Gospel Story Finder

Clarissa hurried from the Primary room when she was dismissed. She could hardly wait to show her mom what her Primary teacher had given her. She held the special card carefully as her eyes scanned the hallway for her mother.
“Maybe she is already in the chapel,” Clarissa thought. She walked in that direction and peeked into the chapel, which was filling with people for sacrament meeting. No, she wasn’t there yet. “Where could she be?” Clarissa wondered.
Then she remembered her sister Deseret in nursery. Maybe Mom was getting her. Clarissa went to the nursery room and smiled when she saw her mom. “How was Primary?” Mom asked.
“Great,” Clarissa said. “Mom, look what my teacher gave me!”
“That looks like a pass-along card,” Mom said. “What are you going to do with it?”
“My teacher said I should give it to someone who isn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Clarissa replied.
“That’s great, honey!” Mom said as they walked down the hall with Deseret to the chapel. “Who are you going to give it to? Do you know someone who isn’t a member of the Church?”
“Of course I do, Mom!” Clarissa said. “I want to give it to Margaret!”
Margaret was two years older than Clarissa. Clarissa saw her almost every week when her mom gave piano lessons to Margaret’s older brother and sister. Margaret would come with her mom to pick them up after the lesson. Clarissa liked Margaret a lot. She wanted her to know about the true Church of Jesus Christ.
“OK,” Mom said. “Why don’t we go to Margaret’s house after church and give her the card.”
During sacrament meeting, Clarissa carefully held the pass-along card in her hands. She looked at the pretty picture on the front. She knew the back gave instructions about how to order a free video that would tell more about Jesus Christ. She hoped Margaret’s family would order the video.
After church, Mom took Clarissa and Deseret to the car. They drove to Margaret’s house. Clarissa was so excited!
When they stopped at the house, they all walked to the front door. Mom rang the doorbell. Margaret’s mom answered. “Is Margaret here?” Clarissa asked.
“No, Clarissa,” Margaret’s mom said. “She is at a friend’s house. I’m sorry you missed her.”
Clarissa looked sadly at her mother. Margaret wasn’t there. She didn’t know what to say next. Luckily, Mom said, “Clarissa has a card that she wants to give to Margaret. It has a number that you can call to order a free video that tells about Jesus Christ. Is it OK if she gives it to Margaret?” Mom asked.
Margaret’s mother smiled warmly at Clarissa. “How nice of you, Clarissa. Do you want me to take the card and give it to Margaret for you?”
Clarissa nodded and handed the card to Margaret’s mom. As they walked back to the car, she had a warm and happy feeling inside. It felt good to be a missionary.

Now I want to stop this story for just a second, I haven't always felt this way in my life. The start of my freshman year (so I was only fourteen) Heavenly Father decided it was time to bring my own father back home. My father was killed in an Ultra-Light accident. Needless to say, my world fell apart. I remember feeling so sad, and alone. I was angry with our Heavenly Father for taking someone away from me, that I selfishly needed more. Because of those kinds of feelings and that type of attitude I started not caring about the choices I was making. It just didn't matter. I didn't have an opinion on much, and I'm sure that my face and countenance showed it. Because of that, and letting go of the iron rod, my life would take a huge turn. I had many "curves" and "bumps" and "loop to loops" and sometimes it was hard to just see the light. It has taken a humbled heart and many prayers, for me to get through the consequences of my choices and turn my life around with the help of the atonement. What I didn't know then, but I do now, is that you are never alone. He loves you unconditionally, he knows you, and he will never give up on you. Sometimes, you have to hit rock bottom in order to humble yourself enough to feel our Savior's love and see the light again.

Spencer’s family were also members of the Church. That made me nervous, because I had been taught my whole life that if I walked inside an LDS church, I would see fire and go straight to hell.
But Spencer and other Mormons were really nice to me, and I felt comfortable around them. So even though I was pretty scared of the Church, I went to church with them a few times and met a lot of other good people.
Their kindness helped soften my heart.
One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.
Still, things weren’t perfect after that. Most of my family was not happy that I joined the Church. My dad even offered me a brand-new pickup truck if I would just forget about it. But my brother Roger supported me. When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%. Whether I was serving a mission or not, he told me to always do my best.
When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%.
I tried to prepare the best I could by studying the scriptures, praying, and going to a mission prep class. While I was on my mission in North Carolina, I lost myself in the work and did my best to follow Roger’s advice to give it 110%.
Ten years later, I lost my dad to cancer. Even though he and I had hard times, I love him so much. As I leaned down to hug him and say “I love you” one last time, he said something I will never forget. He told me he was proud of me and that he was glad I served a mission. Two years later, Spencer got to baptize me for my father in the temple.
My family may not have approved of my joining the Church, but because of their unfailing love and the example of my friends and their families, I was able to serve a mission, be married in the temple, and help my dad after he passed on. I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I was living at home and commuting to Brigham Young University every day, but I still didn’t have as much time with my family as I thought I would have. Between school, work, and my Church calling, I rarely found time at home to help around the house, or be with my Mom and my three younger sisters. As a single parent, my mom was constantly finding new and ingenious jobs for us girls to help out around the house. It was her way of keeping on top of things and to get us to work together with “cheerful” attitudes.
One Friday afternoon, after I came home from school completely exhausted, my mother announced that we were all going to bottle at least five jars of tomatoes each before we could do anything else that night. I had already made plans for the evening. Although my mother noticed my annoyance, she quickly told me that all my sisters had plans too, and nobody was getting out of it. Upset glances from my sisters let me know that they were feeling the same way as I was right about then. Knowing that I wasn’t getting out of anything without an ugly scene, I accepted my fate and decided to get to work quickly.
“Hey Sally,” I shouted to my sister across the room, “put on some music, would you? We might as well have some tunes while we resign ourselves to our Friday night doom,” I muttered under my breath. With the music playing, I tied on an apron and seated myself at the kitchen counter. Anger continued to boil as I started peeling the tomatoes. What right did my mom have to tell me I couldn’t see my friends until I had bottled some dumb tomatoes anyway? I was the one who needed to relax after such a crazy school week! The negative thoughts continued coming as I sliced and peeled more tomatoes. The dirty work seemed endless.
Suddenly I heard my sister Katherine start to sing. Out of nowhere she began to belt along with the music and even added her own dance moves as she continued bottling tomatoes. Livvy, the youngest, began giggling and soon joined in. Sally, always one for lighthearted fun, quickly gave up her bad attitude and began to add dance moves of her own. I sat and watched as these girls, whom I loved so much, began laughing and singing together. They acted as if they were having the time of their lives. It occurred to me that I wasn’t spending the quality time with these girls as I should have been. Was I just the older sister with a bad attitude? I suddenly felt an incredible need to be with my sisters more, and to feel the amazing energy they had to offer to our family. It dawned on me that I wasn’t setting the example. I knew that in order for change to happen, I needed to change.
Without another thought, I joined in the chorus. With prune fingers, I began dancing alongside Sally, adding my own harmony to the music. I began laughing and felt the horrible evening of bottling tomatoes suddenly turn into a fun-filled tomato dance party!
Moments later I spotted my mother with a video camera. Even she felt that she needed to document this hilarious moment! I couldn’t believe my sudden change of attitude. I suddenly felt free from my burdens during the week. I was surprised that doing one of my most dreaded chores could be so much fun! It was then that I realized how important family time was and the incredible influence I had on my own family, as well as the influence they had on me. Although I still have my very busy schedule, I have now found that my first priority has become my family. Who knew that bottling tomatoes could teach me so much about life?

The experience happened to my grandmother when she was 52 years old and for the next 40 years of her life, my grandmother, Loa Cammack Nelson made sure that her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren all knew this story. Before I begin the story, l need to tell you a little about my grandmother. She was a small woman about 5' 3'' who worked alongside her husband farming and ranching while raising her seven children. These are her words as recorded in her life history:

"I was swathing hay [and] I had broken some sections in the swather knife. I went to the house to have Lyle (her husband) fix the blade. He went to fix it and then was going on out [to the other place]. They talked me into riding the little Honda motor bike because they all wanted the other [vehicles]. I decided to ride the bike instead of walking out there. The wind was blowing really hard from the west. I had to cross the bridge on the big canal. The bridge didn't have any sides on it and you had to turn to go on the bridge and also turn to go off. I slowed down to go on the bridge and was just turning on the bridge when the wind blew me into the canal.

"It was about 10 or 12 feet deep and I went down to the bottom and came up to the top in a few seconds. The current took me under the bridge before I had a chance to do anything or realize what had happened. Just a week before the water was so high it touched the bottom of the bridge. It had dropped some because they had turned a little water out. I had just enough to have my head above the water. When I got on the other side of the bridge I couldn't get out of the center of the canal because of the current and the wind. The wind was blowing white caps over my head from one direction and the current was pushing from the other. It seemed to just whirl me around in the center. I fought and fought and couldn't seem to get anywhere. I finally realized I was going to drown.

"I was getting so tired and my clothes were weighing me down. I started praying to the Lord for help, and I promised the Lord I would do all he asked me in the church and teach my family the right way the best I could if he would help me out of the canal. As soon as I started praying I heard a voice just as plain as could be say, 'I wondered when you were going to ask.' I immediately floated over to the side of the canal without any effort at all. I was so tired I couldn't pull myself out of the canal because the bank was so steep. I just laid my head on the bank and dug my hands into the grass until I got enough strength to get out onto the bank. That is where Lyle found me when he came looking. He had seen that the swather wasn't running. I really know that God lives and does hear and answer our prayers if we have faith and will call on him. . . The Lord really blessed me . I owe my life to him."

Years later, while I was attending BYU–Idaho, this fear confronted me again. I was in an adaptive physical education class taught by Brother Gary Griffeth, who was also a physical therapist. The first two classes were great fun. I established a friendship with the other three class members and my instructor. Then Brother Griffeth dropped the bomb. He casually announced that he had made arrangements for us to use the swimming pool for the rest of the semester. Everybody was excited—except me.
Brother Griffeth let us have the first couple of class periods to just play in the pool. Then one day he got in the pool with us. I knew this was trouble. He told me he was going to teach me how to swim. He started by attaching blue flotation boards to my legs with towels. What a scary feeling I experienced as my legs began to float and my head and upper body sank. Brother Griffeth gently held me up while he taught me how to move my arms in a rather awkward stroke, how to breathe, and how to rotate my head from side to side. Before I realized what was happening, I was swimming! What an exhilarating feeling! What freedom!
Once Brother Griffeth thought I had developed my upper body strength and technique sufficiently, he decided it was time to take off the flotation devices. My legs sunk; I sunk; and my fear of the water returned. With great patience, Brother Griffeth began the process of teaching me how to swim all over again. But with the strength and technique I had already developed in my upper body, I was soon able to get up enough speed that my legs actually began to float. As long as I kept within arm’s length of the side, I felt safe. When I felt myself sinking, I would reach out and grasp the side.
The semester was coming to an end, and finals were approaching. I did not even think about my final for the swimming class. On the last day of class, Brother Griffeth calmly announced that for my final I would have to swim a mile. This did not bother me too much because I had come close to swimming a mile each class period anyway.
But swimming a mile was only the first part. When I got into the water, Brother Griffeth calmly told me that if I wanted to get an A in the class, I had to swim in the middle of the pool, totally out of reach of my lifeline. My heart began pounding; the water suddenly wasn’t my friend anymore. It became a giant monster with mouth gaping open, ready to swallow me into its murky depths. Brother Griffeth put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes and said, “You can do it. I have faith in you. I will be right there beside you every stroke of the way.” And he was—right to the very last stroke. My eyes beamed with excitement and my heart swelled with happiness as I looked at that A on my transcript.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
One co-worker was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, a few friends and I felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory, and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend, with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?”
The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

David heard a horse trotting into the yard. He knew that sound—Father was home! The door opened, and Father walked in.
“I have some good news,” Father said. “The glass for the tabernacle has arrived in California!”
David felt like cheering. Everyone in their town of St. George knew about the tabernacle windows. The tabernacle was being built so the Church members in Southern Utah could have a place to worship. But the tabernacle didn’t have glass for the windows yet. They had to order it all the way from New York.
New York was a long way from Utah. Father had drawn out a map with charcoal to show David. David had traced the long line the glass had to travel by boat from New York all the way to San Bernadino, California. That’s where it was now. From there it still had to be brought the last 300 miles by wagon to St. George.
Father was in charge of leading the wagon team to California and back. “The glass is waiting for us, but we still need $800 to pick it up.”
David eyes got wide. He had never even heard of that much money!
“Do you think we can raise the money?” Father asked, ruffling David’s hair.
“Of course we can!” David answered. He ran to his room. In minutes he came back and handed a two-cent piece to his father. It was all he had.
Over the next few days, David’s family pulled together $3.87. They knew it wasn’t very much. But they also knew that if Heavenly Father wanted the Saints to build a tabernacle to worship in, then He would provide a way. They prayed for His help.
News soon spread throughout the pioneer community, and everyone gave all they could to the window fund. But when Father counted up the money on the last night before the trip, it was only $200.
“Maybe you should wait till spring,” Mother suggested. “Perhaps we could have the money by then.”
Father shook his head. “No, we have to go now. Otherwise the building will be unprotected from the rain and snow all winter. We can’t let it be damaged.”
That night they prayed for help again. They had done all they could. But it wasn’t enough. David’s father decided to start the journey to California anyway. He had faith that somehow things would work out.
Before first light, the wagon team pulled up outside David’s house. The other travelers joined David’s family inside for a prayer. Father pleaded with Heavenly Father for help.
A knock at the door startled them. When Mother opened it, a man walked in. He said his name was Peter Nielsen, and he was from a nearby town called Washington.
“Hello, Brother Cannon,” he said to Father. “You’re the man I need to see. I had a dream that I should bring you the money I’ve been saving to work on my home. I know that for some reason you need it, and God wants you to have it. Here.”
Brother Nielsen untied a red handkerchief and poured gold pieces onto the table until a big pile lay there. Father counted the coins one by one. $600! With the $200, it made $800. That was exactly the amount they needed to go and get the glass for the Tabernacle! Right away they prayed to thank Heavenly Father.
Within minutes the team was heading west. As they left, David knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father had provided a way for them.

For many, the seeking requires sacrifice. “After my conversion, I had to wait half a year to be baptized,” recalls Olga Kovárová of Czechoslovakia. “Because we had no baptismal font, we needed to wait until summer when we could be in the woods and not be noticed.” When they reached the reservoir on the night of the baptism, they saw many fishermen. “We waited, and the time dragged on,” she said. Finally, a brother suggested that they pray and ask Heavenly Father for help. “This was my first miracle with a priesthood prayer. Within a few minutes of our quiet prayer, most of the fishermen left the river’s edge. … You can imagine my feelings of joy as I came up out of the water.” Olga was the first young woman convert in Czechoslovakia in almost forty years. When she was confirmed, she was told that through her, “many people would come to the Church.”

I recall an experience I heard at a stake conference in Idaho. A farm family in the community had just contracted for the installation of an additional and much-needed room on their home. Three or four days later the father came to the building supply dealer and said, “Will it be all right with you if we cancel the contract? The bishop talked with my son John about a mission last night. We will need to set this additional room aside for a while.” The building supply dealer responded, “Your son will go on his mission, and he will find the needed room when he returns.” Here was the spirit of Christianity—a family sending a boy into the world to teach the gospel, and friends coming to help the family with their problems. What then, indeed, shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ?

The year before I served my mission the bishop called me into his office and extended a call for me to be a CTR B Primary teacher. I accepted the call, excited to teach the seven- and eight-year-olds in my class. At the same time, I also worked at a local supermarket. It was a good job.
Not long after I was hired, the manager and assistant manager of the store where I worked informed me that I would have to start working on Sundays. The manager said, “I am not going to work around the Mormons or any other church.” To keep my job, I knew that it would mean giving up my calling. My manager wouldn’t discuss it any further.
I sat down with the bishop and explained the whole situation. This was one of the first times we talked about a mission. I wasn’t sure that I would even go on a mission. But if I did go, I would need a job to earn money to pay for it. But I also wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy and be able to attend church and teach Primary. After a long discussion with the bishop, I decided to quit my job. Not long after that, I found a job at another store that allowed me to have Sundays off. I kept my calling, and for the next several months I helped those children prepare for baptism.
One day I was looking at the missionary discussions, just to see what was in them, and it suddenly became clear to me why it had been so important for me to teach Primary. The discussions taught about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, the First Vision, faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost—the very same principles I had been teaching my Primary class. I decided to pray about a mission.
I received an answer to serve a mission. I was interviewed by my bishop and received a call to serve in the Jacksonville, Florida, area. Teaching Primary gave me a better understanding of the things I would need to know to be prepared to serve a mission.
When I quit my job, some people might have wondered why, especially when someone else could have easily taught that Primary class. But giving up my job to keep the Sabbath and teach Primary resulted in a greater blessing for me.

One warm summer afternoon a tiny girl reached on tiptoes to ring a doorbell. After a moment the door swung wide and there stood a beautiful twenty-year-old princess with golden hair and large, expressive blue eyes. To a small child she might have been Cinderella. But this princess was taller, more regal than any pictures of the cinder girl. And she was as real as her name—Sally Peterson.
“Elizabeth!” Sally smiled down at her little visitor. “How wonderful to see you! Come in! Come in!”
“I just brought you this,” the little girl beamed, as she thrust forward a letter, then turned happily and walked down the stairs murmuring, “Now that wasn’t one bit scary.”
It wasn’t scary. And it shouldn’t have been. Sally was her special friend. As Junior Sunday School chorister, Sally had taught songs to Elizabeth and many others like her over a period of five years. But now she wasn’t “Sally our song-leader”; she was Miss Utah of 1972. And one small girl expressed the feelings of many:
Dear Sally
I love you
Love
From Elizabeth

Another sister wrote:
“It’s all over now! What? The area conference! I wish they could stay longer here,” she said. “Believe it or not it has been raining cats and dogs, but the sun shone brightly just before the prophet’s plane landed at the airport. There was a typhoon forecast, but it didn’t come until after the Brethren had left the country. I walked with Sister Kimball. I told her I could hardly believe I was walking with her. Know what she said? Well, she told me she is no different than I am. That she washed clothes, washed the dishes, and cooks food, plants vegetables, and does all the same things that I do.”

“Hey, Aaron,” Ty called from the other end of the church gym. “Come shoot some hoops with us!”
Aaron shifted the box of paper cups and napkins in his arms and shook his head. “I can’t,” he called back. “I’m helping my mom set up for Relief Society.”
Aaron heard Ty and some of his other friends laugh as they dribbled and passed the basketball. All of the boys were in his Primary class except Todd, a new boy who didn’t go to church. Aaron heard Todd ask, “What’s Relief Society?”
“It’s a meeting for moms and old ladies … and Aaron!” Ty laughed again.
Aaron ducked into the kitchen and dropped the box on the counter. He knew that Relief Society wasn’t just for moms and old ladies, and it wasn’t just a meeting either. When his mother was in the hospital, Relief Society sisters brought delicious meals to his family. They also served his family a luncheon after his grandfather’s funeral. Mom had explained that the Relief Society also helps the bishop care for the sick and poor in the ward. Aaron enjoyed helping Mom with Relief Society activities because he always had a good feeling afterward, and he often got to sample the leftover treats.
But he didn’t have a good feeling right now. He didn’t like being laughed at. “Mom, can I go play with Ty and the other guys?” he asked.
“I’m counting on you, Aaron,” Mom said. “I really need you to put chairs around the tables.”
Grumbling to himself, Aaron shuffled over to the rack of chairs against the wall. He lifted one off the top, and the one below it clattered to the hardwood floor. Some of the boys laughed, but Todd said, “Why don’t we go help him?”
Ty shot the basketball and missed. “No way,” he said, chasing down the ball. “We only have the gym for five more minutes. I’m not going to waste my time on Relief Society.”
Aaron unfolded more chairs and arranged them around the tables. Brother Brown arrived to help, and soon the two of them had completed the job. But Aaron knew that he wasn’t finished. Mom handed him a stack of tablecloths and paper napkins. He turned away from the boys at the other end of the gym and concentrated on getting the tablecloths straight. Brother Brown and several Relief Society sisters worked around him, setting the tables and making everything look nice. Aaron took a pitcher of water and started to fill the paper cups at each place, when suddenly a basketball crashed into the table, spilling water everywhere.
Ty ran over to retrieve the ball just as Aaron’s mother came out of the kitchen. “It’s time for you to go so we can have our meeting,” she told Ty.
Ty picked up the ball and dribbled it at his side. “Ah, come on, Sister Dean, we won’t bother you. We’ll just play at that end while you have your meeting over here.”
“Sorry, Ty,” she said. “It’s our turn now. You boys will have to leave.” She turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Aaron mopped up the spilled water with a wad of napkins. Ty was still standing there looking stubborn, bouncing the ball up and down. Aaron didn’t want to argue with his friend, but he didn’t want to let Mom down either. He offered a quick and silent prayer.
“Listen, Ty,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t you guys help me finish, and then we can go outside and play basketball before it gets too dark. The Relief Society is having brownies and ice cream afterward, and my mom might give us some if we help out.”
Ty looked around and the other boys waited to see what he would do. Aaron took the pitcher of water and pointed at the empty cups. “If we all take a table, we’ll get done fast.”
Later, Aaron’s mom brought brownies and ice cream outside for the boys. “I want to thank you guys for helping out tonight,” she said. “It sure made my job a lot easier.”
Todd took a spoonful of ice cream and grinned. “This is your job?” he asked. “Where do I sign up?”

I saw such confidence when a boy sat with his deacons quorum presidency one Sunday morning. He was their newly called secretary. That young presidency counseled together. They talked about several ways they could fulfill the bishop’s request to bring a less-active boy back to church. After prayer and discussion, they appointed the secretary to go to the home of a boy who had never come to a meeting and to invite him.

The secretary didn’t know the boy, but he knew that one of the boy’s parents was less active and the other was not a member and not friendly. The secretary felt anxiety but not fear. He knew that the prophet of God had asked priesthood holders to bring back the lost sheep. And he had heard the prayer of his presidency. He heard them come to agreement on the name of the boy to be rescued and on his own name.

I was watching when the secretary walked up the street toward the less-active boy’s house. He walked slowly as if he were going into great danger. But within a half hour he came back down the road with the boy, smiling happily. I’m not sure he knew it then, but he had gone with faith that he was on the Lord’s errand. That faith has stayed with him and has grown over his years as a missionary, a father, a leader of young men, and a bishop.

Sister Young had a stroke two days after we got home from a trip we took to Mexico. It incapacitated her for the rest of her life, and I had the honor and the great pleasure of nursing her for the five or six more years she lived. Had she had the stroke two or three days before in Quetzalcoalcos, Mexico, in the southwest corner of the Gulf of Mexico, we never should have gotten her out alive, but mercifully it waited till she got home.

That same light showed two teenage sisters the way to go on a very frightening day in 1833. An angry mob stormed through the quiet streets of Independence, Missouri, where 15-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her 13-year-old sister Caroline lived. The terrifying mob was destroying property and burning and rioting. Some of the mobsters broke into the home of Brother William Phelps, where the printing press was located. He had been printing revelations received by the Prophet Joseph Smith. They tore apart the printing press and threw it into the street. They carried the priceless printed pages out of the building, throwing them in a pile in the yard to burn.
Mary Elizabeth and her sister Caroline were hiding behind a fence, trembling as they watched the destruction. Mary knew full well the danger of angry mobs, but in spite of that, she felt the urgency to save those precious pages. The two teenage sisters ran out to the street, grabbed armfuls of the scriptures, and fled. Some of the mob saw this and ordered them to stop as they chased after the courageous sisters. The girls ran into a large cornfield, where they fell breathless to the ground. Between the rows of corn they laid the copies of the revelations on the ground and then spread themselves over the pages. The men were relentless in their search for the girls among the tall cornstalks, coming very near at times, but they never were able to find the girls, and eventually they gave up and left to finish their destruction in the town.
The light of the Lord showed those young women what to do and where to go for safety. That same light shines for you. It can keep you safe as it did them. We have a sculpture of those sisters in the Young Women office to remind us of the courage of young women then and now.

Illustration by Allen Garns
Eighteen weeks into my fourth pregnancy, I woke up to some minor bleeding. I felt anxious when the bleeding didn’t stop, so I decided to go to the emergency room.
During the long drive to the hospital, I hoped and prayed that everything would be OK. At the worst, I thought the doctor would prescribe several days of bed rest.
When I was admitted to the hospital, the staff performed several tests. They found that the baby didn’t have a heartbeat. The diagnosis was “fetal demise.” The doctor couldn’t do anything further at that point, so he released me from the hospital.
I went home feeling sad and frightened. I was unable to sleep that night. When I got out of bed the next morning, I was prompted to go to an early-morning endowment session at the temple.
Near the end of the session, my eyes focused on the wedding and engagement rings on my ring finger. They had belonged to the great-grandmother I was named after. She passed away when I was five, and I had recently been reading her life story. I remembered that she had experienced many miscarriages when she was in her 20s.
All morning I had been fighting tears of sadness and fear, but in that moment, I felt a wave of peace. I felt comforted. Great-grandma had passed through similar trials in her life, and the Savior had helped her. I felt the assurance that He would help me too.
“He will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12).
I am deeply grateful for the peace that comes from attending the temple, for a legacy of faithful ancestors, and most of all, for the atoning sacrifice of the Savior Jesus Christ.

If the young men of 150 years ago wanted to give service to a good cause, they could carry water to the men working on the temple. Today the Nauvoo Young Men are also deeply involved in giving service regularly. Each summer thousands of visitors come, swelling the numbers attending their ward. Every Sunday morning, without fail, the Young Men arrive at the meetinghouse an hour early to set up hundreds of folding chairs and prepare up to 32 trays for the sacrament. It doesn’t take a great deal of skill to set up chairs, but it takes ingenuity and a great plan to pass the sacrament to all those people tucked into classrooms or lining the hallways. All the deacons, teachers, and priests are needed to pass the sacrament. And they want to do it with dignity. “We get tired and want to take off our ties and jackets,” says Mark Hasek, 14, “but we know people will go back to their wards and say, ‘The Nauvoo boys did this.’ We’re a big example.”
Then after meetings, they have to move those hundreds of chairs outside, ready to be set up for the City of Joseph productions the following week. The boys are doing a little good-natured complaining about having to set up so many chairs when one of the girls pipes up and says, “We help with the chairs too.” The boys start to tease. “Yeah, the boys are responsible for setting up the chairs. The girls are responsible for sitting in the chairs. Everyone in the stake knows to call the Nauvoo Ward about setting up. We know chairs.”

My next year at Utah State I experienced another defining moment. I met a tall, handsome, returned missionary and we fell in love. He proposed and together we picked out a ring. With his entire savings he paid cash for the diamond.
On a clear Sunday evening in January we drove to the grounds of the Logan Temple where we intended to become formally engaged. The white gold diamond ring slipped from between the pages of Sections 131 and 132 and fell into the freshly fallen snow. We searched for hours beneath the moonlight, alternately weeping and praying. Finally, we huddled in one of the temple wall alcoves, and fervently prayed for the ring's recovery. We promised the Lord that we would consecrate our lives to him. We promised to attend the temple monthly, pay our tithing, and fulfill our callings. The hour was late and we sadly returned to our apartments.
The miracle was not that it didn't snow that night, nor that the next morning a friend plucked the diamond from the snow, just a foot away from where we had searched. The miracle was that the Lord gave us an transforming opportunity to identify the kind of lives we would live and solemnly promise to be obedient.