Gospel Story Finder

Let me share with you one of my favorite and true love stories. I happened into the story very late in its development. One night I went with my husband to a company dinner party. I sat next to an older man who was there with his wife. She had suffered a stroke, so consequently he would lean over to cut her meat and help her with her food. His manner was tender and very solicitous. As he finished the meal he turned toward me with a sigh. I said to him, “You are so good to your wife.”

His reply, “Why shouldn’t I be? I love her.”

Then he told me about how they met and about their courtship and their life together. “The first time I saw her,” he said, “was at a party in Canada. She was giving a reading. She had long golden curls and wore a beautiful white eyelet dress with a pretty blue satin sash. I was so taken by her that I told my mother that that was the woman I was going to marry. Mother laughingly indulged me. I went on my mission, and when I came home she was engaged to another. I was asked to take a special assignment by the bishop, and when I protested he told me that if I would always put the work of the Lord first I would find that the Lord would always take care of me. I made the long trek to Salt Lake City. When I came home, she had broken her engagement. We started to date, and then we married.”

His wife rarely accompanied him in public after that dinner. It wasn’t long until her condition worsened, and she was completely bedridden and virtually unable to speak. He was a General Authority and went out on his regular conference assignments to visit and counsel the Saints. It was his practice to come home and tell her all about the conference. One day as he finished, he teased, “If you are not going to speak back to me, then I am not going to tell about my experiences. You must not love me anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and with great effort she rallied enough strength to form the words, “I do love you.” It was laborious and extremely slow, but with great effort she got the words out. He determined he would never again treat their love lightly, for the love they knew transcended even the crippling hindrance of her physical impairment.

At the funeral of this special woman, Zina Card Brown, every speaker commented on her love both for her sweetheart, President Hugh B. Brown, and for others. Elder Marvin J. Ashton declared, “Some of us are where we are because of her.” President Marion G. Romney said, “Wherever she was she was a loving lady.” President N. Eldon Tanner declared that President Brown was so successful because of her love. President Kimball said that the love of President and Sister Brown was such that they would soon be together again everlastingly. Her love pulled them toward immortality—a beginning of eternity.

When Thomas Lillbäck was 11, his father was killed in a train accident. When he was 12, his mother died of cancer.

“It was very difficult,” the 18-year-old from the Vasterhaninge Ward, Stockholm Sweden Stake, explains. “My mother knew in advance she was going to die, so she made arrangements for me and my younger brother, Mathias. My parents were recent converts to the Church, but they knew some good people in the stake. They agreed to take care of us when she was gone.”

Thomas and Mathias have been part of the Simonsson family ever since.

“The Church has helped in building our relationships,” Thomas says. “We came into a gospel-centered home, and that made the transition easier. We had the same ideas. We had faith in the Lord, in the scriptures, and in prayer. We all knew that someday we’d see my mother and father again.”

The Simonssons live near the Stockholm Sweden Temple. Brother Simonsson is a temple worker, and Thomas often goes to the temple to do baptisms for the dead.

“When I’m in the temple, I give thanks for my present earthly family,” Thomas says. “I know they have blessed me a lot and I love them dearly. But I also think of my parents who are now in heaven. I know the Lord has promised that someday, if I live worthily, I can see them both again.”

One bishop reported to his stake president that he did not have enough active members to provide lunch for the missionaries every day. The wise stake president suggested that the bishop invite less-active members of the ward to participate. Much to the surprise of the bishop, many of the less-active members were pleased to have the missionaries come to their homes for a noon meal. In fact, many of these less-active members were anxious to share with the missionaries the stories of their conversions. More often than not, they would get out photographs of the missionaries who baptized them. This simple idea is bringing many unexpected blessings to the Church.
As the members share their food with the missionaries, the missionaries bring into homes the special spirit that only they carry, blessing both the members and the missionaries. Many less-active members are returning to full fellowship, and many more members are becoming involved in missionary work because of this simple expression of love and service. How often, brothers and sisters, we can solve seemingly large problems through relatively simple means!

I was born in Armenia when it was part of the Soviet Union. My parents taught me and my two siblings to be honest, good, and morally clean, and they did everything to give us a good education. But one of the first things I learned in kindergarten was a philosophy that religion is the opium of the people. And until I was 12 years old, I never knew there was a God.
When I was 12, a terrible earthquake destroyed 90 percent of my hometown, killing more than 50,000 people. I was in school when the noise became louder and louder, and everything around us began to shake. I was pulled into the crowd, trying to escape the building. Amid all the confusion, I suddenly realized I might never see my family again. In that moment, I saw a red knit scarf my mother had made for me hanging in a large hallway to the right of the stairwell. Following an impression, I broke from the crowd and went to retrieve the scarf. In that instant the ground shook for the third and last time, and I witnessed the stairwell collapse with all my friends in its ruins. Upon regaining my senses, I found that the whole school was a huge mass of rubble—with the exception of that tiny area housing me and my red knit scarf.
My entire family of five survived. When my father saw my mom, my eight-month-old sister, my seven-year-old brother, and me sitting in the middle of the street after seven hours of searching for us, the only thing he said was, “Blessed be Thy name, God.” I had lost my home, but for the first time I heard the name of God.

We are commanded to teach our children to pray and to walk uprightly before the Lord. You may remember the story that Elder Robert L. Simpson told about a three-year-old boy who knelt down with his daddy to say his bedtime prayers. Eyes were closed, heads were bowed, but no words were spoken for several moments. Soon the little boy climbed into his bed. The daddy opened his eyes and said, “But what about prayers?”
And the boy answered, “I said my prayers.”
“But I didn’t hear you,” said the daddy.
Then followed the child’s classic comment, “But Daddy, I wasn’t talking to you.” (See Proven Paths, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1974, p. 148.)

When I was 11 years old, I won my first state cross-country title and vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness and determined to conquer mediocrity, I stormed the gates of excellence as I began a routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from three to ten miles. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to deter me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto. I even learned to like healthy foods.
By the time I was 14, things could not have been going better. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by our local newspaper as the fastest freshman in the state of Oregon. I felt good and knew I was ready.
Three teammates and I had been invited to participate in the prestigious Meet of Champions in Portland. Full of confident chatter, we piled into the team van with our coach on our way to the meet.
As we pulled onto the highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously decided to fasten my seat belt. Everyone began joking about the seat belt law. In the midst of the teasing, I casually looked up and noticed a car flying over the top of a hill approximately 200 yards ahead of us. Completely out of control, it was coming directly toward us in our lane. It began swerving back and forth between the borrow pit and the road, barely avoiding several cars ahead of us. Crippled by a sense of sickening helplessness, the occupants of our van were seized by an ominous silence as we focused on the inescapable disaster that surely would occur.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radio lingo, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by a policeman. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt buckled, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. A dozen policemen dotted the hillside and roadway. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances whirled in beside our crushed van, and I was very carefully extracted from the totaled vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one medic say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
It turned out my back wasn’t broken—just my nose. However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my timetable for being in top form for nationals was once again interrupted.
After regaining my strength I began to work out. But as I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and smooth strides, like I used to. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. Even though I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him, and how the luck that had thwarted my progress favored him.
I watched Tyler take state, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A horde of excited fans swarmed around him as I stood back. In spite of myself, an uncanny sense of pride swelled inside of me, and as Tyler’s blue eyes shot past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the warmth was so intense that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. His need for my approval drew from me a depth of response that shredded my resentment. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to nationals equipped with all I knew and the might of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of drills to improve his reflexes, surges, and kick. We talked racing whenever we could. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both took first in the Northwest Regional Championships that qualified us for the national meet in North Carolina. Because of the break in my training caused by the accident, I realistically hoped to place in the top 25. I achieved that by taking 21st out of 300 runners. I reached my goal and earned all-American status.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. As we sought out his place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I could sense his apprehension as if it was my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy.
“Be tough, Ty. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can take The Kid,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a flawless race as I sprinted from place to place on the course cheering him on and hoping he could feel my support. Could he hear me above the crowd? Could he sense how I was pulling for him to find the strength? He came out of the trees in second place. “Stay on his shoulder, Ty!” I screeched. “Use your arms! Breathe deep!”
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters we had run over and over together. It was a moment we had planned. “Pull, Tyler! Give it all you’ve got! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish as the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me I had won something too. Shaken and jubilant, I was consumed by a riot of emotions. I had given myself away and felt something far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Breathless and filled with fatigue, Tyler again sought my eyes over the crowd. As he came to my side, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way. I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”

My locker slammed shut as I turned and hurried up the stairs so I wouldn’t be late for my seventh-grade science class. I was supposed to have something in mind for a science project. I thought a papier-mache volcano would be great, but I knew that instead Mom would probably help me figure out a project to demonstrate capillary action with a stalk of celery and some red food coloring in water.
Just as the bell rang, I sat down in my assigned seat at the back of the classroom. I was beginning to hate being assigned seats alphabetically because I always ended up in the rear of the room.
I hardly had time to say anything to Julie Westergaard, one of the few students who sat further back than I did; when my science teacher started talking. He was obviously upset by something, and we were going to hear about it. He started the day’s lesson, not on science, but about the fact that the United States was facing a major military crisis. The Soviet Union was sending ships loaded with missiles to Cuba. Our president had set up a blockade to stop them. “It could mean war,” my teacher said, pounding the desk for emphasis. “The world as it is right now could end in half an hour. Do you all realize what a nuclear war would be like? It would be the end of the world.”
I was riveted to my chair. The sound of my teacher’s voice seemed very far away, and the loudest noise was my blood pounding in my ears. I was terrified, but I held the terror and panic I felt inside. The rest of the day was a blur.
I walked home from school that day with my science teacher’s words replaying in my mind. “The world could end in half an hour. The world could end in half an hour.”
I didn’t mention my concerns to my parents. I was a grown-up twelve-year-old and was trying to show my independence by not confiding every fear to my mother.
After dinner, I sat down at my desk in my bedroom to do my homework. I wasn’t usually so prompt about getting to my homework first thing in the evening, but nothing else seemed to distract my mind from the worry over the threat of world war. After a while, I was tired of homework and I began to putter with other things I found lying around. As I was sorting through a stack of paper, I picked up a bookmark that had been given to me as I had entered the young women’s organization earlier that year. On the back was a suggested reading list for the year. I had never noticed the list before, but since I was trying to postpone getting back to my school books, I decided I would start reading a little of the first thing on the list—the book of Matthew as translated by Joseph Smith, located in the last few pages of the Pearl of Great Price.
Soon tears blurred my vision and a feeling of warm calm enveloped me as I read the twenty-third verse: “And you also shall hear of wars and rumors of wars; see that ye be not troubled, for all I have told you must come to pass; but the end is not yet.” (JS—M 1:23.)
I read on about the last days and the signs of the times before Christ would come again. But the fear and panic I had felt that day in science class were gone. I knew that our Heavenly Father was aware of us and that world events were proceeding as had been prophesied. I had no need to fear.
Since that night alone in my bedroom with the Pearl of Great Price open on the desk, I have kept that calm feeling as events that seem so threatening unfold. I do not accept the violence of the world and yearn with most of mankind for peace, but I am well aware of the prophecies in the scriptures and have a promise that I should not be troubled.

In September of 1840, Joseph Smith, Sr. gathered his family around him. This venerable patriarch was dying and wanted to leave his blessing on his beloved wife and children. Hyrum, the eldest living son, asked his father to intercede with heaven when he arrived there so the enemies of the Church “may not have so much power” over the Latter-day Saints. Father Smith then laid his hands upon Hyrum’s head and blessed him to have “peace … sufficient … to accomplish the work which God has given you to do.” Knowing of Hyrum’s lifelong faithfulness, he concluded this last blessing with the promise that Hyrum would “be as firm as the pillars of heaven unto the end of [his] days.”

An American naturalist was once walking along the seashore looking for interesting specimens of sea life. His attention was attracted to a large, strange-looking object lying ahead of him out a little way in the water. Upon examination he found that it was an immense bird, an American eagle, with a large steel trap snapped onto one foot. Three hundred miles away, on a rugged mountain slope, this great American eagle, the symbol of freedom, the emblem of power and courage, had soared down out of the sky to pick up an enticing piece of bait. In the process of getting the bait, the eagle had put his foot into the jaws of a vicious steel trap. Then the noble bird had struggled with all his might. He had jerked and pulled and fought until he had finally broken the chain and had flown away with the trap to which a part of the chain was still attached.
The eagle had regained enough of his freedom to fly 300 miles away. But he was still fatally handicapped. He must continue to endure the torment of the trap’s steel jaws relentlessly biting into his leg. In addition to the constant pain, he was now unable to maintain the old-time association with his companions. He was also severely handicapped in obtaining his food and maintaining his spirit. After weeks of suffering and exhaustion, this great eagle, worn out by struggle, famished by hunger, sickened by loneliness, and tortured by despair, had fallen into the margin of the sea to die, with the trap still biting into his broken, festering foot.

On a personal note, I think in my own life of what a challenge my wife and I had when we were first married and went for nearly five years without having children, even though we fasted, prayed, and had numerous priesthood blessings concerning that challenge. We suffered much. However, in time, after adopting our first son, seven others came naturally, and we now stand as the parents of those eight children, plus 21 grandchildren.

Does the Lord fulfill His promises? He does. Be patient. Wait upon the Lord. He does love us.

On William’s 21st birthday, May 1, 1858, he and the crew received shore leave in Honolulu, Hawaii. William heard prior to leaving Britain that President Brigham Young had sent missionaries to the Pacific islands, so the young convert tried to locate some Saints “but could find no record of them.” Unknown to him the Church had called home its Pacific missionaries to help defend Zion, if necessary, against a United States army then marching towards Utah. Ironically, the last elders working in Hawaii left the islands the same day that William landed in Honolulu.
The seaman, an isolated Mormon cut off from contact with the Church, continued to nourish his faith by himself. He read and reread the “works of the Church” that he had brought along. A priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, he was “informed about the authority of the priest to administer the sacrament,” so he felt justified in holding his own private sacrament service in his “beef house” aboard ship. “I prayed often, to the Lord,” he said, “and asked Him to acknowledge me in the administration.” On Sundays, after the ship’s religions service, William returned to his room where “I would place the hardtack (ship’s bread) and water upon a table and then offer prayer, after which I would ask the blessing upon the bread and water and partake of it. In this way I received much spiritual strength.”

Our beloved prophet, Thomas S. Monson, is our example in this regard. The stories of his attention to the whisperings of the Spirit are numerous. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland relates one such example:
Once while President Monson was on assignment in Louisiana, a stake president asked him if he would have time to visit a 10-year-old girl named Christal, who was in the final stages of cancer. Christal’s family had been praying that President Monson would come. But their home was far away, and the schedule was so tight that there wasn’t time. So instead, President Monson asked that those who offered prayers during the stake conference include Christal in their prayers. Surely the Lord and the family would understand.
During the Saturday session of the conference, as President Monson stood to speak, the Spirit whispered, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”3
“His notes became a blur. He attempted to pursue the theme of the meeting as outlined, but the name and image of [the little girl] would not leave his mind.”4
He listened to the Spirit and rearranged his schedule. Early the next morning, President Monson left the ninety and nine and traveled many miles to be at the bedside of the one.
Once there, he “gazed down upon a child too ill to rise, too weak to speak. Her illness had now rendered her sightless. Deeply touched by the scene and the Spirit of the Lord … , Brother Monson … took the child’s frail hand in his own. ‘Christal,’ he whispered, ‘I am here.’
“With great effort she whispered back, ‘Brother Monson, I just knew you would come.’”5

On Monday Jeremy wore his blue-and-white striped overalls. He was playing with his blocks when he heard his father’s car in the driveway. Jeremy ran to the front door.
“Hi there,” his father said as he came through the door. “I didn’t know a railroad engineer lived here.”
“No, Daddy, it’s just me, Jeremy,” Jeremy said. “These are only my overalls.”
Jeremy laughed as his father lifted him high in the air and swung him around until his mother called them for dinner.
Tuesday morning, when Jeremy came down to the kitchen for breakfast, he was wearing his astronaut pajamas, the ones with the rockets and stars on them.
“I didn’t know that a spaceship landed here last night,” Jeremy’s father said to Mother.
“No, Daddy, it’s just me, Jeremy,” Jeremy said.
“Well, we always feed hungry astronauts around here,” his father said, piling Jeremy’s plate high with pancakes and making zooming noises as he landed the plate in front of Jeremy.
Wednesday afternoon Jeremy ran to the door to meet his father when he came home from work. Jeremy ran fast because he was wearing his new running shoes and his sweat suit with the stripes down the arms and legs. He opened the door before his father reached the house.
“What do we have here?” his father called. “It looks like a famous athlete, right here in our own home.”
“No, Daddy, it’s just me, Jeremy,” Jeremy said. “I’m not a famous athlete.”
“Let’s see how fast you can run, anyway,” Jeremy’s father said. He chased Jeremy around the living room. Jeremy laughed as he tried to outrun his father, but he caught Jeremy in his strong arms, and they tumbled to the floor, wrestling and laughing.
Rain was pouring down on Thursday morning. After Jeremy ate his oatmeal, he got dressed for nursery school. He was pulling on his yellow rain slicker and his rubber rain boots when his father came into the room.
“Ahoy there, matey,” his father said. “Going fishing today?”
“What?” Jeremy asked, puzzled.
“Well, you must be a fisherman, dressed like that,” his father said.
“No, Daddy, it’s just me, Jeremy,” Jeremy said.
“Well, catch a lot of fish for dinner tonight, Jeremy the fisherman,” his father said as he went out the door on his way to work.
On Friday morning, Jeremy’s father stayed home. He was working in the yard when Jeremy woke up. Jeremy pulled on his favorite blue jeans and T-shirt and went out to help him.
“Who are you today?” his father asked. “A construction worker?”
“It’s just me, Jeremy,” Jeremy answered. “I’m a little boy.”
“A little boy?” his father said. “My goodness. All week I thought that you were someone else.”
“Maybe when I grow up, I’ll be a railroad engineer, or an astronaut, or a famous athlete, or a fisherman, or maybe a construction worker,” Jeremy said. “But right now I’m just a little boy.”
Jeremy’s father reached over and pulled Jeremy into a hug. “I know. You’re my little boy, and I love you just the way you are. But do you actually think that you could be someone else today too?”
“Who?” Jeremy asked.
“A gardener,” his father answered. He plopped a sun visor onto Jeremy’s head and put a rake into his hands.
Jeremy liked being a gardener. But Jeremy and his father didn’t get much work done. Every time they raked together a big pile of leaves, they jumped into the pile, laughing and scattering the leaves all over the yard. Then they stuffed leaves down each other’s shirt.
Jeremy and his father had a lot of fun that day, just being a little boy and his father.

I conclude with just one of many illustrative experiences from President Monson's life--one that he shared recently in general conference:

On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the [gym] when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs. ... I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery--by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

President Monson concluded:

My friend was able to live many more years--years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord's hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.[31]

Shortly after the pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley, a young man named David Cannon brought his wife, Wilhelmina, to southern Utah to help start a settlement. Wilhelmina, or “Willie” as she was called, was not at all happy. She hated the hot, dry desert, and cried constantly. She pleaded with her husband to take her back east, where plants and trees grew more easily and the weather was more moderate.
“Everything is so ugly here,” she complained. “If you can show me just one beautiful thing in this place, I will make myself content and stop complaining.”
David went up into the mountains and returned with a beautiful three-petaled blossom with delicate colors. Willie honestly admitted to both David and herself that it was indeed a thing of beauty. She never again complained but went to work with her husband to make a productive farm and lovely home in the St. George area, where they lived for many years.
Amazingly, the same kind of plant that inspired one discouraged pioneer with its blossom, saved the lives of countless others with its nutritious roots. It was the sego lily.

When our last grandchild was born, Sister Swain and I were invited in for the delivery. When our daughter-in-law's siblings came to the hospital to see their sister and first niece, they were all so quiet and reverent. Each one seemed to sense that something was different about that occasion, that it was sacred. They all spoke in hushed tones and no one had asked them to. Maybe the same hush and reverence occurred as the shepherds entered the stable where the Christ Child was born.

I shivered to the very center of my bones as I watched the snow-packed Teton Mountains loom into view. All the fears of the past three months seemed now to be a reality. I was going to freeze to death in the middle of July.
I’d seen the snow unmelted on the peaks. I knew the lakes would be frozen over. We’d live in snow caves and melt ice for drinking water. We’d walk on snowshoes and try to light fires with wet tinder. It was enough to make me forget that it was my turn to be alone with Dad.
My father’s work requires him to spend a lot of time away from home. So each summer, he makes up for it by taking me or one of my two brothers on a trip. This canoe trip through Yellowstone National Park and the surrounding area was to be my turn. The anticipation of having Dad to myself for a whole week was wonderful. But it was overshadowed by my fear of freezing. Even though it was a roasting July down in the valleys, I knew it must be cold up in the mountains.
I was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at Camp Loll, our first night’s stop. Though the air was crisp, snow wasn’t flying everywhere. But my fear of freezing quickly returned when a guide met us in the parking lot and told us to get ready for a swim check.
Swim check! No one had told me anything about that. I didn’t think I’d be required to get into the water. I’d come to go hiking and canoeing, not swimming. What good would all my Scout training do me if I froze to death before my 14th birthday?
The lake fulfilled all my nightmares. Slippery black water sucked me down and forced the air from my chest. But somehow I made it to the edge of the dock. By then my body was numb, and finishing the swim check was a conditioned response.
Then, to add to my despair, the guide said we now had to paddle out, swamp a canoe, get all the water out, and paddle back to shore. What if a huge ice cube formed around me and I sank? But wait a minute—ice floats! Some consolation.
Luckily, Dad was my partner. He’s been a canoeing instructor, and he really knew what he was doing. The swamping exercise was over in a matter of minutes, and it was really quite fun.
As we walked back to camp, it occurred to me that even though we were up in the mountains, it was really pretty warm. Maybe my July wasn’t going to be frozen after all. Dad and I spent the rest of the afternoon hiking around the lake, then playing horseshoes.
Morning came as quickly as I had gone to sleep, and after breakfast and a short ride to Lewis Lake we were canoeing our way to our first campsite. Surprise! There were no icebergs floating on the water. We did break a paddle, and at one point we had to pull the canoe up the Shoshone River, but the scenery and the fishing more than made up for the work.
By the third and fourth days, the warm summer sun had taken all my fears of freezing away. Winter didn’t live perpetually in the mountains. In fact, with a little hard paddling I could work up a sweat. I was beginning to wonder if anything exciting would happen on our trip.
Many other things happened on that trip. We hiked over the continental divide, we saw geysers spout and hot pots bubble and fume. We saw an elk in velvet and swam in the Fire Hole River. And guess what—not once did we freeze to death. I never even saw an igloo!

A Handcart Story It was decided that the Martin Handcart Company, with help from the rescue party and some wagons, should move on to find a sheltered place where firewood was procurable. Loaded with the sick and dying, the wagons were to move along the Sweetwater and cross to a depression later to be known as Martin’s Cove, about two and one-half miles from Devil’s Gate. The handcarts moved on November third and reached the river, filled with floating ice. To cross would require more courage and fortitude, it seemed, than human nature could muster. Women shrank back and men wept. Some pushed through, but many were unequal to the ordeal. “Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue; and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of the ill-fated handcart company across the snow-bound, ice filled stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all three boys died from the effect of it. When Brigham Young heard of the heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, “That act alone will insure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, and David P. Kimball everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end.” ( Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, pp. 132-133), (Solomon F. Kimball, Improvement Era, Feb. 1914. P. 288.)

Often in the temple, and as we engage in family history research, we feel promptings and have impressions from the Holy Ghost. Occasionally in the temple the veil between us and those on the other side becomes very thin. We get additional assistance in our efforts to be saviors on Mount Zion.
Several years ago in a temple in Central America, the wife of one of our now-emeritus General Authorities assisted a father, a mother, and their children in receiving eternal covenants in the sealing room, where the temple mirrors are located. As they concluded and faced those mirrors, she noticed there was a face in the mirror that was not in the room. She inquired of the mother and learned that a daughter had passed away and accordingly was not physically present. The deceased daughter was then included by proxy in the sacred ordinance. Never underestimate the assistance provided in temples from the other side of the veil.

Corey’s introduction to scripture study came from his grandfather. He remembers going to visit him. Each morning at breakfast, his grandfather had them read scriptures together. “I used to dislike it,” says Corey. “But now I realize that doing it is essential to strengthen one’s testimony. My grandfather was an incredible example of adhering to the gospel and to Christ. I respect him so much for that.”