Gospel Story Finder

“You could use a canoe,” Brother Wright Akeman said. “You can paddle down the Arkansas River to its mouth and walk from there to Memphis.” Brother Akeman was one of the few Church members in Arkansas.
“It’s a fine idea,” Wilford said.
“Except we don’t have a canoe,” Henry said.
“See that big cottonwood tree?” Brother Akeman said. “I’ll fetch my tools, and in two days we will have a canoe.”
The men cut down the tree and sawed a log about 12 feet long. Then they chipped out the inside of the log and shaped the ends. After two days they had a sturdy dugout canoe.
They shook hands with Brother Akeman and picked up the oars they had made. “It’s not a Jaredite boat,” Wilford said, “but it will get us where the Lord wants us to go.”
When Wilford and his companion reached the mouth of the river, they had to walk through a swamp. The mud and water were knee deep, and every step was hard. Wilford was worried because his knee hurt a lot.
In the middle of the swamp, Wilford sat down on a log. “I can’t walk anymore,” he said.
“I can’t wait,” Henry said. “The sooner I get through this swamp, the sooner I can get to Memphis and take a steamboat home.”
“Aren’t you going to preach the gospel in Tennessee?” Wilford asked.
“No,” Henry said. “I miss my family, and I am worried about them.”
Henry walked away. Wilford sat on the log and watched his companion disappear into the trees. He was alone in the middle of an alligator-infested swamp, and he could not walk. So he prayed.
Wilford asked the Lord to heal his knee. Then he stood up and began to walk. His knee felt fine. With every step, he rejoiced and thanked Heavenly Father for healing his knee.
Finally Wilford arrived in Memphis. Tired and dirty, he went to an inn.
“I am a minister, traveling without purse or scrip,” he told the innkeeper. “I would be happy to preach in exchange for food and a bed.”
“You don’t look like a minister,” the innkeeper said. “This man says he’s a preacher!” he called out to the men nearby. The men laughed and gathered around. Wilford looked at them. He had never preached to so many people. They looked more frightening than a bear or a pack of wolves.
Wilford said a silent prayer. The Lord had protected and provided for him and healed his knee. Surely he could teach these men. “Do you want to hear what the Lord has to tell you?” he asked.
“Bring it on, preacher!” they jeered. Wilford knelt and prayed aloud. He asked the Lord to tell him what those men needed to hear. Then he gave a talk and told the men to repent. When he finished speaking, the room was quiet.
“You’ve earned a bath, a meal, and a bed, preacher,” the innkeeper said. “Anytime you’re in Memphis, you can stay here, but that’s enough preaching.”
Wilford knew he had taught with the Spirit. He had arrived in his mission field prepared.
Wilford received a new companion and continued serving honorably. His mission ended in October of 1836.
In 1839 Wilford Woodruff was called to be an Apostle. He served several other missions, including one in England, where he baptized about 600 people. In 1889 he became President of the Church. All his life he loved missionary work.

This story happened in Samoa.
Dark, gloomy clouds hung in the sky. Alex glared up at them.
BOOM!
More thunder rumbled. Big, heavy raindrops crashed down everywhere.
Alex shook his head. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Sometimes, in Samoa, it could rain for days without stopping. But he wanted his grandpa’s birthday to be perfect!
Alex went to his room and knelt by his bed.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he said. “Please make the rain go away in time for Papa’s birthday party tomorrow. We already sent out the invitations. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Alex stood up, he saw Mom and Dad standing in his doorway. They were smiling.
“I hope you don’t mind that we heard your prayer,” Mom said.
Alex smiled. “That’s OK. I just want tomorrow to be special for Papa. It won’t be the same if we need to stay inside. We wouldn’t have room to dance!”
Dad squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “No matter what the weather is like, Papa will know how much you love him.”
The next morning, Mom and Dad asked Alex to say the family prayer. It was still raining hard. And it still didn’t look like it would stop.
“Please bless the rain to go away in time for the party,” he said. “And please bless us all to have a good time. Especially Papa!”
Alex watched the sky all morning. For a long time, nothing changed. But then something amazing happened.
“Look!” Alex shouted. “A patch of blue sky!” His family ran out to the yard. The clouds were starting to clear up.
In a few hours, all the clouds were gone! Even the puddles on the ground had dried up. Alex hurried to decorate the yard. Papa and the other guests would be here soon.
When Papa got there, he was surprised. He looked at the lights, the colorful streamers, and all the guests. “Everything looks beautiful,” he said. “Thank you so much!”
The party was just as fun as Alex had hoped. They danced to Papa’s favorite songs. The food was tasty—especially the sweet coconut bread. Alex even got to sing with Papa.
The best part, though, was when it was time for the Siva Taualuga. This dance was always performed by the most important person of the day. And, of course, that was Papa!
Papa got up to dance, but then he looked at Alex. “Come join me, Alex!” Papa called. Alex jumped up and danced next to Papa. Soon all the others were dancing too.
Papa leaned down to hug Alex. “You made me feel very special today,” Papa said. “This was the perfect birthday party.”
After the party ended, Alex looked up at the sky. The thick black clouds were back. Rain started pounding down on them again. But this time, Alex didn’t mind. He knew that Heavenly Father had helped the weather stay nice long enough for Papa’s party.
“Thank Thee for the nice weather,” Alex prayed. “And thank Thee for such a wonderful Papa.”

Father was a longshoreman. He worked on the docks, long hours, loading and unloading cargo from ocean-going ships. The work made him strong. His friends from the docks often came to our home. They’d sit me on their laps, muss up my hair, and always say the same thing, “Your dad is the best worker there. He does the work of two men.”
Work was important to my father. His parents were immigrants to America from Italy. They set up a small produce market in Boston, and it was there my father learned to work. He hosed the vegetables, swept the sidewalks, and carried groceries to the old wood homes of the neighborhood. He joined the navy after high school and was stationed in California where he met my mother. She worked as a waitress in a little restaurant not far from the base. Father came into the restaurant, night after night. After two weeks of taking his order, my mom said something about how much he must like the food. Father blurted out that it wasn’t the food that kept him coming back; it was the pretty waitress who was helping him. They began courting. Six weeks later, Father complained to her at the restaurant that there was something in his soup. My mother sifted through it with a fork and pulled out a diamond ring. She looked at him and said, “Yes.”
After his discharge from the service, he found his job on the docks, bought a home, and settled in. My sister Paula was born, and I followed four years later. My parents seemed content, but even as a child I recall them discussing their plans and their lives—what our family needed and what they wanted to become. Inevitably they came to the same conclusion: something was missing, but they didn’t know what.

A home teacher I know in our ward was recently sitting at home one evening when the prompting came into his mind--"Go visit Brother Jones! Now!" (And it wasn't even the end of the month!) He acted on that prompting and visited Brother Jones at a critical moment to comfort him. Brother Jones, whose wife had passed away, and some of his family members needed to hear the home teacher's testimony of eternal life. That teaching moment, that singular opportunity, may have passed forever if the prompting had not been headed.

Don't we all marvel at the inspirational stories President Thomas S. Monson tells of visiting widows, serving the poor, blessing suffering hospital patients--each exemplifying President Monson's personal ministry to bless Heavenly Father's children? Besides teaching us service, what else do these stories tell us? That when the voice of the Spirit prompts President Monson, he responds. If we respond to those quiet promptings that come to us, I promise we will find that our ability to feel the voice of the Spirit will increase and it will come with more frequency. On the other hand, I fear that if we ignore the promptings, the Spirit will withdraw and prompt us less and less often.

Many years ago, I went outside to take out some trash. When I got to the garbage can, I saw that it had been haphazardly decorated with white spray paint—it was definitely not the work of a skilled artist! I asked our children if anyone knew what had happened to the trash can. They each testified knowing nothing about it, even our five-year-old son, who stood in the kitchen with white paint in his hair. It was comical to listen to him try to fib his way through his little lie. Even when I put him in front of a mirror and pointed out the paint on his face and in his hair, he still denied any involvement. We laugh about it now and even laughed about it then, but how many times do we look in the mirror and believe the lies, half-truths, or exaggerations we tell ourselves and others?

In 1978, shortly after returning from my mission, I had the opportunity to take the first of several trips to Italy to work with my father and grandfather carving statues from the crystalline-white marble quarried in the mountains above Carrara. On weekends we visited the great cathedrals and museums in Italy. One of the first cathedrals we visited was Santa Maria Novella, a quiet cathedral near the train station in Florence. As we entered the cathedral, the morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, projecting colored light along the walls and pews. I was drawn to a large fresco painting of the Trinity by the early Italian Renaissance painter Masaccio. The painting depicts the three members of the Godhead: God the Father at the highest point, His hands supporting the cross that bears His Son, and the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove immediately above Christ’s head. As I gazed on the painting, a strong spirit of reverence came over me. I remained there quietly admiring it, pondering the concept of the Godhead.

In the years that have passed since that time, the image of this painting has often come to mind, and each time I feel the same warm reverence that I felt that day. At the time I was 21 years of age and knew very little about the history of art. I later learned as part of my studies that this painting was among the most important in art history because it was the first use of scientific perspective in Western art. I also learned that Masaccio was only 21 years old when he painted the work. This masterpiece was one of only a few works that he completed before his untimely death at the age of 27. As I learned more about the technical details and historical significance of this work, my admiration for the painting, and its spiritual message, grew.

One day at snack time in preschool, my best friend, Roger,* said that if I ate my peanut-butter sandwich, he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Roger doesn’t like peanut butter, but I love it. It looked so good—I had to eat it. I went home kind of sad because Roger said he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Mom said that he would probably forget about it by the next day, and he did.
Another day, when our teacher told us to pick up our toys, Roger wouldn’t do it. He told me that if I did, he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. It was hard for me to choose the right. Our teacher told Mom that she thought that Roger was influencing me in bad ways. They decided that if it kept on happening, I wouldn’t be allowed to be with Roger anymore.
Mom told me that when Roger wants me to do something that I know is wrong, I should tell him that if he keeps making bad choices, I won’t be able to be his friend. Then I was to walk away. She thought this might encourage Roger to choose the right. We had so much fun together—I didn’t want to lose him as a friend.
That night for family home evening, Mom pretended to be Roger, my sister pretended to be another friend, and I was myself. I practiced saying, “If you keep making bad choices, then I can’t be your friend.” That week we said extra prayers that Heavenly Father would help both of us choose the right.
It was very hard to tell Roger that I couldn’t be his friend. And things didn’t turn out the way we hoped they would right away. But after I said it a few times, Roger started to choose the right! Our teacher told Mom that she was surprised at the change in him. I learned that it may not be easy to choose the right, but it’s what Heavenly Father wants us to do. And if we ask Him, He will help us.
Nicholas Colon, age 5Kokomo, Indiana

Fred and Jean wanted to buy a new appliance. They often went shopping together and compared various models. At last they found one they both liked, but they hesitated to buy it because of the high price. The next day, Fred went back to the store alone and bought the appliance as a surprise for Jean. He arranged to have it delivered while she was out of the house. When Jean returned and saw the appliance, she was upset. She accused Fred of being inconsiderate by leaving her out of the final decision. Her accusations led to an argument.
Judging is a frequent source of conflict in a marriage. Usually, as with the story of Fred and Jean, judgments are based on false assumptions. Both the assumptions as well as the accusations can lead to anger and resentment.

My wife and I had been serving as full-time missionaries in the Caribbean Area for a few months and enjoyed the opportunity to labor there. We loved the Latter-day Saints we had met and were lifted by their faith and friendliness. Neither one of us knew Spanish before our assignment and had worked hard to understand and communicate in this new language. Despite these efforts, we continued to struggle to with Spanish.
As I was asking myself why I was assigned to an area where I could not communicate with others, I remembered something about the temple we served at near our home. In this temple there is a small chapel next to the baptismal font and at the front of it are several large glass panes that extend from the floor to the ceiling, allowing people to watch as ordinances are being performed. One day I noticed an imperfection in one of the panes of glass and wondered why this imperfect pane of glass was still there. I could not detect any flaws in the other panes and wondered why this one was allowed to remain.
As I reflected on this, the thought came to my mind that even though it had an imperfection, the pane of glass was still performing the function it was asked to do, allow people to view ordinances. People in the chapel would look past the imperfection and be grateful that the pane of glass was doing what it had been asked to do, even though it was not perfect.
In 1995, President Russell M. Nelson taught us about being perfect. While he confirmed the Lord’s commandment to be perfect 1 , he reminded us that to become perfect as Christ is perfect is not something that will come easily, quickly, or even in this life. He encouraged us to “do the best we can and try to improve each day. When our imperfections appear, we can keep trying to correct them. We can be more forgiving of flaws in ourselves and among those we love.” 2
These thoughts encourage me to keep trying, despite the inability to communicate. Perhaps, like the pane of glass, people that I serve will see past my imperfections and be helped by the service provided.

On September 11, 2001, we awoke eager for an exciting day! We were foster parents to two little girls, and over the course of a year four-year-old Olivia and five-year-old Amber had entwined themselves around our family’s hearts. We decided to go before a judge to adopt them. Our excitement turned to solemness when we sat horrified watching the Twin Towers collapse, with the loss of thousands of innocent lives, yet we were offering a new life to these innocent little girls. It brought joy to all that day.

Three days later, we travelled to the Salt Lake City Temple where our two precious little girls were sealed to us for time and all eternity. Later, as we stood looking at a statue of Christ, Amber placed her little hand on the statue’s hand. The thought came to me that, although wicked people do unspeakable things to the innocent, the sacred covenants and sealing power of God in His holy temples is more powerful than any evil force and will bind us together with His love as families forever.

I have seen many Christmas trees. Usually they have been topped with a lighted star or a lovely angel. But the most beautiful tree I have ever seen had a big red bow on top.
I wasn’t sure how to celebrate Christmas that year. My mother had been a widow for several years, and since I was single, we had continued many of our family traditions and had celebrated most of the holidays together. When my mother died just before Christmas, however, the old traditions suddenly seemed too painful without her.
Just before Christmas, the bishopric came to visit. They expressed concern about my being alone for Christmas. Looking around, the bishop asked why there was no Christmas tree or other decorations. I explained that I didn’t want to decorate a tree alone and so had decided not to have one. Christmas seemed so much of a family celebration that I thought ignoring it would be the best way to make it through the holidays.
After they left, I went about my work. But the bishop did not let the matter alone. He told the ward Primary president about his talk with me. I had just been called to teach the 11-year-old girls but would not start until the first of the year.
One afternoon, Michelle, one of the girls who would be in my class, called and asked if she could drop by the next evening about 7:30. I was surprised but looked forward to her company.
The doorbell rang at exactly 7:30, but it was not just Michelle who stood on my porch. It was all of the girls in my new Primary class—with a Christmas tree, lights, and decorations!
They pushed the large tree through the door and started setting it up in my living room. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I was soon moving furniture to find just the right spot for the tree. I asked what I should do to help and was told to sit on the couch and just watch. My next two hours were filled with the holiday laughter and love that only 11-year-olds can create and share.
The girls told me their names and what part each had played in the project. Cindy showed me the hot-glue burns she had suffered while attaching ribbons to the backs of gingerbread ornaments. Amanda couldn’t come that evening, so she had gone with her mother to buy the tree earlier in the day. Bethany was the tallest, so she was in charge of the lights. Lindsay joined the decorating with a large box of candy canes. Rachel put a stocking filled with candy and a gift under the tree. And Michelle told me they had tried to find or make a star for the top of the tree but couldn’t, so they had brought a large red bow.
That bow topped one of the largest and most beautiful Christmas gifts I have ever received. Even before that tree was finished and lighted, my heart was full of the spirit of Christmas and of love for each girl in my future Primary class. That feeling was renewed each time I turned on the tree lights.
I have some new Christmas traditions now. I plan to have a tree every year, and it will always have candy canes, gingerbread ornaments—and a big red bow on top.

I’m trying to read the whole Book of Mormon before I turn eight. In family home evening my dad talked about setting goals, so I decided to read three pages a day to meet my goal. Sometimes I take my Book of Mormon to school so I can read it during silent reading. My friends have asked me about the Book of Mormon, and I have been able to tell them about it. I’m happy that we can have the scriptures to read and share with others.
Emily S., age 7, Texas

“Nuno and Miriam, will you follow the example of Jesus Christ and be baptized next Saturday?” Sister Silva asked.
Paulo couldn’t believe his ears. The sister missionaries had just invited his 10-year-old brother and sister to be baptized!
“Yes! Yes!” the twins said happily.
Miriam couldn’t stop smiling. Nuno gave Sister Lopes a high-five. Grandmother beamed from her big red armchair in the corner.
For a few weeks the sister missionaries had been teaching Paulo and his siblings at Grandmother’s house on the green, breezy island of São Miguel—1,000 miles (1,600 km) away from mainland Portugal. Paulo loved to open the top half of Grandmother’s front door and feel the sea breeze as he watched Sister Lopes and Sister Silva walk up the street to teach him about the gospel.
The sister missionaries said today would be a special lesson. Now Paulo knew why. Nuno and Miriam were going to be baptized, just like Jesus taught! Paulo also wanted to follow the Savior’s example.
“Sisters, can I be baptized next Saturday too?” he asked eagerly, holding his illustrated Book of Mormon closer to him.
Sister Silva smiled but shook her head. “I’m sorry, Paulo. The Lord has told us that we all need to be baptized but only after we turn eight years old. Because you are only six, you aren’t accountable for your choices yet.”
“But, sisters,” Paulo objected, “I have been praying and reading the Book of Mormon with my family, like you taught me. I go to Primary every week with Grandmother and Uncle Mário. I know the Church is true! Can’t I be baptized with Nuno and Miriam?”
“You have done such a good job living the commandments and learning about the gospel,” Sister Lopes said. “But you still need to wait two years before you can be baptized.”
Paulo’s throat started to burn, and hot tears filled his eyes. He jumped up and ran to his room in the attic, where he slept with his siblings.
After crying into his pillow for a few minutes, Paulo heard someone climbing the attic stairs. Uncle Mário sat down on Paulo’s bed.
“What happened, Paulo?” Uncle Mário asked.
“Sister Silva and Sister Lopes said I can’t get baptized, but Nuno and Miriam can,” Paulo said. “I want to be a member of the Church! I love singing the hymns in sacrament meeting and learning about the scriptures in Primary. I don’t want to be left behind.”
“Paulo, you can still be a part of the Church, even though you are not old enough to be baptized,” Uncle Mário said gently.
“How?” Paulo sniffed into his pillow.
“Well, you know that the Primary is preparing a sacrament meeting program,” Uncle Mário said. “Your Primary teacher told me she is looking for volunteers to bear their testimonies in the program. That is one way you can participate in church,” Uncle Mário explained.
“Really?” Paulo sat up and faced his uncle. He thought for a minute. “Maybe I could bear my testimony at Nuno and Miriam’s baptism too!”
“That’s a great idea!” Uncle Mário said. “Even though you are too young to be baptized, you can still have a testimony.”
Paulo hopped off his bed and hurried down the stairs.
“Where are you going, Paulo?” Uncle Mário called.
“I’m going to practice bearing my testimony to the missionaries!” Paulo called back happily. “I’m going to share it while I wait to be baptized!”

Tongan Saints testify that faith in the Lord’s protection against the forces of nature has saved not only them, but also, as in the case of Tevita Taimani’s experience, those they tried to help. Brother Taimani remembers taking a sick woman to the hospital in Ha‘afeva aboard a boat powered by a fifteen-horsepower motor in the midst of massive waves and a terrible storm. Unbeknownst to him, however, the gas tank of his boat had tumbled overboard when a wave hit, taking with it the connecting hose to the engine:
I can hardly believe that when I started the engine after the patient had boarded, I did not notice the missing gas tank and hose. But the boat did start, and we made our way through the channel with the engine struggling in the huge waves, but never sputtering. Had it died, we would have been in a disastrous situation—drifting into the open sea or being dashed against a reef somewhere.
Only when we safely anchored in Ha‘afeva did I discover that the gas tank was not in the boat, that we had come through those rough waters without any gasoline feeding our tiny outboard engine. This is surely an example of how we are protected as we serve the Lord.

I have a testimony that the things the bishop asks us to do will help us in our lives. The bishop asked the Primary kids this year to memorize the articles of faith. I memorized all of them. Later I was on the bus with my friend, and the conversation popped up about our beliefs. I told her that I read the Book of Mormon, and I didn’t really know what to say after that. And then the eighth article of faith popped in my head, and I recited it.
Allison H., age 9, Illinois, USA

As early Saints reached Utah, President Brigham Young issued calls to some of them to serve missions to many nations of the world, to others to colonize areas outside the Salt Lake Valley. George Careless was prepared to accept any call he received.
“Brother George,” President Young said, “I have a mission for you. … I want you to take the Tabernacle Choir … and lay a foundation for good music in Utah.” Brother Careless accepted the call.
Born in London on September 24, 1839, George displayed musical talent early in life. His father, a woodcarver, berated his son for “wasting time” with music and told him to learn a trade. George went to work in a shoemaking company, but his heart wasn’t in it. The plant foreman, a music lover who collected violins, loaned him one of them, and George soon learned to play it.
When he was ten years old, he was offered a place in a London choir school, where boys earned their academic and musical education by singing in a church or cathedral. It was a wonderful opportunity, but George turned it down. He had recently joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was eager to participate fully in it.
George’s father never accepted his devotion to music and told him to either give it up or leave the family. So when he was thirteen, George left home.
Later, the shoe factory foreman loaned George the money to attend the Royal Academy of Music. After graduating in three years rather than the usual four, he was hired as a member of an orchestra that gave concerts in the Crystal Palace, England’s showplace for the arts. With his first earnings, he repaid the foreman.
At the same time, George worked to improve the musical activities of the Church in England. He directed a London Conference choir, earning it such a high reputation that it was invited to perform at several of London’s leading concert halls.
His career was progressing so well that Elder William C. Staines encouraged him to move to Utah before he became so famous that it would be almost impossible to leave those who went to hear him. Six weeks later, George sailed for America. On his ship, the Hudson, he led a choir composed of Saints who were immigrating to Utah. He arrived in New York City on July 19, 1864. From there he suffered illness and hunger much of the rest of the way.
Arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, George was given the depressing news that the few professional musicians already there were unable to make a living with their music. Even so, he was determined to teach music even if he starved. By the end of the next month, he had twenty-four paying pupils. The going rate for a series of lessons in the Salt Lake Valley was a hundred pounds of flour.
When President Young called him to his musical mission, George replied, “I will do the best I can with the material I can get.”
The prophet responded, “You will have to make that.”
Organizing a choir in the rough conditions of frontier living took determination and grit as well as talent. At his first rehearsal of the choir, only forty members were present. The Tabernacle, still under construction, had no heating or lighting. Choir members held a candle in one hand, their music in the other.
On October 8, 1873, the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir joined with choirs from fourteen surrounding communities to perform at General Conference. Some of the choirs had to travel several days to reach Salt Lake City.
When Brigham Young died in 1877, George assembled a 220-member choir to perform a hymn he composed for the funeral.
After serving eleven years as director of the Tabernacle Choir, George resigned his post in 1880. His mission was to continue, though, when President John Taylor asked him to head a committee to write music for all the hymns to be included in The Latter-day Saints’ Psalmody, published in 1889. The Psalmody contained 330 hymns, three-fourths of them set to music by Mormon composers. One of Brother Careless’s compositions is the well-known sacrament hymn “He Died! The Great Redeemer Died.”
George Careless fulfilled his mission to lay a foundation for good music, not just in Utah but in the whole Church.

A few years after my wife and I returned home from our mission, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) asked us to meet with him. During that meeting, he extended a call to me to serve as a General Authority. He reflected on my experiences as a young missionary and as a mission president and told us that although there were many people who were qualified to be General Authorities, the Lord would use me because of my previous experiences and decisions.

Since President Thomas S. Monson announced the change in the missionary age, young people have been asked to counsel with their parents, counsel with their bishops, and counsel with the Lord through prayer. When you know it is the right time to go, then you should go. As you have patience and exercise faith, I know that the Lord will make His will known unto you.

I testify that as you are obedient to the will of the Lord, you will be blessed beyond measure.

President Hinckley reminded us that saying thank you to parents is also very important. Our parents deserve to hear that we are grateful for them and for their efforts in our behalf. Expressing gratitude will not only help our parents feel appreciated and loved, but also it will increase our love for them. One young woman applied President Hinckley’s advice to her relationship with her mother.
“In my life it is hard for me to understand my mom. Sometimes I don’t feel like she truly loves me. I know she does, but sometimes I do not feel it.
“Well, as I was listening to President Hinckley speak he said, ‘Be grateful.’ It was like he stepped out of the TV, grabbed me by the shoulders, and said, ‘’Show your mom you are thankful for her!’ I thought to myself, No we are doing fine. The feeling stayed there, so I got on my knees and cried. I asked for so much strength. I decided I needed to be more humble. I got up my courage and saved my money. Then I bought some flowers and on the card I wrote: ‘You’re the greatest mom in the world. I love you.’
“My mom really is the best. She does everything for me and only wants the best for me, and now I feel like we are real friends. We can talk about most things. It is going to be a long road, but I know that I will make it and all because I was thankful.”

In his journal, Elder Woodruff wrote that he felt the Lord guided him to this spot. He traveled many kilometers by coach, then walked many more kilometers. He met John Benbow, a wealthy farmer, who with his wife, Jane, belonged to a large group that had broken away from the traditional religious denominations of that time. Wilford Woodruff recorded:
“[John Benbow] sent word through the neighborhood that an American missionary would preach at his house that evening. As the time drew nigh, many of the neighbors came in, and I preached my first gospel sermon in the house. I also preached at the same place on the following evening, and baptized six persons, including Mr. John Benbow, his wife, and four preachers of the United Brethren. …
“… The parish church that stood in the neighborhood of Brother Benbow’s, presided over by the rector of the parish, was attended during the day by only fifteen persons, while I had a large congregation, estimated to number a thousand, attend my meetings through the day and evening” (quoted in Matthias F. Cowley, Wilford Woodruff: History of His Life and Labors [1964], 117–18).
Many of those thousand listeners were baptized, and the converts formed some of the earliest branches of the Church in England. John and Jane Benbow and Thomas Kington also financed the first British edition of the Book of Mormon and a Latter-day Saint hymnbook.
During those few months in 1840, Wilford Woodruff preached to and baptized all the members of that breakaway group except for one man—a total of about 600 people. Elder Woodruff also baptized more than 1,200 from other denominations. Many of those baptized sold their land and possessions and left England to gather in Nauvoo, where they became stalwarts of the Church. They later were driven out of Nauvoo, crossed the plains, and established new communities in the western United States. Today their influence is felt throughout the earth, and many of their descendants continue doing the Lord’s work.
This small pool of water on the John Benbow farm was the scene of hundreds of baptisms in 1840. On 5 March, Wilford Woodruff baptized John and Jane Benbow and four preachers from the local congregation of a group called the United Brethren. Elder Woodruff spent most of the following day, as he wrote, “clearing out a pool of water and preparing it for baptizing, as I saw that many would receive that ordinance. I afterwards baptized six hundred persons in that pool of water” (quoted in Wilford Woodruff, 117).

Where there were branches, we met in lodge halls, and it was the duty of the elders to go early on Sunday morning to clean up the cigar and cigarette butts and other leftovers from the regular Saturday night parties. Oh yes, part of that cleaning up was emptying the spitoons. By opening all the windows we were able to clear out some of the stench and make the place more fitting as a place for the Saints to meet.