Gospel Story Finder

Nine-year-old Brian had just returned from the baptism of his friend Jeremy. “I wish I could be baptized again, Mom,” he said as he visited with his mother in the kitchen.
“Baptized again? Why?”
“Jeremy is lucky. He is clean because he hasn’t made any mistakes since he was baptized. I wish I could be baptized again.”
Mom was surprised. They had had a family home evening about baptism and renewing the baptismal covenants by partaking of the sacrament. Brian had also learned about baptism in Primary. But it seemed that he still didn’t understand some things. …
She sat down with him at the kitchen table. “Brian, you know that each time we partake of the sacrament, we renew our covenants with the Lord. I know that you listen carefully to the sacrament prayers. What are the sacred promises we make?”
“Well, we promise to take Jesus’ name upon us. I think that that means that we promise to not do anything that would bring shame or dishonor to His name.”
“That’s right. What else do we promise?”
Brian reviewed the words of the prayers in his mind. “That we will always remember Him and keep His commandments.”
“Good. What are some ways in which we can always remember Him?”
“Sister Cassler taught us in Primary that we can ask ourselves, ‘What would Jesus want me to do?’ whenever we have a choice to make. I know that that works, because it helped me to be patient with Jenny when she broke my toy car the other day.”
“I’m pleased that you were such a loving big brother. When you are kind and patient, you show that you remember Jesus and are keeping His commandments. He taught that we should partake of the sacrament in remembrance of Him. And as we do, we gain a remission of our sins. Remission is a big word. In this case, it means that we are forgiven for the mistakes we make, if we are truly sorry for them and sincerely try to not repeat them. Before we partake of the sacrament, we should prepare ourselves spiritually. We can do that by correcting the mistakes we have made. That is called repentance.”
“You mean that if I correct the wrong things I have done and try to always remember Jesus and keep His commandments, when I partake of the sacrament, I can be just as clean as when I was baptized?”
“Yes, indeed.” Mom smiled. “We can be washed clean through obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The sacrament is one of those ordinances. We don’t need to be perfect before partaking of the sacrament, but we must be sincerely repenting of the things we have done wrong. During the sacrament service, we think of the Savior and all that He has done for us. We sing a hymn before the sacrament is blessed, which helps us to feel reverent and to remember Him. As it is passed, we can review the things we have done in the past week and look for ways to improve. Partaking worthily of the sacrament brings the blessing that our Heavenly Father promises us at baptism—to always have His Spirit to be with us.”
“So I don’t need to be baptized again! I can be clean again each week as I worthily partake of the sacrament. The sacrament helps me remember my baptismal covenant. Thanks, Mom!”
With a big smile and a hug for Brian, Mom replied, “We can show our thanks to the Savior, Jesus Christ, by keeping our baptismal covenant and partaking worthily of the sacrament each week.”

Joseph felt that if he went there, he would probably be killed, so on June 23, 1855, he rowed across the Mississippi River to avoid arrest. In a letter, Emma pleaded with him to return and surrender. Joseph also learned that some of the Saints were calling him a coward for leaving. “If my life is of no value to my friends,” he said, “it is of none to myself.” He returned to Nauvoo, and on Monday, June 24, he and the others charged in the case went to Carthage to surrender.

When they got to Carthage, they were released on bail until a circuit court judge could hear the case. Joseph and Hyrum went to talk to Governor Ford. While there, they were re-arrested on charges of treason.

Joseph and Hyrum were again jailed; John Taylor and Willard Richards went with them.

On June 27, 1844, shortly after 5:00 P.M., a mob rushed up the jail stairs to the room where the prisoners were being held. The culprits tried to break through the door, but were unable to. Shooting through the door, they hit Hyrum, who fell, saying, “I am a dead man.”

Joseph went to the window where he was shot twice from inside the building and twice more from outside. He fell out of the window to the ground and died. John Taylor was shot four times and lay under a bed, severely wounded. Willard Richards was not injured during the shooting.

After the martyrdom, John Taylor wrote, “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it. … He lived great, and he died great in the eyes of God and his people; and like most of the Lord’s anointed in ancient times, has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood. …” (D&C 135:3).

The McKay family loved music and learned to play instruments. President McKay’s son Lawrence played the violin beautifully.
President McKay: What a beautiful song.
Years later, when Lawrence became a husband and a father, he sold the violin to help make ends meet.
Lawrence: Mildred and I need the money, Father, but how I hated to give up my violin! Playing it often comforted me when I was far from home.
President McKay didn’t hesitate to solve the problem.
President McKay: I understand my son recently sold you this violin. I’m here to buy it back—I prize it too greatly to let it leave our family.
President McKay composed a poem about how much he valued his son’s musical talent and the memories they had made playing music together. A few months later, he put the violin and poem in the mail.
Lawrence: Look, Mildred, a package from my father. What do you think it is?
When Lawrence recognized his beloved violin, tears streamed down his face. He played all of his favorite songs late into the night and vowed never to part with his father’s precious gift again.

When Elder D. Todd Christofferson was about 12 years old, his dad decided to run for city council. He asked Todd to help. Todd and his brothers walked around the community handing out flyers and knocking on doors. When someone opened the door, Todd and his brothers gave them a flyer and asked them to vote for their dad, Paul Christofferson.
When Todd handed people flyers, sometimes they would say, “Paul is a good and honest man. I would have no problem voting for him.”
People knew his dad was a good person, and Todd felt proud of his dad.
Todd also knew that his dad wasn’t perfect. No one is perfect. But because of his dad’s example, Todd wanted to be a good man and a good father too when he grew up.

I can’t tell if it feels like Christmas or not, Gwen pondered as she crunched her way home from school through the snow-blanketed city park. It seems so different from other years.
Her younger brother Peter walked silently at her side. The playground equipment was covered with snow. It was still and quiet away from the city sounds. The two children slowed their steps; it was a good place for thinking.
Peter stopped walking and said softly, “It feels different this year, doesn’t it? It isn’t an unhappy feeling or anything, just different.“
“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. You know, it makes me feel kind of important that we’re doing something worthwhile.”
They were remembering the unusual family meeting their father had organized the day after Thanksgiving. At the beginning of the meeting they all sang “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” After the opening prayer Dad said, “Children, I want you to tell me what it means to be faithful and what it means to adore Christ, the Lord.”
Peter said he thought that faithful meant to do the right things.
“Yes, Peter,” Dad agreed. “That’s part of it. When we’re faithful, it means we can be trusted to keep our promises and to do our duty.”
“And when you adore Jesus, you love Him,” offered Gwen.
“That’s right, Gwen. It also means that we honor Him.” Then Dad added, “This Christmas I want our family to be among the faithful ones who really come to adore our Savior.”
From behind his chair, Dad pulled out a sheet of white poster board with the outline of a large green Christmas tree drawn on it. There were no lights or ornaments or icicles, just the tree.
“Our prophet,” Dad explained, “has told us to store a year’s supply of food and necessities. Your mother and I feel that it would be wise to spend up to 50 percent of the money we ordinarily spend for Christmas on our year’s supply.”
“What’s percent, Dad?” asked six-year-old Ted.
“I know what percent means,” Gwen said eagerly. “May I tell him?” Dad nodded.
“It means that out of every dollar we have saved for Christmas presents that we would spend up to 50 cents on things for our year’s supply.”
Father smiled his agreement and then in a firm voice challenged, “Can we do that? Can we be faithful ones, by following the wise counsel of our prophet?”
Then he explained about the plain Christmas tree that would be in the place where a gaily decorated one had been on previous Christmases. “The more we are faithful and store food and needed items for our year’s supply, the more decorations we can add to our tree.
“For every five pounds of powdered milk we store, we can draw a light on our tree. We’ll add an ornament for every three pounds of salt. Each loop in a garland will represent any nonfood item we add to our storage.”
“If I buy a box of salt, may I wrap it up?” Ted asked eagerly.
“You can if you want,” laughed Dad.
After the meeting Peter planned to take 25 cents out of each dollar he had saved for Christmas for the year’s supply, but as he thought about it, he decided to give more than that.
Now, as the children started walking again, they continued to mull over in their minds their different Christmas. Nearing the northwest corner of the park where they had to cross a busy city street before the last two blocks home, they heard above the traffic sounds the wailing of a fire engine siren.
Suddenly, Gwen stood still. She gripped Peter’s hand, and he looked up at her questioningly. Down the street an unnatural brightness made a pulsating glow in the sky, and flickering, hideous shadows jerked up and down the outside walls of the apartment buildings.
“Look, Gwen, fire!” Peter cried. “We can’t go down our street!”
On the street, roadblocks had been erected and policemen standing by cars with flashing red and blue lights redirected traffic. Behind the barricades were firetrucks and men with hoses spraying silver streams of water up through the smoke toward the flames.
Despite the panic that made her heart hammer, Gwen made herself move forward, praying silently that she and Peter would find their father and mother and Ted and that they would all be safe.
Suddenly Gwen and Peter heard a voice calling their names. They pushed their way through the crowd that was beginning to gather at the edge of the park, to see where the voice was coming from.
Mom and Ted were across the street calling their names, looking first down the street at the fire, and then over at the park.
“Mom!” the children shouted together. “We’re over here!”
Mom spotted them and waved with relief.
“Wait there!” she called.
Once across the street Mom wrapped her arms around them tightly.
“When we couldn’t find you,” she said, “we became worried. Fire broke out on the third floor of the building facing ours. Dad is helping to evacuate the buildings in the area. We can’t go home until the fire is out and the danger is past.”
Their own apartment was not damaged, but the next four days until Christmas Eve were not days filled with the usual Christmas shopping, package wrapping, and cookie baking. They were busy days of sharing their home and food with friends and strangers.
On Christmas Eve the family all dressed in winter coats, caps, and scarves. Everyone had an armload of Christmas gifts, food storage items, and personal Christmas gifts. These were all being given away to someone else in need.
“Before we leave,” Dad said in a husky voice, “I want everyone to look at our Christmas tree.”
The tree had a few lights, two short paper chains, but there were lots of ornaments. “The tree doesn’t look very grand, does it?” Peter asked.
“To me,” his mother answered, “it’s beautiful.”
“This is the best tree we have ever had. It deserves a real star decoration,” Dad said as he held up a star made of sparkling silver and gold. “Ted, you may put it on.”
The family was hushed, and tears glistened in Mom’s eyes as Ted crowned their Christmas tree with a star. Then, with the wondrous spirit of their different Christmas, they left on their Christmas rounds of caroling and giving gifts.
In the back seat of the car Gwen whispered to Peter, “Remember the song? The thing that’s different about this Christmas is that it really is joyful.”
“If you ask me,” Peter said quietly, “it’s triumphant too.”

Eight-year-old Betsy left her home on the Indian reservation to live for the school year with a white family. There was much for Betsy’s new family to learn about her and her Indian ways, and there was much for Betsy to learn too. Her new white sister understood Betsy best, even though some children at school were unkind to both of them.

After a few months Betsy unexpectedly had to return to her Indian family because they needed her. No one knew if she would ever return to her white family, but eventually Betsy let the white sister know of her love.

Actually, my wife and I visited Paradise earlier this year—Paradise, California, that is. As it happened, our scheduled visit there came less than 40 hours after our daughter departed from this world. We, along with Elder Kevin W. Pearson and his wife, June, were bolstered by the Saints of the Chico California Stake. We learned of their great faith, their ministering, and the miracles that occurred even amidst their devastating losses from the most destructive wildfire in the history of California.
While there, we spoke at length with a young police officer, John, who was one of many brave first responders. He recalled the thick darkness that descended upon Paradise on November 8, 2018, as flames and embers raced through the town, devouring property and possessions like a scourge and leaving nothing but piles of ash and stark brick chimneys.
For 15 hours, John drove through an impenetrable darkness that was streaked with javelins of threatening embers as he helped person after person, family after family escape to safety—all at the peril of his own life. Yet during that strenuous ordeal, what terrified John most was his all-consuming question: “Where is my family?” After many long, terrifying hours of anguish, he finally learned of their safe evacuation.
The account of John’s concern for his family has prompted me to speak today with those of you who may ask when approaching the end of your mortal life, “Where is my family?” In that coming day when you will complete your mortal probation and enter the spirit world, you will be brought face-to-face with that heart-wrenching question: “Where is my family?”
Jesus Christ teaches the way back to our eternal home. He understands our Heavenly Father’s plan of eternal progression better than any of us. After all, He is the keystone of it all. He is our Redeemer, our Healer, and our Savior.
Ever since Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden, Jesus the Christ has offered His mighty arm to help all who choose to follow Him. Repeatedly, scriptures record that despite all kinds of sins from all kinds of people, His arms are outstretched still.2
The spirit in each of us naturally yearns for family love to last forever. Love songs perpetuate a false hope that love is all you need if you want to be together forever. And some erroneously believe that the Resurrection of Jesus Christ provides a promise that all people will be with their loved ones after death.
In truth, the Savior Himself has made it abundantly clear that while His Resurrection assures that every person who ever lived will indeed be resurrected and live forever,3 much more is required if we want to have the high privilege of exaltation. Salvation is an individual matter, but exaltation is a family matter.
Listen to these words spoken by the Lord Jesus Christ to His prophet: “All covenants, contracts, bonds, obligations, oaths, vows, performances, connections, associations, or expectations, that are not made and entered into and sealed by the Holy Spirit of promise … are of no efficacy, virtue, or force in and after the resurrection from the dead; for all contracts that are not made unto this end have an end when men are dead.”4
So, what is required for a family to be exalted forever? We qualify for that privilege by making covenants with God, keeping those covenants, and receiving essential ordinances.
This has been true since the beginning of time. Adam and Eve, Noah and his wife, Abraham and Sarah, Lehi and Sariah, and all other devoted disciples of Jesus Christ—since the world was created—have made the same covenants with God. They have received the same ordinances that we as members of the Lord’s restored Church today have made: those covenants that we receive at baptism and in the temple.
The Savior invites all to follow Him into the waters of baptism and, in time, to make additional covenants with God in the temple and receive and be faithful to those further essential ordinances. All these are required if we want to be exalted with our families and with God forever.
The anguish of my heart is that many people whom I love, whom I admire, and whom I respect decline His invitation. They ignore the pleadings of Jesus Christ when He beckons, “Come, follow me.”5
I understand why God weeps.6 I also weep for such friends and relatives. They are wonderful men and women, devoted to their family and civic responsibilities. They give generously of their time, energy, and resources. And the world is better for their efforts. But they have chosen not to make covenants with God. They have not received the ordinances that will exalt them with their families and bind them together forever.7
How I wish I could visit with them and invite them to consider seriously the enabling laws of the Lord. I’ve wondered what I could possibly say so they would feel how much the Savior loves them and know how much I love them and come to recognize how covenant-keeping women and men can receive a “fulness of joy.”8
They need to understand that while there is a place for them hereafter—with wonderful men and women who also chose not to make covenants with God—that is not the place where families will be reunited and be given the privilege to live and progress forever. That is not the kingdom where they will experience the fulness of joy—of never-ending progression and happiness.9 Those consummate blessings can come only by living in an exalted celestial realm with God, our Eternal Father; His Son, Jesus Christ; and our wonderful, worthy, and qualified family members.
I feel to say to my reticent friends:
“In this life, you have never settled for second best in anything. Yet, as you resist fully embracing the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, you are choosing to settle for second best.
“The Savior said, ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions.’10 However, as you choose not to make covenants with God, you are settling for a most meager roof over your head throughout all eternity.”
I would further entreat my reticent friends by saying:
“Pour out your heart to God. Ask Him if these things are true. Make time to study His words. Really study! If you truly love your family and if you desire to be exalted with them throughout eternity, pay the price now—through serious study and fervent prayer—to know these eternal truths and then to abide by them.
“If you are not sure you even believe in God, start there. Understand that in the absence of experiences with God, one can doubt the existence of God. So, put yourself in a position to begin having experiences with Him. Humble yourself. Pray to have eyes to see God’s hand in your life and in the world around you. Ask Him to tell you if He is really there—if He knows you. Ask Him how He feels about you. And then listen.”
One such dear friend of mine had limited experiences with God. But he longed to be with his departed wife. So he asked me to help him. I encouraged him to meet with our missionaries in order to understand the doctrine of Christ and learn of gospel covenants, ordinances, and blessings.
That he did. But he felt the course they advised would require him to make too many changes in his life. He said, “Those commandments and covenants are just too difficult for me. Also, I can’t possibly pay tithing, and I don’t have time to serve in the Church.” Then he asked me, “Once I die, please do the necessary temple work for my wife and me so that we can be together again.”
Thankfully, I am not this man’s judge. But I do question the efficacy of proxy temple work for a man who had the opportunity to be baptized in this life—to be ordained to the priesthood and receive temple blessings while here in mortality—but who made the conscious decision to reject that course.
My dear brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ invites us to take the covenant path back home to our Heavenly Parents and be with those we love. He invites us to “come, follow me.”
Now, as President of His Church, I plead with you who have distanced yourselves from the Church and with you who have not yet really sought to know that the Savior’s Church has been restored. Do the spiritual work to find out for yourselves, and please do it now. Time is running out.
I testify that God lives! Jesus is the Christ. His Church and the fulness of His gospel have been restored to bless our lives with joy, here and hereafter. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

After I got thinking about it, I realized that I had my own devo date almost 30 years ago while attending BYU. I asked a girl with whom I had been on several dates to go to devotional with me. I don’t remember anything about the date, but I do remember that as we were walking back across campus after devotional, we had an interesting conversation. My daughter also told me that this specific conversation is what is known as a DTR—a “define the relationship” conversation. Now, I didn’t know what a DTR was, and I wasn’t the one to start it. It certainly wasn’t a very long conversation. In fact, it was very one sided. It went something like this: “I wish you wouldn’t hold my hand in public. People might think we’re dating and not ask me out.” I said, “Okay,” and that was that.
Now, I shared this experience with you because I think I was a good example of someone who didn’t understand where he stood in a relationship. The DTR I had was needful for me to have a correct understanding of where I stood with this young woman. It was a little hard on my ego, but it was necessary for me to be able to put the relationship into proper perspective.
Honestly, I think it’s a good thing to have an occasional DTR.

“While of these emblems we partake,”1 we began to sing. I wished we were singing a little faster, but I focused on the ordinance.
A calm came over me, settling my soul. The tone and meter of the organ were exactly appropriate to prepare us for the sacrament.
I looked with gratitude at our organist as he reverently swayed with the music. I thought back to our first meeting eight years earlier. Just a few months before we met, wildfires had destroyed Ed Bravenec’s home, along with most of his family’s possessions. As the missionaries and I shared a gospel discussion in his new mobile home, Brother Bravenec told us he played the organ.
“I play to express my testimony and love of God,” he said. Then we talked about whether he might play for our ward should he join the Church.
I looked at the ends of his fingers. A couple of them had been amputated. I was inspired by his faith, but I wondered about his capacity to play.
“I know that the Church would be grateful for you to share your gifts,” I said.
Brother Bravenec was satisfied with my response, and we went on to enjoy a good lesson and the beginning of a firm friendship. He was soon baptized and, as he had desired, became our ward organist.
Over the years since his baptism, I have watched as his health challenges led to the amputation of one of his toes. Not long after that, Sister Bravenec, who returned to Church activity when her husband became a member, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Then Brother Bravenec lost another toe.
We missed him for a few weeks as he cared for his wife and struggled through his ordeal. But soon he returned to church, sharing his testimony through the beautiful strains of the organ.
In 2019, Brother Bravenec learned that he would lose one of his legs. I was sad for him, thinking that his years at the organ had come to an end. But a few weeks after the surgery, Brother Bravenec hobbled into church on his new prosthetic leg.
Using canes to keep his balance, he slowly made his way to the organ. There, he sat on the organ bench, removed his prosthetic limb, and began playing the prelude music. A few minutes later, he played the opening hymn. Now it was time for the sacrament.
“In Jesus’ name and for his sake,” we sang—tone and meter perfect.

Illustration by Dinara Mirtalipova
Russia is very cold in the winter and often overcast, making the days gloomy and somewhat miserable. It was late November and on top of the depressing weather, I was feeling lonely, inadequate, and incapable of being a good missionary. I had just been assigned to train a new companion, and while Sister Hart was wonderful, the pressure was now on me to learn the language better, be an example, and find someone—anyone—to teach.
We had just gotten word that our new mission president was going to hold a zone conference in Yekaterinburg, five hours from our area of Perm. Early on a chilly December morning, Sister Hart and I went to the train station.
As we waited I pondered on the feelings I’d been having. I thought of the upcoming holidays and my longing to be with my family. The excitement to be on a mission had faded and now I felt like I hadn’t accomplished much as a missionary in my nine months out. Finally the call for our train’s arrival chimed, so we boarded and took our seats. I found myself thinking of the Savior. I closed my eyes and prayed that I would be able to know how to rid myself of these feelings and better focus on Him.
At the zone conference the next day, President Rust’s talk was beautiful and heartfelt. When Sister Rust got up to speak, she shared a simple story about how the Savior is the shepherd who would go and find the one sheep that had wandered off and bring that sheep back to the fold. She talked about the sacrifices the Savior has made for us, and finally she bore a powerful testimony of the opportunity that we as missionaries have to serve Him by bringing His lost sheep to the fold. Sister Rust challenged us to think of what gift we could give to the Savior for Christmas.
When she made that challenge, I felt the strongest impression that the gift that I was supposed to give to the Savior was to simply talk to more people. Up until that point I had been terrified to start up conversations with complete strangers—especially in Russian! I didn’t want them to think I was dumb for not understanding them, so it was just easier not to say anything at all. I knew, however, at that moment, exactly what I needed to do. I needed to stop thinking of myself and start thinking of my brothers and sisters. I set a goal to speak to someone about the gospel on every transportation vehicle I took for the rest of the month and to devote that as my Christmas gift to the Savior.
When Sister Hart and I boarded another train back to Perm the next morning, I started on my goal by talking to the people I sat next to. They weren’t very interested in what I had to share, but at least I tried!
Every day was a struggle as I fought to give my gift to the Savior, but slowly I found myself feeling happier and more confident—I felt I was better fulfilling my calling as a missionary. Christmas came and went, but I decided that I would continue talking to people. I started talking to them not only when we took public transportation but also on the streets, in the store, at the library, and everywhere else we went.
We didn’t find anyone to teach through my talking to people more; however, I feel that I planted gospel seeds. We made new friends with bus drivers, people at our local grocery store, and others. The best part was that when we saw someone again, we would often see them smile, and they would be the one to say hello to us first. I have faith that those seeds we planted will someday blossom when new opportunities arise for those people to learn about the gospel. Heavenly Father works in small and simple ways, and sometimes it just starts with a simple “hello.”
Thinking back now to that time on the train to Yekaterinburg, I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayer. He helped me see that missionary work isn’t about me—it’s about others, and when we put others above ourselves and our own worries and sorrows, we find the happiness we are all seeking. It’s amazing to me how giving the Savior is, for even when we strive to give Him everything we can, He blesses us and gives us back a hundredfold.

Despite these actions, the event that precipitated the Saints’ eviction from Missouri occurred four years later on election day, 6 August 1838, in Gallatin, county seat of Daviess County. A scuffle arose when the Saints were not allowed to vote. No one was killed, and although Joseph had not been present at the scene of trouble, rumors accusing him of having killed seven men at the polls soon spread.
A few days later, Joseph was at his parents’ home when a company of armed men stopped at the house. Eight officers entered and, while speaking with Joseph’s mother, assured her that they would kill “Joe Smith and all the Mormons.” She denied that Joseph was in the county when the men were allegedly killed. “Furthermore,” she said, “if you should see him, you would not want to kill him.”
“‘Gentlemen,’” her narrative continues, “‘suffer me to make you acquainted with Joseph Smith, the Prophet.’ They stared at him as if he were a spectre. He smiled, and stepping towards them, gave each of them his hand, in a manner which convinced them that he was neither a guilty criminal nor yet a hypocrite.
“Joseph then sat down and explained to them the views … of the Church, and what their course had been; besides the treatment which they had received from their enemies since the first. He also argued, that if any of the brethren had broken the law, they ought to be tried by the law, before anyone else was molested. After talking with them some time in this way, he said, ‘Mother, I believe I will go home now—Emma will be expecting me.’ At this two of the men sprang to their feet, and declared that he should not go alone, as it would be unsafe—that they would go with him, in order to protect him. Accordingly the three left together, and during their absence, I overheard the following conversation among the officers, who remained at the door:
“lst Officer. ‘Did you not feel strangely when Smith took you by the hand? I never felt so in my life.’
“2nd Officer. ‘I could not move. I would not harm a hair of that man’s head for the whole world.’
“3rd Officer. ‘This is the last time you will catch me coming to kill Joe Smith, or the “Mormons” either.’
“lst Officer. ‘I guess this is about my last expedition against this place. I never saw a more harmless, innocent appearing man than the “Mormon” Prophet.’
“2nd Officer. ‘That story about his killing them men is all a … lie—there is no doubt of it; and we have had all this trouble for nothing; but they will never fool me in this way again; I’ll warrant them.’
“The men who went home with my son promised to disband the militia under them and go home, which they accordingly did.”5

Thirteen-year-old Florence Onyejekwe reached her usual spot in the crowded outdoor market in Onitsha, Nigeria. The street was packed with sellers calling out to busy shoppers. Women balanced bundles on their heads as they walked. School had just ended for the holidays, and Florence knew her friends were enjoying the break from class. But Florence spent her holidays selling bitter leaf here at the market. It was her only chance to earn money for her school fees.
Florence did not complain, though. After all, her mother spent long hours at the market every day selling yams to buy food for the family. Mama worked so hard. Her parents both did. But without an education, there was only so much they could do. Florence was almost finished with primary school. Perhaps if she could continue her schooling, she could get a good-paying job and help her family.
When she returned home, Florence asked her parents, “Do you think I could go to secondary school? And maybe university?”
Mama looked at Nnam (Dad) and shook her head. “University costs so much more than we have,” said Nnam. Florence looked down at her shoes. She didn’t want Mama and Nnam to see how disappointed she was.
A few days later, Florence stopped at the hospital to pick up some medicine. The hospital was almost as busy as the market, though not as loud. Florence stared at the nurses in their crisp, white caps. She pictured herself in a uniform like that, helping the sick and taking care of babies in a big hospital. Perhaps she could become a nurse.
Florence knew her parents were right—getting an education would be hard. But Florence knew how to work hard. She decided to try.
No matter how many chores filled her day, Florence made time to study. She passed the tests for secondary school, and Nnam borrowed enough money for her to go. Later she found out the government would help pay for her nursing school! Her dream was within reach.
But when it came time to begin nursing school, Florence felt a little doubt. What if nursing was too hard? What if she was lonely? Florence bowed her head and prayed, Dear God, please give me the strength to go to nursing school and work hard.
At nursing school, Florence learned to give medicine and keep tools clean from germs. Sometimes her patients got better, but sometimes they didn’t. Florence prayed often for courage. After three long years, Florence graduated with the award for best student. Her dream had come true! She got to wear the white nurse’s cap, and she was able to earn money to help her family.

As for General Authorities, let me digress for one moment.

You know, I have been to four funerals since April. I have seen the wives of General Authorities go, and I have seen a great General Authority leave us and leave his wife alone. It would be very easy for someone to say, “Why me?” It is the same thing that Job could have said. But I want to let you know that within two or three days after Elder Cullimore lost his wife, when I climbed on an airplane with Elder Ashton to go up to Ricks, there sitting in the first row, first seat, was Elder Cullimore going to his assignment. There is a message there for a young man or a young woman. It may be ten years, it may be twenty, it may be thirty, but the time will come when that lesson must be learned either by you or by your wife. None of us wants to face it, but we have leaders who show us how.

I still miss my brother, Sergio. He, my sister, and I were very close. We spent a lot of time together and had a lot of fun. We loved to play and joke around. Before Sergio went on his mission, he baptized me. Sadly, though, he passed away while serving in Peru.
I believe that Sergio is in a better place and that he is an angel. My sister, Ximena, and I feel blessed to have him as a brother, and our parents feel blessed to have him as a son. I know that he is waiting for us. We must put forth our best effort to become an eternal family so that we can all be together forever.
I know our Father in Heaven loves us and wants the best for us. I love my parents and my sister very much. I try to take care of them and help them however I can, including working with my parents in our family store.
Sometimes I still get sad, but I can’t stay that way because I know that Sergio is happy, that he is in a safe place, and that he is all right. He loves us and protects us.
I have faith that we are going to be together again and be an eternal family. This faith helps me to stay strong.
Ruth O.,14, Argentina

Rex: Student discouragement is not limited to entering freshmen, or even to undergraduates. By far my worst experience with discouragement occurred during my first year of law school. It was caused by my losing perspective.
Day after day I would put in long hours of preparation and then sit in class and be amazed that seemingly everyone of my classmates could come up with all kinds of brilliant insights while all I could do was sit there and say to myself, “Gee, I wish I’d thought of that.” I honestly wondered during those first few months if I was destined to flunk out. I have since discovered that this is a common phenomenon, and it is not limited to law students. From conversations with some of you, I’ve learned that many face the same challenge: today’s BYU students are very well prepared, and some often sit in class thinking that everyone else is getting it better than they are. My own experience taught me that another important antidote for discouragement is to never give up on yourself. Remember the fundamental principle that for any really top quality school—and BYU clearly qualifies—if you’re good enough to get in, you’re good enough to get out.

Have you ever been by a lake or an ocean during a bad storm? The waves and the wind can become ferocious! One night a family watched a terrible storm from the window of their home near a beach. Huge waves crashed against the shore. They battered the family’s wooden boat dock, breaking it apart. The next morning they found pieces of the dock all along the shoreline. But their boat was floating peacefully and unharmed in the water. It was held in place by the strong anchor they had tied it to the night before. The anchor had held the boat and kept it from crashing into the shore and being destroyed.

That trust gave her strength when Brigham departed for a mission to Great Britain in 1839 just 10 days after Mary Ann gave birth to their daughter Alice. For the 20 months that followed, Mary Ann and their six children struggled with illness and poverty. They survived primarily on corn bread, milk, and a few garden vegetables.4 Mary Ann managed to find a little work to support her family. “It has been so difficult to obtain work,” she lamented. “But I am thankful for a comfortable Shelter from the Storm.” This attitude of thanksgiving even amid trying circumstances helped sustain Mary Ann while her husband was half a world away. “I will thank my Heavenly Father for all the blessings I receive and pray the Lord to continue his mercies with us.”5 Giving thanks and trusting in the Lord was a lesson she learned while Brigham was gone. It “is a great thing,” she wrote to Brigham, to “trust in the Lord.”6
While Brigham spread the gospel message on many missions away from home, Mary Ann furthered the work of the Lord at home, raising her children, running the household alone, and caring for her neighbors. Though it was challenging, she maintained her trust that Brigham was where he was supposed to be. “I well know the Lord has called you to go far away to proclaim his everlasting gospel,” she told him. So she relied on the Lord’s “assisting grace” and did not “feel to repine” at her situation.7
Instead, she rejoiced in Brigham’s efforts: “I am glad to hear the work of the Lord is prospering in England; it gives me much joy.”8 Like Alma in the Book of Mormon, she found a fuller joy in the successful work of others—a work to which she contributed (see Alma 29:14).

One of these members was a sister from the beautiful island of Okinawa. The story of her journey to the Hawaii Temple is remarkable. Two decades earlier, she had been married in a traditional arranged Buddhist wedding. Just a few months later, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, thrusting the United States into a conflict with Japan. In the wake of battles such as Midway and Iwo Jima, the tides of war pushed the Japanese forces back to the shores of her island home, Okinawa, the last line of defense standing against the Allied forces before the heartlands of Japan.
For a harrowing three months in 1945, the Battle of Okinawa raged. A flotilla of 1,300 American warships encircled and bombarded the island. Military and civilian casualties were enormous. Today a solemn monument in Okinawa lists more than 240,000 known names of people who perished in the battle.
In a desperate attempt to escape the onslaught, this Okinawan woman, her husband, and their two small children sought refuge in a mountain cave. They endured unspeakable misery through the ensuing weeks and months.
One desperate night amidst the battle, with her family near starvation and her husband unconscious, she contemplated ending their suffering with a hand grenade, which the authorities had supplied to her and others for that purpose. However, as she prepared to do so, a profoundly spiritual experience unfolded that gave her a tangible sense of the reality of God and His love for her, which gave her the strength to carry on. In the following days, she revived her husband and fed her family with weeds, honey from a wild beehive, and creatures caught in a nearby stream. Remarkably, they endured six months in the cave until local villagers informed them that the battle had ended.

I Love the Advice given to Andrew Jackson by his Mother
In 1781 Andrew Jackson, then 14 years of age, enlisted in the American army, was captured and thrown into prison where he had smallpox. His mother Elizabeth Hutchinson Jackson, through exchange arranged for his release and nursed him back to health. Responding to an urgent appeal, she left him to go to Charleston to nurse some sick neighbors who were confined there on a British hospital ship. This errand of mercy cost her life. She caught yellow fever and died.
Almost her last words to her young son were:
"Andrew, if I should not see you again, I wish you to remember and treasure up some things I have already said to you; in this world you will have to make your own way. To do that you must have friends. You can make friends by being honest and you can keep them by being steadfast. You must keep in mind that friends worth having will in the long run expect as much from you as they give to you. To forget an obligation or to be ungrateful for a kindness is a base crime - not merely a fault or a sin but an actual crime. Men guilty of it sooner or later must suffer the penalty... None will respect you more than you respect yourself... Never wound the feelings of others. Never brook wanton outrage upon your own feelings." (By Unknown)

Several years ago while my husband, Ed, and I were serving in the England London South Mission, there was an unexpected storm. All night the winds raged. When morning came we ventured from the mission home to see the damage. It was devastating. Many trees throughout our garden, the neighborhood, and all of southern England had been uprooted. It was amazing to see the fallen trees with their gigantic root systems, still intact, jutting into the air. I came to the conclusion that because of the “easiness of the way” (Alma 37:46)—rain is plentiful in England—the trees had no need to sink their roots deep into the earth to get the nourishment they needed. Their roots were not strong enough or deep enough to withstand the hurricane-force winds.
On the other hand, the giant redwood trees that grow in northern California also have a very shallow root system. But when they are surrounded by other redwood trees, the strongest, fiercest wind cannot blow them over. The roots of the giant redwood trees intertwine and strengthen each other. When a storm comes, they actually hold each other up.
May I share with you some personal examples and thank those people who have been as the giant redwoods in my life, those who have been an example of caring and teaching, those who have intertwined their roots in mine and helped me stand firm as they taught me through their words and their lives.
I feel deep gratitude to my mother, who allowed me to be responsible and didn’t always fix my mistakes. To my father, who is soon to be eighty-nine years old and is living with us, thank you, Dad. Thank you for teaching me as the scriptures counsel, “only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; … reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love” (D&C 121:41, 43).
The strongest intertwining roots in my life are those of my companion and sweetheart, Ed, who is supernally righteous. He has taught and encouraged me, exemplifying President Hunter’s prayer “that we might treat each other with more kindness, more courtesy, more humility and patience and forgiveness” (quoted in Ensign, July 1994, p. 4).
To my children, who are a part of my roots, who are a brightness of hope in my life—thank you for helping me stand tall with gladness because you are trying.
I am a happy grandmother. Thirteen of our seventeen grandchildren are Primary and pre-Primary age. They will help teach me about Primary and children. They can be my hands-on training. Could there be a better calling for a grandmother than to love and strengthen children?
May I offer a sincere expression of gratitude to you, my brothers and sisters, who have strengthened me by forgiving me when I have disappointed you.
There are many others in my life who have encouraged me and allowed me to connect with their strengths. My deep gratitude to President Janette C. Hales, the Young Women presidency, board, and staff who have shared their wisdom and insights, who have more than loved and supported me these last two years. To Michaelene Grassli, Betty Jo Jepsen, Ruth Wright, and the Primary board, thank you for your devotion and untiring efforts to encourage all members of the Church to focus on what is best for the children.
When I was ten or eleven years old, I became the Primary organist in the ward in Hawaii where I grew up. That is one of my most vivid Primary memories. I remember being very nervous. I remember making many mistakes. But I remember even more clearly that the Primary leaders cared more about me than about the mistakes I made.
I thank the community of Saints, the ward family of Saints, who, throughout my life, have provided “safe places”—places where I was able to be taught, to have experiences, to practice, and to eventually better understand and live the principles of the gospel.
One day as Ed and I were maneuvering the streets of England, he turned to me with tears in his eyes, and he said, “Look.” I turned and saw a child on the side of the road. And then he said, “Who will teach the children?” That thought will not leave my mind or my heart. Who will teach the children? Who will teach the child who asks, “Will Heavenly Father really answer my prayer?” Who will teach Kate when at five years of age she asks, “Why do we need Jesus?” Who will teach the children? Please, will you? Will you? Will you help teach the children?
Since my call I’ve knelt and asked, “Father, what do you want the children to be taught?”
Teach and show the children that Heavenly Father loves them and has confidence in them because they are his children.
Teach and show them that they do need Jesus, our Savior, our guide. Help them understand and accept his love and trust him and follow him. Teach them that our prophet, President Howard W. Hunter, has said, “We should at every opportunity ask ourselves, ‘What would Jesus do?’ and then be more courageous to act upon the answer.” He also said, “We must know Christ better than we know him; we must remember him more often than we remember him; we must serve him more valiantly than we serve him” (“He Invites Us to Follow Him,” Ensign, Sept. 1994, p. 5).
Teach the children that at eight years of age, when they are baptized and receive the Holy Ghost, they will be responsible for their choices. Teach them that they will be tempted, but as they listen to the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost, he will help them with their choices.
We can teach the children these gospel truths and all of the truths of the plan of happiness that Heavenly Father wants his children to understand and live. Family home evening can be one of those safe and loving places where the Spirit is felt. With eight children in our home, I also have vivid memories that family home evening wasn’t always easy. Remember other opportunities for teaching: family prayer, family scripture study (don’t give up!), in the classroom, in the hall, in the neighborhood.
And please, will each one of you be as the stalwart and dependable redwood trees, connecting and intertwining your roots of testimony, of faith, of love, of kindness and patience with every child? Their roots are not deep enough for them to stand alone in the storms of life. They need us—every one of us—parents, teachers, leaders, youth, brothers, sisters. They need you.
And now I look to the future. How grateful I am for the principle of presidency, and for Sister Anne Wirthlin and Sister Susan Warner. “In the multitude of counsellors there is safety” (Prov. 11:14). We will stand together in unity as we support our priesthood leaders and help parents teach and strengthen children.
To the Primary children of the world, I want you to know that there are many people you don’t even know who love you and care about you, who want you to be safe, be happy, and feel peace. I love you and would want you to feel “encircled about … in the arms of his love” (2 Ne. 1:15) and my love. Listen carefully to every good thing you hear about Heavenly Father and Jesus our Savior and then try your very best to follow him by doing what he wants you to do.
All of us can be like the giant redwood trees and support and strengthen each other, especially the children, that when storms arise we can actually hold each other up. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.