassed, or even equaled, the soul-satisfying milk that the Lord sent to us by that gentle “gentile cow.”

My friends and I started to play video games a little each day. Soon we were playing two hours a day. When we talked to each other during the games, things that normally wouldn’t be said were said. I decided that every time my friends would play video games, I would make better use of my time by doing something else. I soon found that I was a lot happier inside. Video games can be fun, but when they’re filled with vulgar language and violence, Satan can corrupt our minds.

One youth described how he first experienced the spirit of worship. He had been marginally active through his Aaronic Priesthood years. When he attended sacrament meeting, he usually sat in the back with a group of his friends, and he was less than a model of reverence.

One day, however, he came in a little late, and there were no seats by his friends. He sat alone, and for the first time in his life, he closed his eyes during the prayers, he sang the hymns, he listened to the sacrament prayers, and he paid attention to the speakers.

About midway through the first speaker, he found tears welling up in his eyes. With some embarrassment, he carefully glanced around; no one else seemed emotional. He didn’t know for sure what was happening to him, but the experience changed his life. It was during that meeting that he really started his spiritual preparation for his mission. He felt something, and fortunately, he acted and thus sustained those feelings.

Not long after that, things began to go terribly wrong. One night I was awakened by noises coming from another room. I got up to check and found Mum pacing the living room floor, her face a mask of pain. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that the nails bit into her flesh. When she found that she had been discovered, she sat down and buried her face in her hands, sobbing like an abandoned child.
I ran to her side, and held her to me. “Mum, what’s wrong?” I asked anxiously. I hated to see her like this. It seemed as though her sobs came from the deepest parts of her soul.
“Please, Brad, don’t tell your father you saw me like this,” she pleaded through her tears.
“What’s wrong?” I persisted.
Mum shook her head. “I wish I knew,” she said. “I’m aching all over. I can hardly stand it, Brad.”
I groped vainly for something comforting to say. Instead, I said, “How long has this been going on?”
“Three or four days,” she answered, sinking back into the couch. “The pain starts in my head and works its way down into my arms. It feels like it’s inside the bone.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, and Mum began to relax a bit. The agony was beginning to ease.
After that, I would lie awake at night, straining my ears for sounds of movement in the darkness. Sometimes I would hear the door creak as my mother crept outside to suffer in the privacy of the backyard. She had insisted that I say nothing to my father, so I let it bottle up inside me until it almost drove me crazy.
But it wasn’t long before Dad found out the truth for himself. Mum would become exhausted for no reason, and she would fly off the handle at any little thing. Explosive anger was foreign to Mum’s personality. Dad worried about this strange behaviour, but when he questioned it, Mum shrugged it off. Finally, when she quit eating and started losing weight, Dad practically had to drag her to the doctor.
That first visit to the hospital became a prison sentence for my mother. Nurses took a series of blood tests, which finally led to several minutes of sheer torture—a bone marrow biopsy. Soon a diagnosis was reached.
Dad sat with Mum, whispering words of encouragement as she lay hurt and weak on the sterile white of the hospital bed. A doctor entered the room. One look at his face told my parents that the news wasn’t good.
“We have the results of the tests,” he began. Dad couldn’t stop the question from coming out. “Is she going to be all right, doctor?” he asked.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Mr. Davis, your wife is suffering from acute myelocytic leukemia.”
Mum caught her breath. “What exactly is that?” she interrupted.
The doctor explained as best he could, using a lot of big words that we didn’t understand. But one thing was very clear—Mum’s condition was serious.
After that things really changed in the Davis household. Mum couldn’t do much in the way of housework, so we all had to pitch in and do our bit. Jason and I weren’t very skilled at washing and ironing, but worse than that was the constant worry and anxiety that we felt for our mother. She really suffered—more than anyone I had ever known. A series of drugs were prescribed for her to take at home, and every week she faced a trip to the haematology clinic for more tests and injections. The results were brutal, but she bore these things well.
The doctors really did do their best. But their best wasn’t good enough. They just couldn’t get the cancer to go into remission. Finally, a lung infection put Mum into the hospital for round-the-clock medical attention. Dad, who couldn’t bear to see her suffer alone, had a bunk set up so that he could be constantly by her side.
Now, we all sat in a little waiting room on a scorching November afternoon, waiting for the doctor’s verdict. When would the surgery end? Would our mother be all right? I guess we must have sat there for an hour or so before the surgeon finally made an appearance. He was a small man with a balding head and a grey moustache. Entering the room, he paused, studying the floor. My father stood up. “Doctor Wilson?” he said tensely. For a while, nobody made a sound. Then doctor Wilson spoke.
“We tried,” he began. I could see that this was a hard speech for him to make. “We couldn’t save her.”
There was stunned silence for a moment. Then Bronwyn burst into a flood of grief. My whole world had just fallen apart. I felt a bitter anger welling up from the deepest recesses of my soul. I had prayed desperately that my mother would be cured, but God had done nothing. Why? A gentle breeze danced in through the open window, played briefly in the corners of the room, then left the way it had come, carrying with it my faith in God.
The funeral was held on Tuesday morning. I didn’t go. I couldn’t stand to see them put her into the cold earth. Besides, I had been to LDS funerals before. Always they were so cheerful and positive, telling us to have faith in God and that things would be fine with the departed loved one. I wasn’t sure I even believed in God anymore. I went fishing in an effort to forget the pain I was feeling.
I arrived home as the sun was sinking in the evening sky. My fishing expedition had been a failure, and I badly wanted to speak to my father. Jason and Bronwyn were solemnly seated in the living room, but Dad was nowhere to be found. I went to look for him in the yard.
When I was a little boy, I had a pet dog called Bunyip. He was my best friend. We were inseparable. But one day Bunyip was bitten by a snake and died. I was shattered, and there was nothing my parents could do to console me. So my father went into one of the fields and painted a huge smiling face on a large granite boulder. He called it the Happy Rock. After that, whenever I felt sad, I would go to the Happy Rock, and my sorrows seemed to magically vanish.
It was here that I found my father, perched atop the boulder, its great, smiling face showing the strains of time. He looked pathetically vulnerable as he sat, gazing sadly at the retreating sunset. I quietly announced my presence. For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then a wistful smile briefly crossed his sun-browned face.
“I guess the old rock has lost its magic,” he said. Then, for the first time in my life, I saw my father cry. Again I felt bitterness within. How could the Lord give us a Christmas gift like this?
Weeks passed and I quit going to church. There was nothing there for me. A few people visited, encouraging me to go back, but I wouldn’t listen. How could I ever feel comfortable in church again?
One day I got a call from Sister Robinson, the Relief Society president. “Oh Brad, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. I immediately felt my defences go up. If this was something to do with church, she could forget it.
“Yes, Sister Robinson, what can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s like this,” she began. “I’m supposed to be at the hospital tomorrow to read to some of the children, but I won’t be able to make it. I was wondering if maybe you could go in my place.”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I started to object.
Sister Robinson cut in: “Brad, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t know who else to ask.”
I finally agreed to go because I didn’t know how to refuse her. Putting down the phone, I wandered into the living room. With four days left before Christmas, it looked as if the Christmas spirit had passed right over our place. There were no decorations, no trees, no Christmas cards. Instead we had sympathy cards lined up along the mantelpiece. If my Christmas was to be miserable, at least I could try to take some of the Yuletide cheer to some little kids in hospital.
At the hospital the next day, I was assigned to a frail little girl named Marcie. They told me she was nine years old. She looked about four. She was hooked up to some kind of machine which kept her alive, yet she smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. I felt awkward, dressed in my robes of self-pity, while she lay upon her deathbed as cheerful as spring sunshine. We visited for a while. As we talked, I marvelled at her wisdom and perspective. I didn’t know what was wrong with her—I didn’t have the heart to ask. She knew that she probably wouldn’t see her tenth birthday, yet she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t bitter.
I surveyed the pile of books at her bedside. There were many to choose from. “What would you like me to read to you?” I asked.
She pointed to a worn copy of the Easter story. “That one,” she said.
I picked it up. “Honey, you don’t want to hear this. It’s Christmas,” I told her.
“No,” she repeated, “I want to hear that one. It’s my favorite.”
So, during the hot Christmas season, I read of the sufferings of Christ to a little girl who loved God. When I finished, she was staring into my eyes with a look that pierced my soul. Placing her tiny hand into mine, she said, “I have lots of pain, but never as much as Jesus had. When I’m really hurting and I’m all alone, I speak to the Lord because he knows how I feel. He loves me.”
I hurried home that afternoon because there was someone I wanted to speak to. When I got back to the farm, the first place I headed for was the Happy Rock. It was out of sight of the house and was an ideal spot for what I was about to do. Dropping to my knees, I opened my mouth to pray, but nothing came out. My heart was thumping. Finally, in desperation, I cried out, “Oh God, where are you?”
From a million miles away, deep within my own mind, I heard the glorious tones of an orchestra. The music grew louder, until it crashed over my being like a wave from the ocean. Then, as clearly as any spoken voice, I heard the words of a favorite carol: “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep . …’”

Kristy had just arrived home from school. She was excited because the missionaries were coming over for dinner. When she walked in the door, her mother called out, “Kristy, I have to run to the store. Your brother is in charge while I’m gone. I love you! I’ll be back soon.”
Kristy didn’t want her older brother watching her. She was ten years old—old enough to watch herself.
She went to her room and did her homework. When she finished, she found her brother. “Can I go ride my bike?”
Her brother looked outside. “No, Kristy, it looks like it’s going to rain.”
Disappointed, she went to her room to read a book. Before long, she heard the phone ring. Her brother called to her, “Kristy, Melissa’s on the phone for you.”
She hurried and picked up the phone. “Hi, Melissa, what are you doing?”
“I just got a new bike. Do you want to go riding with me?”
Kristy was quiet for a moment and then said, “OK. I’ll meet you at the corner.” She sneaked out the back door and rolled her bicycle off the porch and down the driveway.
When she got to the corner, Melissa said, “Let’s play follow the leader!”
They jumped on their bikes and took off. Melissa took the lead, and Kristy followed.
At first, the wind was blowing in their faces, and they were having a great time taking turns being the leader.
Then Kristy started to worry. Melissa was getting farther and farther ahead, and Kristy couldn’t keep up. They were also quite a long way from home, and there was lightning and thunder in the distance. Soon it started to rain. Kristy was getting cold and wet. She called out, “Melissa, stop!”
Melissa crossed an intersection, then stopped and waited for Kristy to catch up. When Kristy was near enough, Melissa yelled to her, “Come on!”
Kristy slowed down. She had a bad feeling inside—sort of a heaviness in her chest. She remembered a family home evening lesson on being obedient to Heavenly Father and to our parents. She knew she should have listened to her brother, like her mother had told her to.
But Kristy also wanted to please her friend. As she approached the busy street, she heard a still, small voice in her mind telling her to stop. She looked at her friend. Again she heard the voice telling her to not cross the street.
As she came to the curb, she pulled on her brakes and skidded to a stop. As soon as she did, a car raced past her.
Kristy started to cry. She knew that if she hadn’t listened to that still, small voice, she would have been hit by that car. She was frightened, and she felt bad. She shouted across the street, “Melissa, we need to get home.”
“I guess you’re right,” Melissa said. When it was safe, she crossed the street. As they turned their bikes around, they were starting to shiver. They rode home as fast as they could. When the two friends reached their street, they said good-bye and rode to their homes.
When Kristy walked in the door, she was soaking wet. Before she changed into dry clothes, she knew she had to apologize to her brother.
Her brother said, “I was worried when I saw that you weren’t here and that your bike was gone. I’m grateful that you listened to the Spirit. And I hope next time you’ll listen to Mom or Dad, or me. We only ask you not to do things because we love you!” He gave her a hug.
“I really am sorry,” Kristy said softly.
“I know, and I forgive you. Now go get cleaned up for dinner.”
After changing her clothes, Kristy knelt by her bed and let Heavenly Father know how thankful she was for Him, for the Holy Ghost, and for saving her life that day. She told Him how sorry she was for not being obedient, and she promised to do better.
She hurried and set the table for her mother. While she was finishing, her parents came home. Kristy sat down with them and told them what had happened.
They each hugged her, thankful that she was safe and that she understood the importance of listening to them and to the Holy Ghost.
The doorbell rang. “The missionaries are here!” her brother called out.
When they were all around the dinner table, Kristy asked if she could say the blessing. As she did, she felt great love for the Savior, and the peace of repentance and of being forgiven filled her heart.

An example from Church history is that of Reddick Newton Allred. He was one of the rescue party sent out by President Brigham Young (1801–77) to bring in the Willie and Martin handcart companies. At the Sweetwater River near South Pass, Captain George Grant asked Reddick Allred to remain there with a few men and wagons and be ready to help when the rescuers returned with the handcart pioneers.
The rescuers found the Willie company mired in the snow, freezing, starving, and dying. Some of the rescuers continued to search for the Martin company, while the others helped the Willie company make that heartrending pull up and over Rocky Ridge. Soon after they made camp, Reddick Allred and his men came to deliver essential assistance and supplies.
Allred then waited for Captain Grant to return with the Martin company. Week after week passed with no sign of them. As blizzards howled and the weather became life threatening, two of the men decided it was foolish to stay. They thought the Martin company had either wintered over somewhere or perished. They decided to return to the Salt Lake Valley and tried to persuade everyone else to do the same. Allred refused to budge. President Young had sent them out, and Captain Grant, Reddick Allred’s priesthood leader, had told him to wait there.
Those who returned took several wagons, filled with needed supplies, and started back to the Salt Lake Valley. Even more tragic, they turned back 77 wagons that were coming from the valley to help. Some of these wagons returned all the way to Big Mountain before messengers sent by President Young met them and turned them back around.
Finally, more than three weeks after Reddick Allred had assisted the Willie company, Captain Grant arrived with the Martin company. These pioneers were even more destitute and had suffered dozens of deaths. Captain Grant’s rescue team was small and low on provisions—and still more than 200 miles (320 km) from the Salt Lake Valley. Once again, because Reddick Allred had stayed true to his assignment, even in the most trying circumstances, he was able to provide life-sustaining assistance and supplies.

“I adored my parents. They meant the world to me and taught me crucial lessons. I cannot thank them enough for the happy homelife they created for me and my siblings. And yet, even as a boy, I knew I was missing something. One day I jumped on the streetcar and went to a … bookstore to find a book about the Church. I loved learning about the gospel.

“As I came to understand the Word of Wisdom, I wanted my parents to live that law. So, one day when I was very young, I went to our basement and smashed on the concrete floor every bottle of liquor! I expected my father to punish me, but he never said a word.

“As I matured and began to understand the magnificence of Heavenly Father’s plan, I often said to myself, ‘I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents.’ That longed-for event did not happen until my parents were past 80, and then it did happen. I cannot fully express the joy that I felt that day (see Alma 26:16), and each day I feel that joy of their sealing and my being sealed to them.”1

That was when the first miracle happened. It started with one young man who had a strong desire to be closer to Jesus Christ and be baptized, and he shared it with a friend, and they shared it with another friend. These three young men were the start of the new growth in this area of the Lord’s vineyard. But the elders knew they needed families to lay a solid foundation and establish the Church in Guaymate, so they fasted and prayed to be led to a family ready to learn about the gospel.
One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.
We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.
Today, Julian, Carmen, and their family are part of the new Guaymate group that is meeting in an apartment below where the elders live. This little group is evidence that the Lord is involved in the details of all our lives. He loves us and wants us to make eternal covenants with Him.

Joe Pickett, a deacon in the Napa Third Ward, Napa California Stake, is a real hero. After a swim one day in his family’s backyard pool, instead of going inside the house, Joe felt prompted to look in the shallow end of the pool. His little brother, three-year-old Jonathan, had fallen in, and no one had noticed. Thinking quickly, Joe jumped in and pulled his brother to safety and called to his mother for help. When his mom got to the pool, she took over, and Joe phoned 911. Thanks to Joe, Jonathan returned to full health after a short stay in the hospital.

Two elders met and taught a professor with credentials from Heidelberg and the Sorbonne. His mind was not open to their message, but the man had to go to the hospital for surgery. While he was recuperating in the hospital, his yard and garden suffered. The two missionaries felt impressed to use their preparation day to mow his lawn, trim the hedge, and weed the flowers.

The wife told her husband what they had done. He sent for the elders to come to the hospital, and with tears in his eyes he said, “Never in my entire adult life has anyone ever gone out of his way to do anything for me.”

His demeanor changed. He listened to the missionary discussions. Previously skeptical, he now paid rapt attention and visibly became more meek and humble. He prayed for the first time since he was a child, and he received a testimony and was baptized.

Not long ago I interviewed a young man who desired to fill a mission, but he had been guilty of some very serious transgressions during his teen years. He was a member of an active Latter-day Saint family, and he himself had been an actively participating member of the Church, even during the time of his transgressions. Ultimately he had gone to his bishop and confessed his wrongdoings. Now, for more than a year, his life had been free of the earlier difficulties, and he was anxious to serve a mission.

As we talked about his situation and the decisions he had made earlier in his life that led to his questionable standing in the Church, he said, “Oh, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, and I was sure that one day I would put things back in order and go on a mission.”

While I was pleased with this young man’s desire to reorder his life and serve the Lord as a missionary, I was troubled by the apparent premeditated, calculated way in which he had allowed himself to move off the proper course to engage in some destructive, immoral behavior, and then, almost as if he were following a timetable set by himself, he had begun to reconstruct his resolve to be obedient.

If my experience with this young man had been an isolated one, it would not be worthy of note here; unfortunately, however, it is not unique. There appears to be an increasing tendency and temptation for young people to sample the forbidden things of the world, not with the intent to embrace them permanently, but with the knowing decision to indulge in them momentarily as though they held a value of some kind too important or exciting to pass by. It is one of the great tests of our time.

A personal experience illustrates how the Spirit teaches us through our feelings, even those persons who may not be familiar with the process of revelation.

About 11 years ago three elected deputies of the Supreme Soviet visited Salt Lake City. I helped host them on Temple Square. I took them into the North Visitors’ Center to see the paintings and the Christus statue. Then I took them into the Tabernacle, where they heard the Sunday morning Tabernacle Choir broadcast.

Afterward a few of us met with them in a conference room on Temple Square. We told them a little bit about the Church. Then Konstantin Lubenchenko, the senior in the delegation, spoke to us. I made notes of his remarks as they were relayed through an interpreter: "Before I came here I thought the Mormon Church was a very conservative organization of fanatics. But after seeing the beautiful pictures and statue in your visitors’ center and the beautiful setting where the choir sang and hearing the choir and organ, I have a new understanding of your church."

What interested me most was his account of what he felt: "Since I have come to the United States, people have asked me what is my strongest impression in the United States. I can tell you now. It is the singing of your choir. I love organ music and choirs and have gone to hear them many times in my country. As the choir sang, I had a very strong feeling. Although I do not speak English, I felt with my heart that they were sincerely expressing my feelings. My relation with God was expressed in earthly feelings through their singing."

This Soviet lawmaker had a feeling and could describe it well enough for me to realize that he had received a witness from the Spirit.

Some years ago in our ward fast and testimony meeting a young father proudly gave a name and a blessing to his first child. Afterwards the father stood to bear his testimony. He expressed thanks for this, his first son. He then said in a rather perplexed way that since the little fellow didn’t seem to understand anything they said, he wished he knew just how to communicate with him. “All we can do,” said he, “is hold him, cuddle him, gently squeeze him, kiss him, and whisper thoughts of love in his ear.”
After the meeting I went up to the new father and said that in his testimony he had given us a success pattern for raising healthy children. I hoped he would never forget it; even as his children grew to maturity I hoped he would continue the practice.

Now, may I give one example of both basic and master planning.

Some of you may recall a brief report I gave last October on the Church branch in Bermejillo, Mexico. With the help of welfare services missionaries, the branch president and his welfare services committee undertook some basic planning to apply the very basic welfare services program of the Church in their branch. Their work resulted in significant changes in the lives of Church members. They painted their homes, penned their livestock, and taught the essentials of personal and family preparedness, emphasizing good health practices.

The results today are that a chapel is under construction with most of the work being done by the members, including making their own bricks. President Rodolfo William Mortensen, the mission president, indicates that the branch is now a ward. Nearly every family has a garden; some even produce honey from bees. Most families have started a year’s supply of food. Convert baptisms have increased sharply in the past year. All this has happened because Bishop Castaneda, a convert of eight years, had the vision of how to lead his people in living the gospel in Bermejillo. Basic planning, starting with the welfare of his members and reaching out to touch every facet of their lives, has lifted this ward to heights previously not thought possible.

I remember the same mixture of feelings on a much smaller scale when I was a teacher in Provo Ninth Ward. When the presidency of the quorum became vacant, I felt qualified to assume the position. However, another young man was selected. I did not question his worthiness and capacity, but I did ask myself if I were not as worthy or prepared as I should have been. I resolved to try to keep my life constantly in order and to improve myself so I would be ready for any future church calling which might be extended to me.

The sound from more than 700 barking dogs is deafening, but Kim Nahler enjoys the noise. And it’s a good thing, because during her summer vacation, Kim spends four hours a day listening to this canine chorus.
Kim, 14, is a member of the Kanab Utah First Ward and a volunteer at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in the heart of southern Utah’s red-rock country. The sanctuary houses more than 1,800 animals, including dogs, cats, birds, and horses. All the animals at the sanctuary are there because they have been injured, abused, or abandoned. Kim, along with the rest of the volunteers, helps care for and rehabilitate the animals until each animal can be placed in a permanent home.
“I like being around the animals,” says Kim, who has volunteered with the dogs for three years during her summer vacations.
Every morning Kim prepares food for the dogs and feeds them. Some of the dogs require special foods and medication, and Kim learns quickly which dogs need special attention. “It makes you patient,” Kim says. “When you feed the dogs, they all jump on you when you go into their cages.”
When Kim takes biscuits around to the dogs, she suddenly has hundreds of best friends. As a small pack of dogs, eager to eat a snack, jumps on Kim, she stays calm even though she doesn’t weigh much more than some of the anxious animals. Although the more aggressive dogs get their biscuits first, Kim makes sure that all the dogs gathered around her get an equal helping.
During the three summers she has volunteered at the animal sanctuary, Kim has gained a greater respect for animals. “Everything is God’s creation, and we should respect that.”
Kim takes her stewardship over animals seriously and is upset when she sees people abuse God’s creatures. Through her service, she shows by example how animals should be treated.
Although working with dogs every day can sometimes be tiring, Kim feels the service is worth her sacrifice. “Sometimes it’s a little bit hard because you have to wake up early in the morning. You know it’s your summer, and you want to sleep in a little bit. Other times it’s ‘Oh yeah, I get to go in to volunteer today.’
“Doing this is well worth my time. Afterwards I feel like I’ve done something,” Kim says. “The dogs need attention, love, and caring.”
As Kim walks past the dogs in the sanctuary, the crescendo of barking moves along with her. Although Kim volunteers with dogs, she loves all animals.
Kim’s service allows many animals to live in a caring environment, free from abuse. This service gives Kim the feeling that she is doing her part to care for God’s creations.

During her last class that day, Kim had a hard time staying awake. It wasn’t too surprising since she’d been out late the night before with Derek.
She looked around for something to keep her eyes open. In the vacant desk across the aisle from her, she noticed a tattered notebook that someone from a previous class must have left. She picked it up and started thumbing through what was some kind of personal journal. There was no name on the cover.
I shouldn’t read this, she thought to herself. But she did.
September 11At church today the bishop talked about chastity. He told us to be faithful to the person you’re going to marry even though you don’t know who it’s going to be. Sounds like maybe a good idea, but it would be a lot easier if I at least knew her name and what state she lived in. I hope she’s doing the same thing for me wherever she is. I wonder what she’s doing this very minute.
Kim read the entry over again. This is written by a guy, she thought, a guy who goes to church and thinks about chastity. She shook her head. There’s nobody like that in this school, at least not that I’ve ever met.
She forgot about being sleepy and also about Mr. Hadley’s lecture as she read the next entry in the journal.
September 15I’ve got a chance to get a job after school and on Saturdays. I’d be working at Sooper Dooper. If I work, it’ll mean I won’t be able to go out for basketball so I don’t know if I want to do it or not. One thing’s for sure, I need to save some money for my mission.
September 21Started watching a movie on TV tonight. In the movie a guy meets a girl, and five minutes later the two of them are talking about sleeping together. Well, that was enough for me. I turned off the TV and ran two miles. It started to rain while I was out there. I got wet, but I didn’t care because it was so nice out. There was nobody else outside except me. I guess they were all inside watching TV.
This guy isn’t real, she thought. I’ve never met a guy who turns off the TV in that kind of scene.
The bell rang and everyone got up to leave. Kim knew she should give the notebook to Mr. Hadley, but she wanted to read some more. She took it with her and stuffed it in her book bag just as Derek showed up to take her home.
He was excited. “Guess what. I just got a long-distance call in the football office. You’ll never guess who it was. Go ahead, guess.”
“I don’t know.”
“The offensive coordinator from Tennessee. Can you believe it? He wants me to fly out there and visit the campus. He says they think I’d fit in real good with their program. They want me.”
“That’s great, Derek. Way to go.” She hugged him.
“You know what this means? It means I’m going to be a superstar. We have to celebrate.”
“I’m really happy for you, Derek. But I’m just not in the mood for celebrating,” she said.
“Why not? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like it today, that’s all.”
“There must be a reason.”
“I just don’t want to. All we’ll end up doing is making out. Can’t we go out on a real date?”
“Date? Okay, I’ll get us a couple of six-packs and some nachos.”
“No, Derek. Not today. I have to study tonight anyway.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
They started outside to Derek’s car. “Derek, you know most of the guys who go out for sports. Have you ever known any basketball players on the team who believe in chastity?”
Derek was puzzled. “Chastity? What’s that?”
“It’s waiting until you’re married,” she said.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“Come on, Kim. There’s nobody like that around here.”
“That’s what I thought too, but now I think maybe there’s at least one.”
“Well, even if there is, so what? He’s nobody you’d be interested in.”
“Why do you say that?” Kim asked.
“Admit it, Kim. One of the reasons you like going with me is because when we walk into a dance after a game, everybody turns and looks at us. Everyone in school wishes they were like us. We’re the ones who make things happen. Let’s face it. You like the attention as much as I do.”
She decided to bring the journal notebook home with her. As they walked to his car, Derek draped an arm around her shoulder. As soon as they got in his car, he leaned over and kissed her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with me now?” he asked softly.
“I’m sure.”
After dinner Kim went to her room and read more from the notebook.
October 7Went to general priesthood meeting with Dad. Afterward he took me out for pizza. We had a good time. I can’t believe it, but he played video games with me while we waited for our pizza. He’s pretty bad at it, but at least he tried.
October 22Took Tamra to homecoming. We had a good time, but I wish she didn’t live so far away. If there were just one more member of the Church at school, someone I could talk with sometime, like at lunch.
Kim wanted to know more about the boy who’d written this. She remembered a girl who had a class in the same room just before her class. She phoned. “Does anybody sit in the fourth desk in the row next to the door in social studies?”
“How should I know?”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Fourth desk, huh? Let me think. Karen Wilson sits in that seat. Why do you want to know?”
“No reason. I’m looking for a guy who sits in that desk. It must be in one of the earlier classes.”
“How can you think about anyone else when you have Derek?” the voice on the phone questioned.
Kim started to watch TV. After about 10 minutes, a man and a woman ended up in bed together. He wouldn’t watch this, she thought to herself. She turned the TV off and went to her bedroom, where she read some more.
November 6Sometimes being the only member of the Church in school is really hard. All the friends I had in junior high are all drinking now. It seems like I’m the only one left who isn’t.
November 9Went to see the bishop for a birthday interview. I told him how hard it is to be the only Church member in school and how alone I feel sometimes and how much I wish there was a girl here who believed the same as I do. He suggested I write letters to the girl I’m going to marry and give them to her after I’m married. So maybe I’ll do that. Here goes.
To the girl I’m going to marry someday:
I don’t even know your name or where you live or anything about you, but I know you’re growing up some place the same as me. Do you ever get discouraged? I do. I have friends at school but nobody I can really talk to about what I’m thinking because none of them believe the same way. I just want you to know I’m trying to live the way I should. I’m doing okay so far, but it’s not easy sometimes. All my friends are drinking now, so there’s not much I can do with them anymore on the weekends. I run along a bike path when I need to think. I really wish we could spend some time together now.
I’ll be glad when I finally get to meet you. I want to live so I never do anything that I’d be ashamed to tell you about.
There are a lot of things I need to do now to prepare for the future. Right now the biggest thing is to save up for my mission. And after that I need to try to figure out what I want to do for a living.
I’ve been thinking about you lately and about when we get married. Sometimes it’s hard not to think about the things that go with marriage. But I guess I can stand holding off until you’re my wife. My bishop says it’s worth waiting, to make it the way God wants it to be.
Guess what. I love you even if I don’t know your name or where you live.
Love, your future husband,Mike
She read through the entire journal. The last entry had been written just a week before.
February 17The missionaries came and asked us to try to find somebody they can teach. We all said we’d try. I wish I could find someone at school who wants to know about the Church, but about the only time anybody mentions Mormons is when classes study about the pioneers. Our family set a date to introduce somebody to the gospel. It’s two weeks from now. We don’t know who it’s going to be, but we’re praying as a family that one of us will be able to find someone.
Kim set the notebook down. Now she felt a little guilty for invading someone’s privacy. But she also felt she’d never known anyone as well as she knew this person. She would have liked to read it every night, but she promised herself that she’d turn it in to lost and found.
What do I know about him so far? she thought as she stood at the window looking at the street. His first name is Mike. He took a girl named Tamra to homecoming. He has a birthday in November. He never went out for basketball. Instead he works at Sooper Dooper.
She went through her high school yearbook from last year and wrote down a list of everyone with the first name of Mike or Michael.
The phone rang. It was Derek.
“Michigan wants me too!”
“That’s great, Derek. I’m really glad for you.”
“I just got off the phone with one of the coaches. He’s flying out to see me next week. Tennessee would be okay, but playing for Michigan is what I’ve always dreamed of since I was a little kid. Can you imagine playing in front of 106,000 people? You could go to college there too. We have to celebrate now, Kim. I’ll be over in a minute to pick you up.”
Kim knew what that meant. “Derek, you could come over and be here with my family, but I don’t want to go out.”
“Look, there are plenty of girls who’d jump at a chance to go out with me.”
“I know that.”
“So what’s your problem all of a sudden?”
“I know you’re a super athlete and everything, but I don’t know, maybe that isn’t enough.”
“Not enough? What are you talking about? What else is there to life if it’s not this? You, me, football.”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll be sure to tell you if I ever find out.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but some girl is going to party with me tonight. If it’s not you, then it’ll just have to be somebody else.”
“I don’t always have to do what you want me to do.”
“What’s going on here anyway? This is the biggest day of my life, and you’re trashing it.”
“Sorry, but I just don’t feel like going out with you tonight,” she said.
“Well, I guess that’s it then. I’ll find somebody else. No problem.”
“Is that all I am to you, Derek? Just somebody who’ll go along with whatever you have in mind to do?”
He swore at her and then hung up.
The next morning Kim decided to find out who’d written in the notebook. Before school started she lingered across the hall from the classroom where she’d found the notebook. A girl sat in the desk she was interested in.
During second period she got permission to leave her class for a few minutes. She walked by the room again. There was a boy sitting at the desk where she’d found the notebook. Somehow she knew he was the one she was looking for. At first she was disappointed. She couldn’t remember seeing him around. He’d never been at any of the parties she’d gone to. He wasn’t in student council with her. She didn’t even remember him from any of the dances or parties she’d attended. He wasn’t a star athlete like Derek.
“He’s just average,” she whispered to herself.
The class was taking a test so everyone’s eyes were on their papers. She stood there in the hall and stared at him. Kim couldn’t decide what to think. He’ll never be like Derek, she thought. If I went with him to a dance, none of the girls would tell me how lucky I am. Derek will probably play pro football. Someday he’ll be rich and famous. People will always look up to Derek.
But this guy is just another boy. He isn’t as tall or as well built as Derek. It’s not too late for me to get Derek back. I’d be crazy to break up with him for someone like this. Besides, this guy probably wouldn’t even want to go with me because I’m not a Mormon. At most, we’d just end up being friends, she reasoned. I’m not sure I could even live the way he does. He’s sort of cute, I guess, but on a scale of one to ten, Derek’s a nine-and-a-half and this guy’s a—I don’t know—a six. But at least if we were spending time together, we might go on a real date occasionally instead of always doing what Derek wants.
Her thoughts trailed off because she noticed him look up. He must have been aware that someone was staring at him because he glanced through the door at her.
Kim smiled and pointed to the notebook. “Is this yours?” she mouthed the words.
He smiled and nodded his head.
“I’ll wait for you,” she mouthed again.
He turned in his exam early and came out to see her. The halls were still empty, and they were alone.
“I found this,” she said. “I would have turned it into lost and found, but I saw it was like a diary and I didn’t want people reading it.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She gave him the notebook. “Oh, my name is Kim.”
“I’m Mike Simon. Well, thanks for getting this back to me.”
She knew that if he walked away she’d probably never talk to him again. She didn’t want that to happen because at least once in her life she wanted to know what it was like to have a friend who didn’t demand a price for his friendship. She’d never had that before. She knew she was giving up Derek and all he could offer her, but more than anything she wanted to have a real friend.
Just then the bell rang, and the door flew open. People crowded on either side of them as they stood in the hall.
“Well, thanks again,” he said. He turned to walk away.
I can’t let him get away, she thought. “Wait,” Kim called out.
“What?”
“I’d like to talk to you sometime, but not now because I’m really busy this week.”
“I understand. You go with Derek Reeves, don’t you?”
“I did. We just broke up. Well, I have to run now too. The reason I’m so busy is because I’m doing a report in social studies about Mormons and I’m having a really hard time finding anything. Well, see you around sometime.”
She walked three steps before he realized what she’d said.
“Wait a minute,” he said.
She turned around.
“I could help you. I’m a Mormon.”
“No kidding? That would be great if you could help me.”
They leaned against the lockers in the hall and set up a time for her to go to his house and meet the missionaries so they could teach her about the Church.
In her next class she promised herself that sometime she would tell him the truth about what had happened with the journal. But not now. Right now she just wanted to see what it was like to have a friend like him.
Maybe he’s the real superstar in this school, she thought, smiling. Maybe he’s a superstar in the things that really matter.