Gospel Story Finder

Shortly before the April 2020 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson invited my wife, Kalleen, and me into his office, where he called me to be the General Young Men President. As our heads were spinning over this totally unexpected turn of events, he stood and said: “This is an important time for the youth of the Church because it’s an important time for the Church. The youth will play a critical role in this wondrous time.” He added, “You know, I have invited them into the Lord’s battalions.”
“Yes, President Nelson,” I said. “I know you have, and I know they are listening.”
“Well, it’s important that they do, because they are needed.”
I am paraphrasing only a little here, but he then went on to talk with great energy about the long-prophesied gathering that is taking place and the important work the Lord has for our youth to do. He spoke with a sense of urgency and great immediacy that they have been specifically sent to prepare for the Savior’s return.

Most Saturday afternoons my husband and I make a trip to the grocery store for our weekly supplies and food storage items. Recently, after filling our shopping cart and while waiting to be checked out, we watched the cashier totaling the purchases of customers ahead of us. Nearly all were in sizable double-digit figures. We discussed the high cost of food for large families with limited incomes, elderly people with small pensions, and single parents often with uncertain means. We concluded that in most households resources must be managed very carefully in order to meet current demands.
The economic situation today is sobering. It requires us as women to be very resourceful if we are to meet this challenge successfully and at the same time find satisfaction in doing it well.
A young bride went to be with her husband at an army camp on the edge of a desert. Housing was scarce and costly. All they could afford was a small cabin near an Indian village. The 115-degree heat was unbearable in the daytime. The wind blew constantly, spreading dust and sand over everything. The days were long and lonely. When her husband was ordered into the desert for two weeks of maneuvers, she just couldn’t bear the living conditions any longer, and she wrote to her mother that she was coming home. An almost immediate reply included these lines:
Two men look out from prison bars;
One saw the mud, the other saw the stars.
She read the lines over and over. All right, she would look for the stars.
She determined to make friends with her neighbors, the Indians. She admired their artful weaving and pottery work and asked them to teach her. As soon as they sensed her interest was genuine, they were most willing. She became fascinated with their culture, their history—everything about them. The desert changed from a desolate, forbidding place to a world of wondrous beauty.
What had changed? Not the desert, not her environment; her own attitude transformed a miserable experience into a highly rewarding one. (From Bits and Pieces, Vol. C no. 5, pp. 21–23.)
How might Relief Society enable a woman to look to the stars—stars to steer by? How might Relief Society enable a woman to create an environment of optimism and adventure, while at the same time helping her stretch her dollars and resources by implementing sound economic principles in the home?

I had the chance to sing in the women’s session choir. I invited a nonmember friend to come watch. When all of the people started coming in I felt nervous, but the Spirit really calmed me down. I was also not feeling great because of a hurt finger and was super hungry, but I still made it, and it was fun! One cool thing was that I was a few feet away from the prophet. I loved listening to all of the speakers. All the choir practice was worth it.
Jadyn T. (left) with her sister, Lauren, ages 10 and 14, Utah, USA

There was once a very rich squire who owned a large farm, had plenty of silver in a carved chest, and money in the bank besides. But there was something he had not, and that was a wife.
One day a neighbor’s daughter was working for him in the hayfield, and the squire took a fancy to her. As she was a poor man’s daughter, he thought that he had only to mention marriage and she would be more than glad to have him at once. So he said to her, “I’ve been thinking that I want to marry.”
“Well, one may think of many things,” said the lassie, as she stood there smiling innocently. She really thought the old fellow should be interested in something that suited him better than thinking about getting married at his time of life.
“Now, you see,” he pursued, “I was thinking that you should be my wife!”
“No, thank you,” said she, “but I’m much obliged for the offer.”
The squire was not used to being opposed—the more she refused him the more he wanted her. So the old man sent for her father and told him that if he could persuade the girl to become the squire’s wife, he would cancel a debt the father owed him. And into the bargain he would give him a piece of land that lay close to the father’s meadow.
“Yes, yes!” agreed the father. “Be assured that I’ll bring the lass to her senses. She is only a child and does not know what is best for her.”
But all his coaxing, all his threats, and all his talking went for naught. The daughter declared she would not have the old miser, even if he sat buried in gold up to his ears.
The squire waited and waited until at last he became so angry and impatient that he told the father the matter must be settled at once if he expected him to stand by their bargain.
The father could think of nothing else to do but let the squire get everything ready for the wedding; then when the parson and the wedding guests arrived, the squire would send for the lassie as if she were needed for some simple task on the farm. When she arrived he could marry the girl right away and in such a hurry that she would have no time to refuse.
On the appointed day the guests arrived, and the impatient squire called to one of his farm lads and ordered the boy to run down to the lassie’s father and ask him to immediately send up what had been promised.
The lad ran off like a shot. “My master has sent me to ask for that which you promised him,” said the puffing lad when he arrived at the father’s home. “But, pray, lose no time, for master is terribly busy today.”
“Yes, yes!” answered the man. “Run down to the meadow and take her back with you.”
The lad ran off, and when he came to the meadow he found the daughter there raking hay. “I am to fetch what your father has promised my master,” he told her.
Ah, ha! thought she, so that’s what they’re up to! And with a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Oh, yes, it’s that little bay mare of ours he wants. She stands tethered on the other side of the pea field.”
When the boy found the mare he jumped on her back and rode home at full gallop.
“Have you got her with you?” asked the squire.
“She is down at the door,” said the lad.
“Take her up to the room my mother had,” ordered the squire.
“But, master, how can I?” asked the lad.
“Do as I tell you!” demanded the squire. “And if you can’t manage her alone, get the men to help you,” for he thought the lassie might be stubborn.
When the lad saw his master’s face, he knew it would be no use to argue. So he got all the farmhands together to help him. Some pulled at the head and the forelegs of the mare and others pushed from behind, and at last they got her upstairs and into the room. There lay all the wedding finery ready.
“Well, that’s done, master!” said the lad, descending the stairs and wiping his wet brow. “But it was the worst job I have ever had to do here on the farm.”
“Never mind, never mind, you shall not have done it for nothing,” said his master, and he pulled a bright silver coin out of his pocket and tossed it to the lad. “Now send the women up to dress her.”
“But, I say—master!”
“None of your talk!” cried the squire. “Tell them to hold her while they dress her, and mind not to forget either wreath or crown.”
The lad ran into the kitchen. “Listen here, lasses,” he called out. “You are to go upstairs and dress up the bay mare as a bride. I suppose master wants to play a joke on his guests.”
The women laughed and laughed, but ran upstairs and dressed the bay mare in everything that was there. And then the lad reported to his master that she was all ready, with wreath and crown and all.
“Very well, bring her down. I will receive her at the door myself,” said the squire.
There was a clatter and a thumping on the stairs. And when the door was opened and the squire’s “bride” entered the room, you can be sure there was laughing and tittering and grinning enough.
And as for the squire, they say he never went courting again.

I served four and a half years in federal prison for real estate fraud. Most of the women there were quiet and respectful. Then 10 women moved into the cell across from mine.
They would stay up late at night laughing and listening to loud music. They didn’t seem to care how their behavior affected others. My roommates asked me to talk to them, but conversations like this usually don’t go well in prison. Instead, I prayed for these women to change their behavior and for peace to be restored, but things only got worse.
While praying one night, I realized I hadn’t made any effort to get to know my neighbors. I went to their cell the next day and talked with them. They showed me pictures of their families and loved ones. They apologized for being too loud. From then on, they waved and seemed happy when they saw me.
A few weeks before Christmas, they invited me to have Christmas Eve dinner with them. We also planned to share with one another spiritual experiences we’ve had. On Christmas Eve, we gathered together and hung a few paper decorations. We didn’t have a Christmas tree, but we all felt a peaceful spirit. After our simple dinner of tuna fish and potato chips, we shared our experiences. We all had different religious backgrounds and each of our stories were unique, but our hearts were connected and the Spirit was there.
After April shared her story, we all sat quietly with tears in our eyes.
During my time in prison, I poured out my heart in prayer asking our Father in Heaven to watch over and protect my family. But when I prayed for my neighbors in prison, I began to recognize their divine potential and felt more fully the love and mercy of our Savior.
That Christmas Eve in prison was beautiful.

The following experience is an example of how this principle can work.
Two young missionaries knocked on a door, hoping to find someone to receive their message. The door opened, and a rather large man greeted them in a less-than-friendly voice: “I thought I told you not to knock on my door again. I warned you before that if you ever came back, it would not be a pleasant experience. Now leave me alone.” He quickly closed the door.
As the elders walked away, the older, more experienced missionary put his arm on the younger missionary’s shoulder to comfort and encourage him. Unknown to them, the man watched them through the window to be sure they understood his message. He fully expected to see them laugh and make light of his curt response to their attempted visit. However, as he witnessed the expression of kindness between the two missionaries, his heart was instantly softened. He reopened the door and asked the missionaries to come back and share their message with him.

Two years later the Widtsoe family left Oslo, Norway, with twenty other Norwegian Saints to begin the long journey to America. Eleven-year-old John kept a diary of their trip over the North Sea, their smoky journey across the midlands of England, their three days of sight-seeing in Liverpool, their voyage over the Atlantic Ocean, and the long railroad ride from New York to Logan, Utah, where they settled. There John found many and varied jobs to help support the family. His mother did dressmaking and any other kind of work she could find to provide for current expenses and to save toward the education of her sons.

My mother always wanted our family to pray. It was part of our practice at home. Same thing with reading scriptures too. These things were ingrained in us. One night I slept over at Anthony’s place. As I prayed before bed, Anthony saw me and asked what I was doing. I don’t remember what I said exactly; I just remember we were in his room and we talked about prayer.
Anthony came a few times to my house, and he saw us read the scriptures, ask a blessing before eating, and pray as a family. He saw us sing hymns together too. I asked him once or twice to come to church. I must have seen from his reaction that he wasn’t too excited about the idea of coming to church. I told myself, “Well that’s it, I guess, and it’s too bad, but we’ll just continue to be buddies.”
At first I was a little distant about the Church. I didn’t understand much, and I was a bit afraid to speak with Cayo about how his family gathered together for prayer. So in the beginning I didn’t respond to invitations. But little by little, I felt good. I felt in my heart that Cayo’s family was different from other families.
Eventually we both moved on to other things. We lost track of each other several times over the years, but we would always bump into each other again. When we were teenagers, we became close friends again.
I could see that Cayo was different from my other friends. We all do dumb things as we’re growing up, but Cayo helped me choose a good path.
Anthony started to come to church with my family. Then things evolved naturally, the missionaries spent a lot of time with us, and Anthony became quite familiar with the Church. He knew what prayer was, he knew the hymns, he knew all that—he was just not a member.
From age 8 to age 18, I reflected a lot about getting baptized. But it took me a long time because I had a lot of things I needed to change in my life, even though I tried to live good principles.
At the age of 18, I met the missionaries in Cayo’s home. The missionaries taught me the lessons to prepare me for baptism. They helped me, and their message touched my heart. During this time, my mother and my little sister were introduced to the missionaries. They were baptized a few months before I was. I was baptized on March 10, 2007.
It took the time that it took, more than 10 years, but finally he was baptized.
It’s interesting to see how the Lord does things. After that, I went on a mission in France and we wrote to each other. Now we’re going to be separated because Anthony just became a gendarme [policeman], and he will leave to work for two to five years in Guyana, but I’m sure we’re going to stay in touch.
Since I joined the Church, I do what is required to stay on the strait path and to share the gospel with those around me. It’s something that’s very simple, but the gospel can be difficult for others to accept and to live. As members of the Church, we are truly different from others.
Other members of my family had trouble seeing why my mother, my sister, and I get ready for church every Sunday. I get dressed in my suit and leave at 8:30 to be to church by 9:00, and I often stay until 3:00 in the afternoon because of my calling. I enjoy visiting with other members and finding out what’s going on in their lives. I like being able to participate with the members; it’s exceptional. It’s important to have people around us who are members, to have unity, and to feel like we’re strengthening each other.
I believe the Lord does everything He can so we can truly, honestly, and deeply change. Becoming a Latter-day Saint and a disciple of Christ is not just a question of deciding to adopt certain attitudes; it is to witness a profound change in ourselves. I saw that change in Anthony.
Knowing I have a Heavenly Father comforts me. It also comforts me to know that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for us—for me.
But, in any case, I know it’s true. I also know the scriptures are true. The Book of Mormon is true. I’m convinced of it. The Church is true. We have a true prophet, Thomas S. Monson. The Twelve Apostles are truly called of God.
That’s something I didn’t understand before, and I think that, even today, I don’t understand it completely. It’s very powerful and it’s unique as an emotion.

Jaanus Silla* was in his last year of high school in Harjumaa, Estonia, when he started thinking seriously about religion. Although he lived in a country that frowned upon worship, Jaanus still knew a few things. His mother had taught him to believe in God. Sometimes, when he was younger, they had attended a Christian church at Christmas, after trimming their tree with candles and waiting for Jõuluvana, the Estonian Santa Claus.
Recently, while trying to decide about his future, Jaanus had even prayed for the first time. He remembered the prayer, short but sincere: “Father in Heaven, if you exist, then help me.”
He finished high school and went to work in a photo studio, developing film and studying photography while he continued searching for spiritual truth. Meanwhile, the tremor of political change had begun to softly shake Estonian life. People began to question the government openly for the first time.
One evening Jaanus and some friends carried the Estonian flag, fluttering over their shoulders, on the way to a patriotic song party. Enraged police saw the flag and chased them down. When they caught them, the police grabbed the flag and ripped it, but Jaanus and his friends were only reprimanded. This treatment by the police was a big change for the better.
“There is a special feeling in Estonia,” Jaanus later explained in an excited voice to his mother. “People are patriotic. We all feel this new warmth and happiness.”
Then, a few weeks before Christmas 1989, Jaanus met 30-year-old Enn Lembit, who told Jaanus, “I have a new testimony about Christ and what prophets say nowadays. Come to my house to hear about this wonderful news.”
“Imagine that,” Jaanus thought, “a prophet speaking to people on earth today!” His spine tingled as he and his friends went to Enn Lembit’s apartment for a meeting.
At that first meeting, Enn Lembit explained, “My father-in-law, Valtteri Rötsä, was converted to the Mormon church in Finland. He returned to Estonia to his family with his pockets full of literature about the Mormon faith.” Enn’s eyes shone with enthusiasm as he explained the gospel message to Jaanus and others in that small room.
About an hour after the meeting had started, Brother Uusituba, a businessman from Finland, suggested they pray and ask God if this church were true.
Jaanus thought, “I feel really good in this home, and I like what he is saying.” When they prayed, he felt a warm glow and believed that the gospel was true. Jaanus took the news home to his mother, and together they attended the first sacrament meeting held in Estonia.
On 16 December 1989, Enn Lembit was the first convert baptized on Estonian soil. Jaanus and his mother were baptized on 6 January 1990.
Excited by their newfound religion, Jaanus and his friend Urmas Raavk decided they must spread the gospel. They spoke with at least 50 people on the streets and knocked on 20 doors. They tried to talk like missionaries, explaining the story of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. The missionaries later asked Jaanus, “Why did you do that? Who gave you the authority to act as a missionary?”
“We know from reading in the Bible that everybody must be a missionary,” Jaanus answered. “I already have a strong desire to serve. It is hard to wait until I get a mission call.”
The elders smiled. “In opening this new mission, we need to be very careful and work only through referrals to members’ friends,” they explained. President Steven R. Mecham of the Finland Helsinki East Mission said that this proved to be important in getting the Church accepted by the government. Proselyting needed to be handled carefully, so as not to offend. From then on, Jaanus and Urmas worked with the missionaries.
Estonia was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel by Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve in the spring of 1990. On June 29, the Estonian government officially recognized the Church.
The laws of the land required that an Estonian Church member who did not hold a position in the Estonian branch presidency sign the petition for the Church to become recognized. President Mecham asked Jaanus if he would consent to be the Church spokesman to testify before the Minister of Religion and sign the petition.
Jaanus was puzzled. “There are many people who could do that.”
“We would like you, Jaanus, to be the authorized person to sign the document because you have demonstrated such leadership,” answered President Mecham.
Jaanus testified before the Minister of Religion that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was a legitimate church working in the country to help people and that the programs were not contrary to any laws of the government.
Then Jaanus picked up the pen, remembering that he had been at the first meeting of the Church in Estonia, had attended the first official sacrament meeting, and was one of the first youth to be baptized. Twenty others signed their names below his signature.

“Hurry up! I want to see the lions,” Billy said, tugging on his sister’s sleeve.
“I’m coming,” Helen said. She jumped off the bench and grabbed Billy’s hand. They trotted off to see the lions.
When they reached the lions’ cage, they saw a man holding a camera and a little notebook. Children were gathered around him. A lady introduced the man. “Children, this is Mr. Maier,” she said. “He is an author visiting from New Jersey.”
An author! Helen liked meeting new people, especially famous people from far away.
“I travel from place to place and write about what I see,” Mr. Maier told the children. “Do any of you have a question for me?”
Helen raised her hand high in the air. Mr. Maier asked her to come to the front of the crowd. Helen scooted through the crowd until she stood near Mr. Maier.
“What are you writing about today?” Helen asked.
“Today I’m writing about Utah,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Helen felt her heart start to beat faster. What could she think of to tell a famous author?
“Well, I’m 10 years old,” Helen said. Then she paused. Surely she could think of something more important. “And I’m a Mormon,” she added.
“A Mormon?” he asked. “Tell me more.”
“Well, my great-great-grandfather was Brigham Young, one of the prophets of our Church,” Helen replied. “And this Church is the true faith.”
“Is it really?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “What is your religion?”
“I don’t have a religion,” Mr. Maier said.
Helen was surprised. “Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But maybe you can pray for me so I can be blessed too.”
“I can do that,” Helen said.
Then Helen got an idea. “Why don’t you get baptized in the true faith?”
Mr. Maier smiled. “That’s kind of you,” he said. “I think I would like to learn more about this faith first.”
When Mr. Maier returned home to New Jersey, he wrote a newspaper article about Helen. He called her a “zealous little Mormon girl.” He meant that she was enthusiastic and devoted to her faith. Mr. Maier was so impressed with Helen that he wrote to her and sent her copies of his books.
A few years later, Mr. Maier passed away. When Helen was older, she received permission from Mr. Maier’s family to have his temple work done. Thanks to Helen, a young man was baptized in the temple for Mr. Maier in the “true faith.”

One day while serving in the Texas Fort Worth Mission, my companion and I finished visiting some investigators and then realized we didn’t have a dinner appointment. We decided to stop at one of the many nearby fast-food restaurants.
When I stepped to the cash register, an employee took my order and asked me my name so she could call me over the loudspeaker when my meal was ready. “Elder García,” I replied.
The woman did not seem to understand my English. Again she asked me my name. To avoid any further misunderstanding, I pointed to my name tag, which bore my name and the name of the Church in Spanish.
As I turned to sit with my companion and wait for my order, I happened to notice the name she had written. Instead of writing my name, she had written, “Jesucristo.” Maybe she made the mistake because the Savior’s name stands out on the Church’s logo. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention.
Each time I remember this simple experience, I feel a firm desire to have people think of Jesus Christ when they see me—not because of a name tag but because I am bearing His name by doing the things He taught us to do.

In 1872, a baby boy was born to a Shoshone family on the Fort Washakie Reservation in Wyoming. His father, Onda-Bow-Low-See, was a scout for the United States Cavalry, which meant his family often traveled by stagecoach.
One day, while on a bumpy stagecoach, the young boy lost his balance. He fell under a wheel and his leg was severely crushed, causing a deep injury. Knowing his son needed serious attention, Onda-Bow-Low-See turned to his parents: Anka-dewy-itse and his wife, Tza-gah.
The boy and his grandparents set off traveling west through a snowy pass. The boy lay on a horse-pulled sled made of deer hide. As they traveled, his leg swelled and became infected. After a long journey, they arrived at their sacred healing place, Baa-da-see (now Cache Valley, Utah) on the Shoshone “Holy Hill.” The boy was exhausted, and his grandparents set up camp under a teepee, staying by his side and praying for him for several days. Each morning, they awoke hoping the boy would recover.
Then one morning, at dawn, the boy heard a voice calling him: “Arise!” To his amazement, he stood and walked. The pain in his leg was gone. When his grandfather Anka-dewy-itse saw the boy standing alive and well, he gratefully proclaimed, “Our Damma Appa [Heavenly Father] has healed you!” Although healed, the boy had a slight limp and was renamed “Nee-a-ma-ah,” meaning “leaning to one side.”

Several years ago I, along with six other single women in my age range, had the unique and unexpected opportunity to meet with Relief Society general president Bonnie D. Parkin. We spent a little more than an hour together talking about our lives as single women in the Church.
That meeting was one of the real blessings of my life that year. As we sat around the table in Sister Parkin’s office, we spoke of the challenges and the blessings in our lives. At the end she asked us if we had a final comment we wanted to make. I raised my hand and pronounced, “The Church is the best place to be a single woman.” Given the opportunity over the course of that short hour to bear my testimony of service and loyalty to God, I had genuinely deepened my testimony of my role in the Church. I knew what my role was before, but I needed that forum to articulate it and deepen my conviction of its importance.

For those who, for whatever reason, fall into temptation and are dwelling upon unrighteous actions, I assure you that there is a way back, that there is hope in Christ. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit with a dear member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who went through a very difficult time in his life after committing a major transgression. When I first saw him, I could see a sadness in his eyes, accompanied by a brightness of hope in his countenance. His very expression reflected a humble and changed heart. He had been a dedicated Christian and had been richly blessed by the Lord. However, he had let a single improper thought invade his mind, which then led to others. As he steadily became more and more permissive of these thoughts, soon they took root in his mind and began to grow deep in his heart. He eventually acted upon these unworthy desires, which led him to make decisions against everything that was most precious in his life. He told me that if he had not given place to that foolish thought to begin with, he would not have become vulnerable and susceptible to the temptations of the enemy—temptations that brought so much sadness in his life, at least for a period of time.

Fortunately, like the prodigal son in the famous parable found in the gospel of Luke, “he came to himself” and woke up from that nightmare. He renewed his trust in the Lord and felt true contrition and had the desire to eventually return to the Lord’s fold. That day we both felt the Savior’s redeeming love for us. At the end of our brief visit, we were both overcome with emotion, and to this day, I remember the resplendent joy in his countenance when he left my office.

In the vicinity where I once lived and served, the Church operated a poultry project, staffed primarily by volunteers from the local wards. Most of the time it was an efficiently operated project, supplying to the bishops’ storehouse thousands of fresh eggs and hundreds of pounds of dressed poultry. On a few occasions, however, being volunteer city farmers meant not only blisters on the hands but also frustration of heart and mind.
For instance, I shall ever remember the time we gathered the Aaronic Priesthood young men to give the project a spring-cleaning. Our enthusiastic and energetic throng assembled at the project and in a speedy fashion uprooted, gathered, and burned large quantities of weeds and debris. By the light of the glowing bonfires, we ate hot dogs and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
However, there was just one disastrous problem. The noise and the fires so disturbed the fragile population of 5,000 laying hens that most of them went into a sudden molt and ceased laying. Thereafter we tolerated a few weeds so that we might produce more eggs.

Cecilia Celeste Merrell of the Globe Second Ward, Globe Arizona Stake, had no intention of liking the astronomy course she had to take. But when she entered class on the first day and saw the teacher dressed as a wizard, she began to get other ideas.
Now she can’t stop winning awards for her astronomy projects. She’s won just about everything you can at science and engineering fairs and at local, national, and international competitions. She’s worked hard on her projects and now knows a lot about reaching for the stars.
She also reaches for the keys—piano and organ keys—which she plays at church. She sings, writes poetry, dances, and cooks—in addition to stargazing.

Henry had dreamed restlessly during the night about the river, so when he awoke he was sure he could hear the roar of water as it dashed against a riverbank just outside the covered wagon. We’ll cross it today, he told himself, shivering. In all his twelve years he couldn’t remember when he had been more frightened. Quickly he pulled on his boots and scrambled onto the front seat of the wagon. Outside, his sister-in-law Mary Anne was cooking their breakfast gruel in a big iron pot over the campfire. His brother William was watering the cattle. Henry looked for the river but saw only the flat, barren plains they had traveled across for so many days. The sun was bright and the world looked cheerful. No river anywhere. Henry sighed with relief and jumped to the ground.
“Morning, Henry,” William greeted his brother pleasantly. “Get the team hitched. High time we were on the move.”
William was a captain of ten wagons including his own. In order to help him Henry had left his parents and younger brothers at Council Bluffs to travel with William and Mary Anne to the Salt Lake Valley. He drove William’s wagon while his brother rode their horse Clarice and helped the other wagons, always keeping an eye out for Indians.
“How far to the Platte River, William?” Henry held his breath while he waited for the answer. He remembered crossing another river after they left Nauvoo and how the waters had rushed against the wagon, pulling it downstream and almost overturning it. He was only eight at the time and his mother had held him close. Now when he thought about driving the wagon and team across a river by himself, a cold knot of fear tightened in his stomach.
“We’ll cross the Platte before nightfall, Henry. Tonight we’ll sleep on the far bank!” William said, smiling fondly at his younger brother. He touched Clarice lightly on the flank and moved down the line of wagons.
Henry hurriedly ate his breakfast and hitched the oxteam. But all through the long, hot day his fear of the river increased. In spite of his worry, Henry kept one eye on the team he was driving and the other on Leo, William’s steer that followed along with the other loose cattle. The company had twenty-four head, and one of Henry’s jobs was to see that Leo didn’t wander off. Henry and Leo had become good friends on the long journey west.
The afternoon sun was low in the sky when the caravan finally reached the river. Henry saw it as the wagon came up over a little rise. He stared at the dark, muddy water that wound like a long snake across the flat land. It doesn’t look too bad, he thought with relief. I’m sure I can drive the wagon across by myself.
William rode by on his horse. “Move the wagon up to the bank, Henry,” he directed. “We’re going to ford it here in the shallowest place.”
Farther downstream there was fast water swirling into eddies, and Henry was relieved that William had picked this place for crossing. When he reached the bank, Henry could see that the first wagons were already halfway across the river and that the animals had to swim only about twenty yards.
There were two wagons ahead of Henry now, and he had to be ready to go into the river. His hands tightened on the reins and he tried to start the animals forward, but his body wouldn’t move. He glanced down and found that his hands were trembling. William was beside the wagon, watching. “Henry, you’re pale as a ghost. You feel all right?”
“I … I’m fine, William, honest.” Henry tried again to start the team, but his body wouldn’t respond.
William swung down from his horse and leaped onto the wagon seat beside him. “You don’t look so good to me,” he said. “You ride Clarice, Henry, and I’ll drive the team across.” William took the reins from Henry’s trembling hands and flicked the oxen. “Haw!” he yelled, and the wagon lurched forward. Henry didn’t argue. He clambered over William’s feet and jumped to the ground, his face hot with shame but with relief flooding through his body.
“Mind you watch the cattle,” William called over his shoulder as the wagon rumbled into the river.
Henry mounted the horse and watched the procession of wagons fording the stream. He wished desperately that the river would swallow him up. How can I ever face William again? he wondered. What a baby I am!
The last wagon was in the water now and there had been no trouble at all. Only the loose cattle and a herdsman on horseback were left to cross.
Henry was in the water watching the line of wagons stretching out on the other side of the river when some of the cattle started to sink in the soggy banks. Panicking, they let out great bellows and began to run downstream. This frightened the cattle already partway across and they turned back, following the others down the river. Before anyone could stop them, all twenty-four animals were caught in the current and drifting into the deep, swirling white water.
Henry knew how important the cattle were in settling a new land. When he caught sight of Leo, swimming madly with the others, he could see how frightened the animal was. Without thinking, Henry nudged Clarice and drove her straight downriver. She balked and would have turned back, but Henry pressed her on. Icy water splashed over them as Clarice plunged into the deep water. Henry bent forward, grasped the mare’s slippery neck, and held on tightly as they swam toward the animals.
Now they were among the cattle, the whole herd swimming frantically, their eyes wild with fear. The current caught Henry and the horse. All the boy could do was hold fast and try to see through the foaming water.
As they came near Leo’s head, Henry reached for a horn. The steer jerked away in fright and Henry nearly plunged headlong into the water. Keeping his legs locked around the mare’s body, he struggled upright and clung to her, gasping for breath. Again they came near the steer and Henry grasped the horn firmly, this time hanging on. With his other hand he pulled on the reins, turning Clarice toward the far shore. She swam steadily against the current and Henry clung to Leo’s horn with all his strength.
Finally they reached quiet water, and when Henry looked back he saw that all the other animals were following. One by one, the animals left the eddy and swam after Henry, who had Leo firmly in tow.
When Clarice finally scrambled up the bank, Henry slid from her back and lay exhausted on the sand. The men were in the shallow water now, leading their animals to safety.
William and Mary Anne knelt beside Henry. “You gave us quite a scare,” William said. “Guess you’ll be a hero for a while around here.”
Henry looked up into his brother’s face and saw admiration and relief written plainly on his features. He smiled and said, “Next time, I’ll drive the wagon across if you don’t mind.”
William laughed and helped Henry to his feet. “Let’s move. If we hurry, we can make camp before sundown.”
Henry gratefully jumped onto the wagon and took the reins once again. They felt good in his hands as he guided the wagon toward the setting sun.

The last time I saw President Heber J. Grant was in the Church Administration Building when he was quite aged. President Grant had been driven to the Church Administration Building where the driver called for another brother to help him assist President Grant, one on each arm, to his office.
I was just entering the building as President Grant was coming toward the door. He said to the two brethren assisting him, “Isn’t that Brother Benson coming?”
They replied, “Yes.”
He said, “Come here. Come here, Brother Benson.”
I walked over to him, and President Grant said, “Did I ever tell you about the mean trick Brigham Young played on your great-grandfather?”
I said, “No, President. I didn’t know Brigham Young ever played a mean trick on anyone.”
He responded, “Oh, yes, he did. I’ll tell you about it.”
I could see that the two brethren were practically supporting all of President Grant’s weight, so I said, “I’ll come and visit you some time. I’d like to hear the story.”
He replied, “No, I’ll tell you right here. These brethren can hold me steady while I tell you.”
He said, “You know where Zion’s Bank is, on the corner of Main Street and South Temple Street?”
I said, “Yes.”
He continued, “Your great-grandfather built the finest home in Salt Lake City on that corner, with the exception of Brigham Young’s home (which, of course, was the Lion House which still stands). He had it all finished. It was a beautiful home—two stories with a porch at both levels on both sides of the house. It had a white picket fence around it with fruit trees and ornamental trees and with a little stream running through the yard. He was all ready to move his families in from their log cabins when President Young called him into the office one day. ‘Brother Benson,’ he said, ‘we would like you to go to Cache Valley in northern Utah and pioneer that area and preside over the Saints. We suggest you sell your home to Daniel H. Wells.’
“Now,” President Grant said, “Daniel H. Wells was Brigham Young’s counselor. Wasn’t that a mean trick? Come on, brethren, let’s go.”
In all the years that I had attended the Benson Family reunions I had never heard that story. So I had it verified by the Church Historical Department, and they assured me that the facts were as President Grant related them. They told me they had an old photograph of the old home.
Since that time, I have been most grateful for the so-called “mean trick” of President Young, because were it not for that, the Bensons would not have their roots in Cache Valley.

My seminary teacher used the article “Extra Strength” (Jan. ’02) in one of her lessons. That very day, a friend from school was asking me questions about the Church while we were in the weight room. I tried to answer him the best I could but didn’t feel my words were very influential. But I felt impressed to do as the young woman in the article did. The following day I gave my friend the new For the Strength of Youth and told him it contained the guidelines written for teenagers to follow. It felt good to have done this small missionary effort.
Marek de SavignyDunrobin, Ontario, Canada

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”15

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.