Gospel Story Finder

Recently I went to the bank to withdraw some money to pay my employees. Before the teller gave me my withdrawal, I asked him to change some 200-sol bills for some 50-sol bills. The teller changed the money for me, but I thought I saw him make a mistake as he counted the bills.

He gave me my 50-sol bills, and I stepped back to wait for my withdrawal. As I waited, I counted the money. I had given the teller 1,200 soles, but he gave me 2,200 soles in return—an extra thousand soles. At that moment I was tempted. I told myself that the bank had plenty of money. But I knew in my heart that the money wasn’t mine; I had to return it.

A few moments later the teller called me to complete my transaction. He counted my withdrawal, and as he handed me the money, he asked, “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I told him. “I gave you 1,200 soles to change into smaller bills, but you gave me 2,200 in return.”

I then handed him the 2,200 soles. With hands shaking, he counted the money twice. He could hardly believe what he saw. He looked at me and tried to speak, but he could only manage to utter twice, “Thank you so much.”

I left the bank happy. That week I was preparing a lesson for the young men in my ward on overcoming temptation. It was wonderful to be able to share with them my experience at the bank.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” some of them joked. “That was a thousand soles you gave back!”

“Happiness has no price,” I responded with a smile.

How grateful I am for this experience, which strengthened both my testimony and the testimonies of the young men regarding the importance of withstanding temptation.

When I changed schools, I became good friends with a girl who was not a member of the Church. But after being my friend for a couple of years, she started to feel jealous of the Church because I was always going to activities and didn’t have a lot of time to spend with her. The situation became worse and worse—even though I really wanted to be her friend.
One day while I was working on Personal Progress, I started to work on an experience that included praying regularly for two weeks. One of the things I decided to pray for was that my friend would respect me and understand that the Church was very important to me. Two weeks later, when the experience was completed, I kept praying for the same thing.
Later when I was reviewing my Personal Progress, I was reminded of my experience with prayer. As I thought more about it, I realized that Heavenly Father had answered my prayers about my friend. My friend had totally changed; she no longer thought about me the way she had, and she had started to think about the Church in a positive way.
I got very emotional because I now had a testimony of sincere prayer. I know my Father in Heaven changed my friend’s heart. I also know that He will help us and will work miracles if we do our part.

“Please tell me a story,” Jeff said to his granny.
Granny began, “Once upon a time there was a boy.”
“He was a little boy,” Jeff said.
Granny began again. “Once upon a time there was a bad little boy.”
“No, Granny. That isn’t the way the story goes,” Jeff said. “He was a good little boy.”
Once more Granny started the story. “Once upon a time there was a good little boy.”
Jeff nodded his head up and down. “That’s the right story.”
“This good little boy was going to town.”
Jeff shook his head. “No, no, Granny. Don’t you remember? That very good little boy was going to his granny’s house.”
Granny smiled at Jeff. “That’s the same old story. Wouldn’t you like to hear a new one?”
“I like the old story,” Jeff insisted.
So Granny told it. “Once upon a time there was a very good little boy. His daddy took him in the car to see his granny. When they got to Granny’s house. Daddy stopped the car in the driveway. He smoothed Jeff’s hair and tucked Jeff’s shirttail in. ‘Be a good boy,’ Daddy said.
“Jeff climbed out of the car and waved good-bye to Daddy. Then Jeff rang Granny’s doorbell.
“When Granny opened the door, she pretended that she didn’t know him. ‘Good morning,’ Granny said. ‘Are you selling something? I don’t think I need anything today.’
“Jeff began to giggle. ‘Don’t you need a good little boy?’
“Granny made her face look surprised. ‘How did you know? That’s the only thing that I need.’
“Jeff laughed out loud. ‘I’m just what you need!’ he said.”
Granny stopped telling the story and hugged Jeff. “It’s the same old story,” she said.
“That’s why I like it,” Jeff told her. “Could we have a glass of milk and a cookie for that very good little boy? That comes next in that same old story.”

The challenges that face us and our families as disciples of Christ are somewhat different than those of Joshua’s Israelites. Let me illustrate with an experience. Our family lived for many years in the state of Florida. Because Florida has a high concentration of sand, lawns there are planted with a large broadleaf grass we call Saint Augustine. A formidable enemy of a Florida lawn is a small, brown insect called a mole cricket.

One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. “You better spray your lawn,” he warned. “There goes a mole cricket.” I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, “Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.”

I watched my lawn for more than a week, looking for signs of invaders, but none was evident. I congratulated myself that I had not overreacted to my neighbor’s warning.

The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

The day we arrived in Merthyr Tydfil, we went to the local history centre and spent a couple of confusing hours trying to decide how to begin our search. At a loss, we decided to pick up a few pamphlets and go to the Pant Cemetery where we were sure we could find the grave of Morgan Thomas, Margaret Rowland’s husband, or at least find someone who could guide us to the grave.
When we arrived, we were stunned, having been used to our western American cemeteries of limited size. Pant was huge! Hill upon hill of ancient gravestones in every conceivable state of disrepair. We all stood in disbelief as we stared at the task before us. We ultimately decided just to walk around a bit as we prayed to be guided in the right direction. After about 30 minutes of wandering, we met and determined that this would be a hopeless endeavor and somewhat discouraged, we left for dinner.
The next morning, we went to the Engine House (a genealogical repository and information center) in Merthyr to begin our research. It is there where the miracles began as we entered the Engine House and met miracle number one, Terry Jones.
My brothers Richard and Joe, Joe’s wife, Eileen, and I were downstairs learning about the history of the iron industry in the town when Richard’s wife, Sharon, and my friend Sandy went upstairs to wander and look for restrooms. There, they encountered a gentleman working on a computer and began a conversation with him about our quest. When they mentioned trying to find one grave amongst the 10,000 in Pant Cemetery he realized that we really did need some help. He introduced himself as Terry Jones and arranged for us to meet him at the cemetery office across the street where he introduced us to Deb, the keeper of records. Here we not only found Margaret’s grave site number, but others who were related and resided next to her. We were able to arrange with Deb’s husband, the caretaker of the cemetery, to meet later that day to see the graves.
Miracle number two occurred when we returned to the cemetery and realized that all six of us had previously stood very near the actual site of the graves at some point as we wandered the cemetery. The reason we didn’t see the graves was they were covered entirely by a huge tree that had completely swallowed them. We had previously photographed the tree because it was so immense and imposing, but for no other reason.
We returned later to cut away some of the lower branches so that Sharon could crawl inside and read the writing on the headstones, and we discovered that we had many more relatives buried in this plot than we realized.
Miracle number three came with a visit to the Colly Isaf farm upon which Margaret and Morgan Thomas farmed. It is no longer in the Thomas family, but the current owners allowed us to visit and to photograph the place where our family lived. We discovered the name of the farm listed on the back of a photograph found in material one of our aunts had given us.
Miracle number four occurred throughout the following year as Terry continued to do research for our family and discovered many more links in the family chain, but culminated with a discovery of John Thomas, a direct descendant of Margaret Rowland and Morgan Thomas.
John currently lives on Penrhiw farm which has been in the family since 1724 and he and his wife, Celia, were willing to meet with us. He sent us a lineage chart of all the siblings of Job who remained in Wales, adding much needed information to connect our family to those who had died. This discovery came about through another miracle, number five, that of Terry meeting Father Powell at St. Catwg’s Episcopal Church. While looking for Edward Rowland and Ann Miles, he mentioned John as a possible Thomas still living on the farm.
Miracle number six, cheap tickets to Wales even though it was at the time of the royal wedding. The window for these tickets was short, and directly after we booked them the price doubled.
Miracle number seven again involved Terry Jones who had looked for one year for the marriage of Edward Rowland and Ann Miles (Job and Margaret’s grandparents). Three weeks before we returned to Merthyr in 2018, he found it.
When we arrived in Merthyr, the scene had already been set by those who had been directing our lives for the past year. It felt as though we were in a giant genealogical chess game over which we had no control. Terry was beginning to feel the same forces in action as well. Every morning he would present us with a list of places we would visit that day. One day he showed us his list, which had two sides. He said that he created one list the night before and then this morning, for some unknown reason, he changed it and added a new place: Gadfield Elm Chapel in Gloucestershire. He said he didn’t know why he added it but thought it would be interesting for us to see. Of course, we acquiesced.
Miracle number eight: As we got to Gadfield Elm we discovered the reason. The first ownership of the chapel was given to Wilford Woodruff by the United Brethren, but it rested on or near brother Benbow’s farm. Many of the early members were baptized in Benbow’s pond. And Benbow was the maiden name of Terry’s wife. Terry was stunned. He kept saying he had no idea why he had changed the itinerary for the day, but we all knew why.
The next day we visited St. Catwg’s church and we were met by Father Powell and his lay reader Carolynn Corbin, who showed us around this very impressive 2,000-year-old building. While chatting, my brother Richard discovered miracle number nine that Carolynn was a Parry and quite likely a very close cousin of ours. We exchanged emails and discovered that we did indeed have a common ancestor. This led to a wonderful afternoon tea and the uniting of another branch of Welsh and American lines. After just a few minutes with this family we knew we had met before.
Miracle number ten: We discovered that we were not in charge in other ways as we went to Terry’s home for juice and to collect a book of remembrance that he had found when cleaning out the Engine House. He had asked Richard and Sharon to take the book of remembrance back to Logan where they live to find its owner. He showed Sharon this photo of a family reunion taken in 2004 (he had been doing research for the person who sent it to him), and she recognized someone. She immediately texted that person, and as a result, the connection was made between the photo and the owner of the book of remembrance.
There were more miracles during our visit that involved finding graves that were hidden in cemeteries, discovering writing on tombstones that were covered in lichen and moss, and potentially uncovering ancestors of whom we had no knowledge. If you ever doubt that the veil is thin or that there are others across that veil who wish their work done, let these experiences prove to you that you can be an instrument in their hands. If you allow yourself to be open to the impressions, the promptings, or urgings, as a member of this Church or not, the work of Elijah can be accomplished. Please always live so that you can be a vehicle in the work of redeeming your dead; so that when you meet them, they will encircle you with their joy and gratitude.

Going to MIA is no longer an interstate situation for Church members in Aiken, South Carolina.
The 23 youths of the Aiken Branch, Columbia South Carolina Stake, are no longer traveling to Augusta, Georgia, for their weekly Aaronic Priesthood MIA meeting.
To celebrate their new meeting place closer to home, the group held an opening social to initiate their building as classroom, cultural hall, and chapel for all future meetings.
The youth enjoyed games and food, as well as joining in for a dance.

A few years ago I found myself in a small city park which was covered with trees and adorned with monuments, a plaza typical of many found throughout Argentina. I was watching a sculptor as he used a hammer and chisel to put the finishing touches on his project. His artwork portrayed a mother holding a child in her arms.
The artist was working to perfect the hands of the mother, which were fashioned of marble, and the results appeared to me to be masterful strokes in the sculptor’s own style.
As I stood there fascinated, eager to grasp knowledge of the artist’s skills, a shoeshine boy passing by stopped and stood by me. After attentively watching the progress of the final touches for a few moments, the industrious young boy turned to me and in amazement asked, “Sir, tell me, why is he breaking it now?”
The youth’s naive and unexpected query gave me cause to contemplate the examples which we constantly set, the impressions we give by our actions and our behavior. It made me realize how extremely important our examples can be, as is the force or weakness with which we convey our personal convictions in our everyday life.

Li Hsiao-lung, 17, of the First Ward, said having a temple in Taipei continues a history of conversion in her life. “When my brother was baptized, he recognized that the gospel is precious. He decided to share this sweet fruit. He invited me to church, and I heard the missionary discussions. He got me excited about reading the scriptures. He taught me how to pray. Since I’ve been in the Church, I feel like my understanding keeps growing and growing. I think that when I go to the temple, it will help me to keep growing and understanding.”

Chandradas “Roshan” and Sheron Antony of Colombo, Sri Lanka, decided to be sealed in the temple. Their friends Ann and Anton Kumarasamy were so excited for them. But they knew that getting to the Manila Philippines Temple wasn’t easy or cheap.
Roshan and Sheron had saved their money and booked flights months in advance to get a flight they could afford. Finally, the day came. However, during their layover in Malaysia, they discovered that to continue on to the Philippines, they either needed a visa or needed to fly on a different airline. It wasn’t possible to get a visa, and they couldn’t afford to buy tickets on another airline. But they couldn’t bear the thought of returning home without being sealed.
Unsure what else to do, Roshan called Anton. Anton and Ann desperately wanted to help. They were one of the few couples in Sri Lanka who had been sealed in the temple, and they knew what a blessing it was. But they had recently used their savings to help a family member in need, and they didn’t have enough money to help Roshan and Sheron buy tickets for a new flight.
In Sri Lanka it is customary for the groom to buy the bride a gold necklace so that she will have some money if her husband dies. Ann decided to sell her necklace to help buy the new tickets. Her generous gift made it possible for Roshan and Sheron to make their temple appointment in Manila.
“I know the value of a temple sealing,” Ann said. “I knew Sheron and Roshan would be a great strength to the branch. I didn’t want them to miss this opportunity.”3

1 Over the mountains and through the desert to Grandmother’s house we go!
2 Abuelita (Grandmother)!
3 The day after Thanksgiving
Why haven’t you gone into town with your brothers and sisters and cousins?
Because I love you, and I don’t get to see you very often.
4 You’re a good boy, Ramón, and you’ll be a good man. I wish your grandfather could have known you.
I wish I could have known him, too, Abuelita. I’m trying to be good so I can be with him someday. I don’t always make it, though.
5 Neither do I, querido (dear), and he didn’t either. But he always tried to do his very best, and he always repented of his sins. If we do the same, I think we’ll be fine.
6 Now, can you find room for another piece of my candy?
I’ll do my very best.

I would like to acknowledge the work that is put into the New Era. I am the editor of the branch paper, and am finding it a challenge to get it out every month. About four years ago I had a letter published in Feedback. Because of that letter, I gained a very special friend. Lori Wall saw my letter and found it very close to her ideals. She wrote to me, and we have been writing to each other ever since. We hope someday to meet each other. I feel that I have known her since the time before we came to earth. I know that I have come to know a very special spirit and sister. Thank you so much for helping us meet each other. I hope that you have made someone else as happy as myself.
Petra MillsOrange, N.S.W., Australia

Last year the missionaries knocked on their door and were invited to come inside. After the missionaries taught the family, Mother decided that she wanted to join the Church, and knew that it would help her teach the gospel to her family. Father decided that he needed to obey the Word of Wisdom so that he could be baptized too. Both parents were baptized on July 10, 1991. About a week later, Loli was baptized by her father. The Primary children sang at her baptism. A few weeks after that, Pili decided that she was ready to be baptized too. She knew that it was important for her family to become an eternal family. When Pili was confirmed, she could feel the Holy Spirit in her heart.

Leaders of the Church have counseled us to cultivate a garden at our homes. Recently, members from the Mountain View Ward in Nairobi, Kenya heeded that counsel, and following their bishop’s assignment and worked hard to create a ward shamba (the word ‘shamba’ means ‘garden’ in Swahili). Ward members joined hands and applied their knowledge in transforming the thickets and shrubs into a bountiful harvest.

Finally, the day came when the rewards were quite visible and abundant. The Mountain View Ward members’ hard work proved itself. There was an abundance of food, ranging from bananas to mboga to beans and they are about to harvest the maize. It was clear that the members’ aim wasn’t for instant gratification. They understood that in all harvests, some blessings don’t come until later, so they chose to be patient with the sweet potatoes and cassava.

While there, I had the opportunity to perform ordinances on behalf of my uncle who had died of cancer. When I was being baptized for him, I thought about the blessings he would receive through this temple ordinance. I was so happy, and I recognized what the temple president told me when I had come to the temple for the first time and had been a little bit confused. He told me, “Brother, you may not understand all of what you are doing right now, but a day will come when you will feel you have done great things here.”
I got my answer. It has taken me four years to understand by visiting the temple for the second time.

Here is a true story that relates a simple experience of a nineteen-year-old who became a remarkable one. He was magnified and had great powers beyond his natural abilities as the Lord acted through him. There was a young nineteen-year-old admirer of Joseph Smith, Philemon Merrill, who had come with other loyal followers to rescue their prophet from the hands of sheriffs Reynolds and Wilson. While returning to Nauvoo, the company rested “in a little grove of timber.” One of the lawyers for the sheriff and the kidnappers boasted of his wrestling powers. He offered a wager that he could throw any man in Illinois. Stephen Markham, a bodyguard of Joseph’s and a huge man, also an experienced wrestler, took up the challenge. The boaster threw Stephen, and a taunting shout went up from the Prophet’s enemies.

As the taunts continued, Joseph Smith turned to young Philemon Merrill and said: “Get up and throw that man.”

The boy was about to refuse, to excuse himself by saying he was not a wrestler, but the look in the Prophet’s eye silenced his tongue. “He arose to his feet filled with the strength of a Samson.” Philemon “lifted his arms” and told the lawyer to take his choice of sides.

“The man took the left side with his right hand under,” which gave him a decided advantage. Philemon Merrill’s friends protested, but young Philemon felt such confidence in the words of the Prophet that it made little difference to him what advantage his antagonist took. As they began to grapple, Joseph instructed him, “‘Philemon, when I count three, throw him!’

“On the instant after the word dropped from Joseph’s lips,” Philemon Merrill, “with the strength of a giant, threw the lawyer over his left shoulder, and he fell striking his head upon the earth.”

Little wonder it is reported that “awe fell upon the opponents of the Prophet when they saw this, and there were no more challenges to wrestle during the journey” (George Q. Cannon, Life of Joseph Smith the Prophet, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1964, pp. 450–51).

Girls in the Idaho Falls Idaho East Stake, working for their Summiteer Award in the Young Women camp program, mounted horses and headed for Dead Horse Point on a riding adventure.
For most, riding horses on mountain trails with a sleeping bag tied on behind was a new experience. After receiving instructions on the care of her horse (each girl was expected to brush, saddle, bridle, feed, and hobble her assigned horse during the trip), they headed into the mountains. Past camp experience prepared them for making camp with a minimum of equipment, but long hours in the saddle had the girls discovering new, untested muscles.
After maneuvering up a steep trail to a site appropriately named Dead Horse Point, the group was treated to a spectacular view of the Teton Range from the summit.
At the end of the three days, the girls and their leaders were becoming accustomed to the skills needed to ride the mountain trails. With rain threatening, the group broke camp, loaded the horses, and headed home from an adventure that brought them closer together and left them confident of their abilities to survive and enjoy the outdoors.

I am writing this letter to thank you for “You Sing—You Love” by Kent Rappleye in the December 1978 New Era. I started reading it in my father’s car while we were going to another city. It was so beautiful I could feel the love coming from it. It was so full of expression and of the Spirit that if I tried hard I could hear the choir singing. After reading the first column I had to stop three times because tears were filling my eyes. The spirit that held me was so great that I had to testify then and there: “Jesus is the Christ, and we are in his church.” When I finished that article, I couldn’t keep reading because I had to meditate and savor that special experience. At a time when I needed it most, the Spirit had once again testified to me that the gospel is true and that we are working to build the kingdom of God here. For the rest of the day I felt this way and just tried to pass it around.

Sister Batson, our Blazer leader, was preparing us to become deacons. She faithfully took us on monthly hikes. One hike was down a dry desert wash toward Lake Mead. Sister Batson stayed with the stragglers while five or six of us forged ahead. We were quite a distance ahead when we heard something. It was a baby rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. Rather than giving it plenty of room, we found some sticks and began poking at it. The snake took off across the desert. Naturally we took off after it, running as fast as our legs would carry us, chasing that snake. We cornered it against the side of a gulch where it coiled with its one rattle making as much noise as it could. We formed a semicircle around the snake, and on the count of three, we rushed it.
The first guy in and at the bottom of the pile was Malcolm. Suddenly he exploded out of the pile, throwing us everywhere, and started a panic run across the desert with the snake attached to his hand. We took off after him and succeeded in ankle tackling him. He was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs, “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
We each took a leg and arm to pin him down so we could save his life. We then took out our trusty snakebite kits (which aren’t at all like the ones used today and not to be recommended). They consisted of several suction cups, a shoestring tourniquet, some antibacterial iodine, and a razor blade. The shoestring tourniquet didn’t seem big enough, so we whipped off our Scout belts and placed half a dozen tourniquets up his arm. We then stained his arm brown with the iodine. We decided that the suction cups were not good enough, and we would have to suck the poison out. We were arguing about who got to do the sucking and who got to cut him when Sister Batson arrived. She grabbed Malcolm, threw him over her shoulder, ran back to the van with us right behind her, and got Malcolm to the hospital in time to save his hand.
By the time I got home, my father had found out what happened. He took me to my room, sat me on the end of the bed, and said three words of profound meaning, “Son,” he said, “DON’T CHASE SNAKES!”

The vast snow-covered plains loomed against a frozen blue-white sky. For as far as the eye could see, there were no signs of life, and the sun was a mere sliver of white in a frozen dome of sky.
Sentar shivered, then followed Bratsk from the pine-covered lean-to. He stood and brushed the snow from his knees. “Put your eye shield on, or the snow will blind you!” Bratsk growled irritably. “It is bad enough that I have to cross these mountains—but to drag a youth like you along makes it even worse!”
Obediently Sentar did as he was told, then pulled his cap snugly down around his ears. “Yes, that is better,” he agreed as he breathed puffs of frozen air.
Bratsk attached his snowshoes to the bottom of his fur boots. “We will have to follow that trail,” he grumbled, pointing, “up through the high pass and beyond to the village of your grandmother. We must reach our destination before nightfall, for there is little shelter for anyone who tarries on the mountains after dark. Use your energy wisely, lad, for you will surely need every bit of it to get to your grandmother’s village.”
Sentar nodded. He followed Bratsk through the unbroken snow. For hours they trudged across the vast snow-covered mountain, struggling step by weary step. Each peak looked like the one before it. Sentar felt as if they were moving across a very narrow trail over the very top of the world, as if one careless step in either direction could send him sliding down the side of a hundred icy ravines to his death. At a stand of rocks, Sentar finally paused to catch his breath. As he stood panting, he heard a small noise and looked down. There, on a narrow ledge, was a boy half-buried in the snow.
“Look, Bratsk! Someone has fallen over the cliff!”
Bratsk turned and looked over his shoulder. “That is nothing to us! We need all our energy just to reach our destination. It would seem that he has already reached his!” With a gesture, he turned back along the trail, anxious to continue.
“Wait, Bratsk,” Sentar pleaded. “It will be no danger to you—I will climb down and see if I can help!” He knelt and swung his legs over the side of the ledge. “Hello!” he shouted hopefully. His words reached out in all directions and bounced back hollowly. Still, he thought he saw the boy’s hands move ever so slightly. “He is alive!” he shouted. “I saw him move!” Again his words echoed from every frozen surface. Quickly Sentar slipped his pack from his shoulders and crawled carefully but eagerly over the side.
Bratsk stopped on the trail above. “Do not do this thing!” he warned angrily. “If you do, you do it alone!”
Sentar looked up into Bratsk’s face. “We cannot pass him by and leave him here to die!”
Bratsk’s eyes narrowed. “You do not know the way of the mountains!” he thundered. “You are young and do not understand. The boy is as good as dead already! If you attempt to rescue him, two bodies will freeze in the snow instead of one! Then what will I tell your grandmother? Save your strength for yourself!”
Sentar then looked down again and shook his head. He knew that if he left the boy to die, part of him would die too. He had to do what he knew was right. “I cannot leave him.”
Bratsk scowled. “Then good-bye, Sentar. I will tell your grandmother that wolves ate your hide!”
“Bratsk!”
But the guide had already turned his back on Sentar and was continuing silently through the snow.
With a sinking heart, Sentar watched Bratsk disappear along the ridge. Then the youth uncoiled his rope and tied it to a rock. Slowly he lowered himself onto the ledge. Carefully he turned the boy onto his side. The boy moaned softly, and Sentar was encouraged. “You will be all right,” he promised as he gently rubbed the boy’s hands together. “I will help you.”
Sentar strapped the boy to his back and struggled back up to the trail. Gasping, he collapsed on the snow and rested. As soon as he had caught his breath, he staggered to his feet again and, carrying the boy on his back, trudged along the trail. As nightfall came, the snow began again, driving in blinding waves. Sentar stopped and lowered the boy to the ground, for he could no longer see the way. Desperate, he hollowed an opening in the snow and crawled inside it, dragging the boy with him.
The next morning, Sentar moved on with his burden. As he traveled, he spoke reassuring words, not only to the unconscious boy but also to himself. “I can do it,” he mumbled wearily. “I know that I can do it! If I do not try, I would not be able to live with myself. Even if we do not make it, well, at least we tried.”
Finally Sentar stood gasping on a slope. He could see his destination below, where smoke spiraled from stone chimneys. “We’ve made it, my friend,” he exulted. “Soon you will have hot food and the shelter you need. You will be cared for properly.”
The people greeted Sentar joyously, and his grandmother quickly took them into her home. Later, as Sentar sat by the fire, his grandmother came from the other room. “The boy will live?” he asked.
Grandmother nodded and smiled. “Yes, he is young and will be fine.”
“But what was he doing on the mountain?” Sentar wondered.
“We will have to ask him when he is well enough to talk,” Grandmother replied. “Perhaps he was lost. Bratsk, however, was not as fortunate as you.”
Sentar’s forehead creased. “What of Bratsk?”
Grandmother shook her head slowly. “His feet were badly frostbitten, and he is in much pain.”
Sentar frowned. “How can that be? Bratsk knows the mountains far better than I, and I reached my destination even without his guidance and with a burden he would not share.
She nodded. “When you cared enough to carry an unknown boy over the snow-covered mountains, you drew warmth from your efforts, and the boy you carried drew warmth from you. You helped each other live. You see, many times a burden is also a blessing. Always remember, my son, reaching your destination is rarely more important than what you do along the way.

Brad introduced Jenna to the gospel when they were 17. He baptized her just a week after she turned 18. “My parents were present when I took the discussions and were not shy about asking questions,” Jenna says. “But they always thought that this was a fleeting thing with me.”

Brad and Jenna wrote to each other during Brad’s mission. When Brad returned from his mission and asked Jenna to marry him, “my parents realized that this was not a fleeting thing,” Jenna says. “For two years my parents knew they would not be able to see me be married, but it wasn’t until Brad and I began to plan and prepare that their hurt began to show. They felt left out. They felt as if they were being told that they weren’t good people because they weren’t members and didn’t have temple recommends. Brad and I had even considered having a civil marriage and then waiting a year to be sealed. However, I knew in my heart that I needed to stand up for what I believe in. We needed to be an example to my parents, our friends, and family.”

While Brad and Jenna were being sealed, one of the temple workers talked to Jenna’s parents about the temple. Jenna had planned one more thing: “I gave my parents each a card telling them how much I loved them and that I knew someday they would understand why I had made this decision.”

The day after their sealing, Brad and Jenna continued their wedding celebration. Back home in Wisconsin, they publicly exchanged rings and held a reception at the church. “My mom and father-in-law both gave talks,” Jenna says. “We tried to make my family feel as involved as possible.”

As Jenna looks back on her wedding, she remembers the tender feelings she shared with her parents. “I know more than anything that they were able to feel the Spirit in the temple waiting room and that Heavenly Father helped them to feel at peace and to know that the decision I was making was right.”