Gospel Story Finder

I am reminded of the story that Elder L. Tom Perry shared with us just a few weeks ago at general conference time. It took place in the mid-seventies shortly after he had lost his first wife. Before one of the sessions of general conference he looked over where the wives usually sit, and of course his wife’s chair was vacant; she was not there. He stood up, ran outside the Tabernacle, and said, “I want to bring someone inside who would not have an opportunity to attend conference today.” Accordingly, he went right to the end of the line, found a lovely young lady, and introduced himself. After she had introduced herself as a student from Ricks College, he brought her inside and gave her the privilege of sitting in the seat that his wife would have occupied were she alive. During the session, he glanced over to look at her and observed tears streaming down her face. Afterward he went over and said, “I noticed that you were crying.” “I had lost my testimony,” she explained. “I thought, ’One last chance—I’m going to come to Salt Lake to attend general conference, and perhaps then I’ll know the gospel is true’ and then you came out and singled me from the crowd, brought me in, and sat me here. Even though I appreciate the great words that were spoken this day, it was your kindly act that let me know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true.” Each conference time, she writes a letter to Elder Perry, thanking him for his kindness.

After my brother passed away, I made up my mind to quit basketball entirely. There was nothing temporal worth holding on to anymore. We were getting a new Coach, and I rehearsed how to tell him I was done. I was happy I didn’t have to face Coach Hess, who recruited me. I didn’t want him to think he wasted his efforts. Little did I know that the new coach, Ken Wagner, was a conman! When I finally met him, he talked me out of quitting. I will be eternally grateful that he convinced me not to quit. He was an excellent coach and perhaps even a more excellent mentor and father figure. Even these days, he loves to tease me that I was older than him when he coached me, and in return, I tell him he is the best grandpa I could ever ask for! God bless you, Coach, and God bless all the good people I met here.

Joseph William Billy Johnson is one of those people. He has been a member of the Church from its beginnings in Ghana.
In 1964 an associate gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon and some Church tracts that had been sent from Europe. When he read a tract containing the testimony of Joseph Smith, he recalls, “I was inspired,” and when he read the Book of Mormon, “I knew it was true.” He began to preach the gospel truths he had learned. He wrote to Church headquarters, and President David O. McKay encouraged him to continue studying the scriptures and to be patient and faithful until missionaries could be sent to Africa.
Billy Johnson persevered for 14 years despite persecution. He built congregations to whom he taught the gospel doctrine he found in Church books. As nearly as he knew how, he tried to direct his congregations according to Church practices, yet he understood that he did not have authority to perform its ordinances.
Often he felt directed by the Spirit; he was sustained at times by visions and dreams. His son was named after Brigham Young because of a dream in which that former President of the Church offered encouragement. Brother Johnson learned about salvation for the dead after deceased relatives appeared to him in dreams and asked him to be sure they would have the opportunity to receive baptism by proxy.
“I drew inspiration from the pioneers,” he says. Reading of their struggles to build a haven in the western United States where they could worship in peace, he longed for the day when it might be possible to enjoy this same blessing in Ghana.
When Latter-day Saint missionaries arrived in 1978, after the revelation extending the priesthood to all worthy male members, hundreds of Ghanaians he had prepared were ready to be taught and baptized.
Despite the hardships he endured, Brother Johnson, now patriarch of the Cape Coast Ghana Stake, rejoices at the opportunity he had during all those years to help prepare others for the gospel. “Whenever I see in conferences the number of people who have been baptized into the Church, I start weeping for joy at the great work the Lord has done.”

There was Uwe, the young, idealistic environmentalist, who heard about the plan of salvation and knew the message was true. He bicycled 5 miles (8 km) to church on Sunday morning in answer to our invitation, even though his long, leather-clad legs wouldn’t fit into the chapel’s pews. When he prayed on his knees for the first time, we felt the peace that entered his heart, and we watched his countenance change.

As a boy, I was baptized with my family in 1971. For years we were very active as a family in Church. Then, little by little, we stopped attending meetings. My family began to have many problems that resulted in my parents’ separation.

After a long period of time I began to attend church again. One of my friends from seminary days had found me and encouraged me back into activity. I began to read the scriptures and Church books—especially the Liahona (Spanish)—and I developed the desire to serve a mission.

As part of my mission preparation I read the Book of Mormon all the way through. This special book of scripture became my constant companion and was a great help to me.

I am now serving a mission and I love the work. My parents are back together and my younger brother and sister are planning to go on missions. The trials still keep coming, but with the gospel we can overcome them.

Based on my own experience, I would encourage all of the young men of the Church to prepare now for a mission. One of the best ways to prepare is to read the Book of Mormon and the Church magazine. Do not hesitate to accept a mission call. You will never regret it.
Elder E. Jorge Luis LeonArgentina Buenos Aires South Mission

Another futile fear that I dispelled some years later was the fear of heights. We were building our new chapel in Nottingham, England, with all the members helping. My specialty was laying floor tile and placing acoustic ceiling tile, mainly in the corridors and classrooms. There was a call for someone to fix some ceiling tiles at the very apex of the chapel ceiling. I don’t know the height, but as I started to climb the ladder, it seemed like scaling Mount Everest. On reaching the top I had to measure exactly, then descend the ladder, cut the tiles to shape and size, climb once again and fit them in place. Certainly, the best way to overcome fear of heights is to “do it,” as President Kimball has challenged.

The Millers’ most unusual family home evening started out very much as usual. Mom and Dad sat together holding hands. Twelve-year-old Jeramie looked bored. Nine-year-old Charlie tapped his toes impatiently. Eight-year-old Jimmy made faces at six-year-old Jenny, who glared back at him. It was four-year-old Billie Jo’s turn to lead the opening song, and she waved her hands wildly to “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”—as usual.
After the opening prayer, Dad began the lesson by hanging a picture of Jesus on the wall and telling the children that they should always remember Him.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and the man Dad invited in was anything but usual. He had a brown beard and long brown hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore a tan robe that came down to the brown sandals on his feet. A dark blue cloak hung across one shoulder. He looked just like the people in most of the paintings they had seen of the Savior’s time.
The children were very quiet when the stranger spoke. He said his name was James and that he was going to tell them some stories about his special Friend, Jesus Christ.
The first story was about a young man who died. The man’s mother had been very sad. She needed her son. She had asked Jesus to help her. He spoke to her son, and the young man awakened. (See Luke 7:12–14.)
James’s next story was about when Jesus had been teaching a large crowd of people on a mountain by the sea. No one had brought anything to eat, except a boy who had five loaves of bread and two small fish. The boy had been willing to share his food, so Jesus blessed it. After it had been blessed, it fed all five thousand people, with some left over. (See John 6:1–14.)
The stranger, who called himself James, talked to the Millers a long time. They had heard his stories before, but when he told them, they seemed to have just happened. There was an even more wonderful feeling in the room as James told them how much the Savior loved the people He had taught and how much He loved them. He told them that they would be happier if they remembered to love one another as much as Jesus Christ loved them.
Mom had begun to lead the closing song, “Love One Another,” before the children recognized the stranger. When he began to sing, they all knew that it was Brother Park, the man who led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. Long hair and a beard couldn’t disguise his singing voice. His first name really was James, he said, and the Savior really was his special Friend.
Brother Park stayed to eat ice cream and cookies with them. Before he left, he looked at the picture of Jesus that Dad had hung up and said, “You know, this is just how an artist thinks Jesus looks, but when you look at it, I hope that you will remember Him. Remember that He cares about what you do, and He loves you.”
The next Tuesday after school, when Jimmy took Jenny’s doll to drive his dump truck, Jenny became angry and grabbed it back. When she looked up to call her mom and tell on Jimmy, she saw the picture of Jesus. She remembered that Brother Park had said they would be happier by remembering to love one another. She knew how to show love for Jimmy. She said, “I guess I’m not going to use this now. You can play with it, but please ask next time.” Jimmy was so surprised that he almost forgot to say thanks.
On Wednesday, Charlie was hurrying past the picture on the wall when he ran smack into Billie Jo and knocked her down. She began to cry. Charlie was about to say something like, “You big baby, watch where you’re going next time.” But his eyes looked right into the eyes in the picture, and he remembered Brother Park telling them about the people who had hurt Jesus. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially Billie Jo. He knelt down and put his arm around his little sister. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Billie Jo quit crying and smiled. “I’m OK,” she said and went off to play. Charlie was glad that he had taken the time to show love for Billie Jo.
Thursday was a terrible day for Jeramie. She was in junior high school, and her homework was hard. When she got home from school, the calculator she used in math was missing, and she was sure that one of the little kids had gone into her room and grabbed it. She was about to yell at her mother to punish “the little brats,” when she looked up and saw the picture of Jesus. She was still plenty mad, but she just didn’t feel like yelling anymore. She went quietly to find Mom, who reminded her that she had done her homework in the den last night. Sure enough, her calculator was in her father’s desk, where she had left it.
A little later, Billie Jo came home from a friend’s birthday party with a sack of candy. Jimmy and Jenny were sitting underneath the picture of Jesus. “What’s in the bag?” Jimmy asked. Billie Jo didn’t know if she had enough candy to share with all her brothers and sisters. But she saw the picture on the wall and remembered Brother Parks telling about the little boy who had shared his bread and fish with five thousand people.
“Come into the kitchen,” Billie Jo said. “I have something to share.” She called Jeramie and Charlie in too. The rest of the day Billie Jo imagined that she could see the picture smiling at her. In her heart she knew that Jesus was proud of her.
On Friday, Jimmy came home from school tired. He dumped his books on the floor and tossed his jacket onto the couch. But it seemed to him that the picture of Jesus was looking directly at his books on the floor. Jimmy knew that the picture couldn’t really see anything, but he remembered how he had felt before they recognized Brother Park. If Jesus were to come into his home, he wouldn’t want his books to be on the floor. So Jimmy put them away and hung his jacket in the closet. As he munched on an apple and relaxed, he was glad that his house looked neat and clean. He knew that his mom would be glad too.
When the Millers gathered for dinner Saturday night, they were surprised to see flowers on the table and the best dishes set at each place. Dinner was especially nice, and when Mom brought out a fancy cake for dessert, Billie Jo wondered who was having a birthday.
Dad took a piece of cake. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“I don’t really know,” Mom said. “I just felt like celebrating. Maybe it’s the happy feeling we’ve had in this house all week without any fights. Or maybe I was remembering our family home evening and wanted to be prepared in case Jesus decided to come for dinner tonight.”
Everyone laughed, but when they bowed their heads for family prayer that night, they all felt in their hearts as if Jesus really had come to visit their home that week.

Almost anyone has a hard time pinning Kenneth Marsh down.

Ken represented Colorado and Nebraska in international wrestling meets held in Turkey. He grappled in the 143-pound class with a 3–2–0 record. Two of his wins were over Turkish national champions.

En route home Ken participated in the U.S. AAU Junior Nationals in Chicago. He competed there in both free-style and Greco-Roman wrestling, placing fourth in Greco-Roman.

The Littleton, Colorado, priest also compiled an impressive record in school athletics. He was chosen team captain and placed first in a 10-district meet.

Ken’s school wrestling career started in the seventh grade when he was the only member of his class to make the varsity team, competing in the 68-pound division.

Six years and some 75 pounds later, Ken was seeded first in the 10-district championship that he won.

Ken is a member of the Littleton Colorado Second Ward.

I remember when I was assigned to give my first talk in church. I was given the liberty to choose my subject. I’ve always liked birds, so I thought of the Seagull Monument. In preparation, I went to Temple Square and looked at the monument. First I was attracted to all the coins in the water surrounding the monument. I wondered how they would be retrieved and who would retrieve them. Then I looked upward at the seagulls atop that monument. I tried in my boyish mind to imagine what it would be like to be a pioneer watching the first year’s growth of precious grain being devoured by crickets and then seeing those seagulls, with their lofty wings, descending upon the fields and eating the crickets. I loved the account. I sat down with a pencil in hand and wrote out a two-and-one-half-minute talk. I’ve never forgotten the seagulls. I’ve never forgotten the crickets. I’ve never forgotten my knees knocking together as I gave that talk. I’ve never forgotten the experience of letting some of my innermost feelings be expressed verbally at the pulpit.

Elder Oaks faced a similar situation in 1984 following his call to the Twelve, as he again left a position and work that he loved as a supreme court justice in the state of Utah. However, this change was different.

In 1970, Elder Oaks reasonably might have thought he would return to his legal career following his service at BYU, which in fact he eventually did. But the call in 1984 was distinctive—a consecrated commitment of his whole soul and entire life to the Lord. The eternal importance and worldwide scope of his new responsibilities truly were overwhelming.

Elder Oaks described his innermost thoughts about this important transition:
“During this period of introspection, contemplating the way I would spend the rest of my life, I asked myself what kind of an apostle I would be. Would I be a lawyer who had been called to be an apostle, or would I be an apostle who used to be a lawyer? I concluded that the answer to this question depended upon whether I would try to shape my calling to my own personal qualifications and experience, or whether I would undertake the painful process of trying to shape myself to my calling.
“Would I try to perform my calling in the world’s ways, or would I try to determine and follow the Lord’s ways?
“I made up my mind that I would try to change myself to fit my calling, that I would try to measure up to the qualifications and spiritual stature of an apostle. That is a challenge for a lifetime.”1

All the years I was in Primary, I dreamed of receiving the priesthood. But by the time I was about to turn 12, I had become a bit anxious about it. I wasn’t nervous about priesthood service; what seemed challenging was setting an example.
As time went on, I especially felt a responsibility to be an example for my younger brother. When my brother was preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood, I had a hard time accepting the fact that I had to set an example for him. Why didn’t I have an older brother who could be an example for me? Then it dawned on me. I do have an Older Brother who is a perfect example—Jesus Christ. I could follow His example!
When I turned 16, I was ordained a priest. Then my brother turned 12, and I was asked to ordain him a deacon. I was nervous, especially about giving him a blessing as part of the ordination. But the words came to me, and I knew exactly what to say: “I bless you to be able to follow the example of your Older Brother, Jesus Christ.”
Yves P., Cergy, France

It is well before 5 A.M. in the Tennessee hills when Tre (call him “Tray”) Pennington, 17, and his grandfather bump along an old dirt road in their pickup. There are no signs to point the way to the Duck River, no landmarks that would stand out to someone new. Mostly there are trees, thick, green, and heavy. It’s only where someone’s cleared out space for a farm or a home that you get any extended view.
Grandpa (call him ’Pa) slows the truck at a clearing and pulls in next to some trees. He doesn’t have to say a word. Tre knows it’s on foot from here. They scramble down a steep bank and pull their boat out of the underbrush, from the same place where they’ve tied it up every day for years. It’s a shallow boat, square on both ends.
They check to make sure there’s gas for the motor; they lift in the paddles and load a few plastic buckets on board. Then, for a few minutes, they wait.
It isn’t that there needs to be more light, although the sun is yet to crest over the hill. It isn’t a question of when the catfish will bite, because the trot lines ’Pa baited with grasshoppers yesterday have been in the water all night long. It isn’t even a question of sneaking a moment of rest before the work begins, because both the young man and his grandfather are eager to be on the river.
It is, quite simply, a moment of reverence, a pause to appreciate nature, to take in the beauty of a morning at its birth.
Finally it is ’Pa who whispers.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Tre responds with a nod. The boat glides into the mild current.
Soon they reach the lines. ’Pa holds the boat steady while Tre lifts each fish, flopping and slimy, out of the water. He brings them in one at a time, almost like taking laundry off a clothesline. Some fish, quite small, are set free. On the big ones, Tre guesses how many pounds.
“This one’ll go for five or six, won’t it Grandaddy?”
“More like four or five,” ’Pa responds.
Ask what kind of fish are in the river, and Grandpa will explain. “Lots of cats,” he says. “Blue. Yeller. Channel. Other fish, too. Perch, Bass, Carp. But you don’t take them often.”
This day when the four lines are cleared, the catch totals fifty catfish and one carp.
Tre does most of what little talking is done. He tells about the time ’Pa got knocked out of the boat by a tree limb and lost his hat. He teases Grandpa about the nickname Grandma gave him.
“She calls him a pelican,” he says, “because he could eat fish three times a day.”
Then there’s silence again, not the awkward silence of people who don’t know what to say, but the silence of men who know each other well.
“I wonder if we’ll see anything today,” Tre finally says as the boat turns for home. Often it’s deer, sometimes a beaver, once in a while a blue heron. Today they see a turtle.
Back home the catfish are cleaned and skinned, dipped in corn meal and fried. “What we don’t eat, we put in the freezer,” Tre explains. “We can trade it for beef.” The carp will be pressure cooked and bottled, then stored on the shelf like salmon. ’Pa can remember times during World War II when canned carp helped keep the family alive.

When I was eight or nine years old, I wanted to build a derby car. There was a race coming up, so my dad helped me build a car to enter. We found some two-by-four wood planks and put one in the middle and two on each end. Then we put a little chair on it with ropes to steer. We just had a block of wood for a brake—I pushed it down with my foot, and the wood dragged on the ground. To finish the car off, I put some big, old plastic tires from a tricycle on it.
When we showed up at the race, the other kids had these really fancy derby cars. People were laughing when they saw us. But I wasn’t embarrassed, because my dad was by me. As long as he was there, I was good.
People stood all along the streets. The nice, shiny cars lined up at the start. We raced down the hill, and my car won! Then we went to the next race, and the next race, and I kept winning. A few in the crowd started chanting, “Go two-by-four!” They were cheering for me and my car. I won second place overall! I even got a trophy.
The race was really fun because my dad had helped me and let me make the car how I wanted. I had confidence because my dad was there. I knew who I was and that my dad supported me.

There was a time in my childhood that my parents didn’t have money to pay for my schooling, so I stopped going to class.
A year later, my father said I could go back to school if we made enough money from our farm. We all worked hard. After two years of effort, we made enough money so I could go to school again.
This taught me that education is worth working for. School is important. When you are in school, you should work hard and learn all you can.
Years later, I joined the Church. I learned that the Lord also teaches us that education is important. The scriptures teach that we can take whatever we learn in this life with us into eternity (see Doctrine and Covenants 130:18–19).
I am grateful that I learned to work hard to get my education. I pray that each one of you will get all the education you can. Then you can use your knowledge to help others.

A few years ago, when Elder Merrill J. Bateman of the Presidency of the Seventy was in Japan, the missionaries introduced him to a young Japanese brother who had just joined the Church. He was from a non-Christian background. When he met the missionaries, he was interested in the message, but he could not understand or feel the need for a Savior, and he didn’t have a witness regarding the gospel. One day the missionaries decided to show him a film about the Atonement. The young man saw the film, but still he didn’t have a witness.

“The next morning he went to work. He worked in an optician’s shop making eyeglasses. … An elderly woman came in. He remembered her coming in a few weeks before. She had broken her glasses. She needed a new pair. When she had come in earlier, she didn’t have enough money and had gone away to save more in order to purchase the new glasses. As she came in that day, she again showed him her spectacles and showed him the money that she now had. He realized that she didn’t have enough yet. Then a thought came to him: I have some money. I don’t need to tell her. I can make up the difference. So he told her the money she had was adequate, took her glasses, [and] made an appointment for her to return when he had finished making the spectacles. …

“She returned later. He had the glasses ready for her. He handed them to her, and she put them on [and exclaimed] ‘… I see. I see.’ Then she began to cry. At that point, a burning sensation began to grow within his bosom and swelled within him. He said, ‘… I understand. I understand.’ He began to cry. Out the door he ran, looking for the missionaries. When he found them, he said, ‘I see! My eyes have been opened! I know that Jesus is the Son of God. I know the stone was rolled away from the tomb and on that glorious Easter morning He arose from the dead. He can make up the difference in my life when I fall short.’”

I have been a Beehive for about one and a half years and had never read the New Era. I had heard others talk about how much they loved it, but I never took much thought about it. Thanks to the Young Men–Young Women activity this month, I read the New Era for the first time. After reading it cover to cover, I realized what I had been missing out on. I felt the Spirit so strongly as I read those articles, and even though there had recently been contention in my house, the New Era somehow managed to help take all the feelings of anger away. I will never not read another issue again.
Michelle R., Utah

I will start with an experience from my “before General Authority” life. I planned a trip that required me to fly a beautiful, high-performance airplane from Kalispell, Montana, to Las Vegas, Nevada. My highly experienced copilot and I were excited to make the flight. We made our preparations for the trip.

We filed an instrument flight plan from Kalispell to Las Vegas and climbed into the airplane, anticipating a beautiful, quiet, and uneventful flight. The aircraft was sophisticated and state of the art, all weather was checked, flight plans were filed, and the night in Kalispell was crystal clear. All was in order. It rarely gets any better than that for the crew of an aircraft. The skies at altitude were clear and cold, making the ride smooth and breathtaking.

As we approached the Las Vegas area, air traffic controllers gave us preliminary instructions for our descent and arrival into the area. We had been monitoring increasingly bad weather developing far beneath us along the route. As we started our descent, we entered a bizarre weather phenomenon. It was snowing heavily in the clouds, and we could see lightning all around us. The aircraft started to glow an eerie blue color from the electricity in the air.

This was a new experience for both of us—even with our combined 60 years of experience in the cockpit. Suddenly, the static electricity overwhelmed the sophisticated radios in the aircraft, and we could hear nothing but loud, scratchy static. We were now descending into some of the world’s busiest airspace without being able to communicate with those who were controlling all of the other air traffic. They were ready to direct us, but we could not hear their instructions. We were being heard, but we could not hear. What was going to guide us to safety now?

There are those on the ground who will keep you safe if you follow the rule. We followed the previous instructions of the air traffic controller and our flight plan route and soon flew out of the storm, regained radio contact, and landed safely.

Even in times of darkness or what seems like silence from above, when you may feel abandoned, what you decide to do today can guide you through the darkness to the light. The Lord is always there. He is always there. If in the storms of life you feel you can’t hear His direction, stay true to the covenants you promised to keep. If you are true to your love of the Savior and covenants with Him, you will be blessed. If you find yourself in difficulty and things don’t seem right, persist in righteousness. Storm clouds will clear, clarity will come, and peace will return.

Let me give you an example of counsel from one of the Twelve. Nearly two years ago Elder Dallin H. Oaks addressed you in an evening like we are sharing tonight. You will remember that he caught your attention when he raised the issue of dating rather than “hanging out.” He said:
My single young friends, we counsel you to channel your associations with the opposite sex into dating patterns that have the potential to mature into marriage, not hanging-out patterns that only have the prospect to mature into team sports like touch football.
Now, the important question: What did you do following his talk? Did anything change? Elder Henry B. Eyring gave this warning:
The failure to take prophetic counsel lessens our power to take inspired counsel in the future. . . .
Every time in my life when I have chosen to delay following inspired counsel or decided that I was an exception, I came to know that I had put myself in harm’s way. Every time that I have listened to the counsel of prophets, felt it confirmed in prayer, and then followed it, I have found that I moved toward safety.
How do your actions over the past two years show that you are holding fast to the iron rod? Those who responded positively and promptly to Elder Oaks’s counsel surely found that the blessings of heaven followed. Let me read from a letter sent to Church headquarters from a couple in Arizona more than a year after his talk:

Your remarks have had a lasting impact on our lives. . . .
. . . Your direct and clear counsel helped us realize that dating was an opportunity to get to know one another better and not an immediate commitment to a long-term relationship or marriage.

The result was that they were married in May in the Washington D.C. Temple.

When the car was ready to go, we started on our way again, slowly, down the coast. A short time later we saw two young Mexican parents and their two toddlers standing next to a car with a mangled tire. Our opportunity to help had come sooner than I expected.
We spoke with them and offered to take them to their home a few miles down the road. They gratefully accepted and piled into the back seat.
Two dusty little hands plunged into our box of crackers as we bumped along that rocky dirt road in the Mexican desert. Now seven people were crammed into the minivan, along with a cooler, two surfboards, camping gear, and a pile of oily towels.
As the toddlers eagerly devoured the last cracker crumbs and we joked with their parents, I realized that this was what helping was all about. It didn’t matter how much it cost the man to give us the epoxy or how far out of our way we went to take the family home. We all knew we had done the right thing, and the feeling was worth more than anything in the world.

After some time, my family moved from Maryland to Utah, where we lived on a farm in North Logan. We had some horses, some cows, some pigs, some chickens, two dogs, a few cats, and we even had a pet pig. Though it became necessary to sell the cows, my father kept one milk cow.
Each morning before school, I helped my older brother, Lou, milk the family cow. One morning, my brother was sick and I had to milk the cow alone. I was just eight years old at the time. I took the bucket and stool and went into the field. This was the first time I had ever had to milk the cow by myself. I set up my stool and bucket and started to milk. She kicked the bucket and walked away.
I picked up the bucket and stool, walked over to her, and again started to milk. Again, she kicked the bucket and walked away. I had to milk the cow before I went to school, so I picked up my stool and bucket and walked over to her and started to milk. A third time, she kicked the bucket and walked away.
I needed help! I knelt down in the morning sunlight and began to pray. I explained to Heavenly Father, “I can’t do this by myself. Please, please help me!” Without any hesitation, I picked up the bucket and my stool and walked over to the cow and began to milk. She did not move. She stood still until I finished milking. I quickly carried the bucket to the house, gave it to my mother, and was able to run to school and arrive on time, knowing that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.