Gospel Story Finder

It was ten-year-old Joshua’s turn to teach the family home evening lesson. It was on faith. When he finished, he told his family, “If you have faith, you can do anything.”
His mom replied, “Well, almost anything.”
“No sir, Mom,” Joshua said. “You can do anything.”
Little did the Dennis family know that within days their faith would be tested. On Friday, September 22, 1989, Joshua’s dad, the Varsity Scout coach in their ward, let him go with him and other leaders and members of a Boy Scout troop from Kearns, Utah, to explore the Hidden Treasure Mine. After looking around for some time, Joshua and some of the Scouts decided to turn back. On the way out of the tunnel, they met Joshua’s dad and some other Scouts heading out of the mine. Then Joshua decided to follow some older Scouts back into the mine tunnel, and he gave his flashlight to his dad, who was leaving the tunnel with a visually handicapped boy.
The older Scouts did not know that Joshua was behind them. They began to run. Joshua couldn’t keep up with them and was soon left behind in total darkness. He couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face.
He turned around and tried to feel his way back to the entrance, but he made a wrong turn and slid down a slope. He climbed back up but went too far and ended up in an ore stope—a cavity where ore has been mined out—six feet wide and twenty-five feet deep. The stope was almost impossible to see from the main tunnel below because of rocks.
“I tried to find my way out for a long time,” Joshua recalled. He yelled, but the stope muffled his cries, and no one heard him. By this time, he was tired and cold and his feet were wet. “I knew that I was lost, and I realized that I had better just sit down and wait,” he said.
Joshua slept a lot. Sometimes he would stand up and stretch or just sit and think—hamburgers and pizza were on his mind quite a bit. For five days Joshua had no food or water and only his coat to keep him warm in the 50° F (10° C) temperature.
But he wasn’t afraid. “I prayed a lot that Heavenly Father would help me,” he said, and his prayers were answered with a feeling of comfort and a knowledge that he would be found. “I felt that I was being watched over by Heavenly Father.”
While Joshua was praying, friends and family were also fasting and praying that he would be found in safety. His parents waited anxiously at a local motel for reports on the search for their son.
Many volunteers from his Kearns 30th Ward and the Kearns Utah Stake helped search the surrounding foothills, which are full of abandoned mines and air shafts. At least seven times some of them passed within 150 feet (46 m) of Joshua.
The longer the search continued, the more certain many people became that Joshua was not in the mine but had wandered away from it. Search dogs, helicopters, and people on horseback and on foot combed the cliff-lined hills of nearby Dry Canyon. There was no trace of the blond boy.
Inside the mine, Joshua waited calmly for someone to find him. To help pass the time, he sang “I Am a Child of God,” “Everybody Has to Have a Hero,” and a song about America that he had learned in school.
As each day passed, the chance of finding Joshua alive grew smaller, but members of the rescue team were determined to not give up. “You would have to drag some of those men off the mountain,” said Ray Guymon, one of eleven Church members on the fifteen-man Utah Power & Light Company rescue team.
“We all had a feeling that we were overlooking something. We just couldn’t give up hope,” said Gary Christensen, another Church member of the same rescue team.
When the search party came out of the mine after another unsuccessful rescue attempt on the afternoon of the fifth day, another Church member, John Skinner, persuaded the men in charge to let him go in with the other searchers for a final attempt. “I just had a feeling that he was still in the mine and that he was still alive,” he explained.
John Skinner had explored the Hidden Treasure Mine 120 times and was very familiar with the dozens of passages that wind through the eight levels. He could picture in his mind at least three places where Joshua might be. One of those places was the ore stope.
As the searchers made another sweep through the mine, he, Ray Guymon, and Gary Christensen—these three men were to become the heroes Joshua had been singing about—separated from the group, and John Skinner led them to the sections of the mine where he thought the boy might be. When they finally came to the ore cavity, they heard a faint cry for help but were not sure what it was. They remained still until they heard it again. The excitement grew as they and Joshua yelled back and forth, trying to find each other in the darkness.
“My heart just started pumping and pounding,” recalled Gary Christensen, the first to reach Joshua. “I wrapped my arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around me.”
“I felt like we were led there by the Lord,” Ray Guymon said.
All three men said that it was very difficult to describe the feelings that they had when they found Joshua, whom they had never seen before.
“I felt like he was my own,” Gary Christensen said. “I was just really happy inside.”
“It was an overwhelming feeling when we found him,” John Skinner said.
As Joshua was brought out of the mine, there were tears of joy and relief on the faces of many. Joshua, although excited, remained calm—he had not doubted that he would be found.
Because there was no light inside the mine, Joshua had lost track of time. He was surprised when he found out that he had been lost for so long. Dehydrated from going so long without water, and suffering mild frostbite on his feet, he was flown to Primary Children’s Medical Center, where he rested and doctors examined him.
At first the doctors thought that they would have to amputate his little toes. But all he lost was some skin from his feet. He had to be in a wheelchair for about a week. Physical therapy strengthened his leg and foot muscles, and before long he was walking, running, and even riding his skateboard again.
Joshua received more than a thousand letters, many from other school children who wanted to know more about him and his experience. While he was lost, the students at Fox Hills Elementary School, where he was a fifth-grader, tied yellow ribbons on the fences all around their school to show that they were thinking about him and hoping that he would be back soon. It really made Joshua feel good to know that so many people cared about him. He tells everyone, “Heavenly Father does answer your prayers. Have faith, and don’t give up.”

Noelle Bronson tugged at the ribbon tightened around her blond ponytail. She gave a final look before leaving the mirror, hesitating at the door for one last glimpse as if she might never see a mirror again.
Outside in the yard she could hear the sounds of engines running and of her friends laughing as they came up to the front door calling her name.
She smiled into the mirror and said, “Let me live through this.” Noelle had been looking forward to this outing for months. “At the time, I was mostly thinking about having fun with my friends. I’d heard about my great-great-grandfather, Parley Butt, who was part of the original scouting party and also came through the Hole with the main company when he was only 17. Even though his story was part of our family tradition, none of us had ever been there,” Noelle said.
It was almost 7:00 A.M. and time to meet at the stake center. When they drove into the chapel parking lot she saw most of her friends from the Blanding Utah West Stake, along with leaders and dozens of off-road vehicles packed with provisions and camping gear for the journey ahead of them.
To Noelle and the others, this morning was the culmination of more than a year’s efforts in planning and preparing for this youth conference. The young people of the stake had requested an activity that would let them learn more about their own unique heritage. Like Noelle, most of them had been raised on the stories of the Hole-in-the-Rock pioneers and how they had come to settle Blanding. Many of them were descendants of these early settlers and yet had never seen the places that figured so importantly in their own upbringing. Names like Grey Mesa, Salvation Knoll or the Chute were familiar names but were not familiar to many as places.
During the planning stages, the purposes of the youth conference were identified. The youth and their leaders involved in the planning wanted to have a good activity that was close to home, that would help develop spirituality, and that would provide an experience to bridge the gap between the pioneer heritage and today. Adults from each ward who were experienced with 4-wheel drive vehicles and (if possible) had been on at least part of the trail were called as specialists to help with the activity.
Some felt that this was an impossible journey. Though it had been 100 years since the first pioneers made the journey, the area that they traveled in was still probably among the most remote and little explored places in the U.S.
The presidencies and planning committees met several times during the winter. The young people read histories and studied pioneer journals. They learned how their ancestors had answered a mission call by President John Taylor to come to this wild corner of the world and establish a peace mission among the Indians, how in addition to this challenge they were to provide a civilized buffer in this part of Zion because to that time the San Juan country was controlled by thieves, outlaws, and murderers who used this corner of southern Utah as a place to hide out from the law.
Many of the descendants of the early pioneers still feel under obligation of that original call from President Taylor. In his campfire remarks to the youth, Stan Bronson explained, “We are here to help bring about the fulfillment of the prophecies relative to the restoration of Israel. We have never been released from that first call. I believe the end result of this ‘peace’ mission will be to have the fulness of the gospel operating among the Lamanites here. The ‘peace’ will come here from the ultimate giver of peace and be evident in the hearts and lives of this people.”
“I was excited about going on the Hole-in-the-Rock trip with our stake so I could see for myself the places that have been talked about,” said Cheyenne Johnson. “Walter Joshua and Elizabeth Kinney Stevens, my great-great-grandparents on my father’s side, were newlyweds. That trip was their honeymoon, and I think it must have been more honeymoon than they wanted since it was supposed to last six weeks and it lasted six months.
“Grandpa Stevens drove the first wagon down through the Hole. Also on my mother’s side of the family, great-great-grandparents Benjamin and Sarah Perkins were on that trip. Grandpa Perkins and his brother Hyrum had been miners in Wales and they were responsible for blasting out some of the places where they needed to build roadways down through the Hole. One place known as ‘Uncle Ben’s Dugway,’ was named after Grandpa Perkins. Platte D. Lyman, another great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, was also on the trip. His wife Adelia stayed in Fillmore to have a baby who was born while the group was at the top of the Hole. He was carried through the Hole-in-the-Rock a few months later. That baby was my great-grandfather, Albert R. Lyman, who later married Mary Ellen Perkins, and they were the first settlers in what is now Blanding. They had 15 children, my grandmother being the 15th. Grandpa always kept a journal and wrote many stories and books. I was anxious to see the country where he had been a cowpuncher and to see his name carved in the rock at Lake Canyon. I felt a special closeness to him there.”
The day had arrived. After much worry, prayer, and planning, these young people from Blanding were going to try to retrace the incredible journey their pioneer ancestors had made 107 years earlier. Brother Glen Shumway, the stake Young Men president, had spent a good deal of his life as a uranium miner and had worked outdoors in this wild country.
“I knew how inhospitable this country could become. The weather, the gnats, the sun, and of course the condition of the trails were all concerns because any one of these factors could wreck the experience for us,” Glen said.
At the stake center, 30 4-wheel drive vehicles were loaded with 135 people and all of their provisions for the three-day outing. Young people from Blanding, Kayenta, Bluff, and Mexican Hat were also represented. It was appropriate that several Native Americans participated because their Paiute, Ute and Navajo ancestors had lived and hunted in this same desert. The caravan traveled the first 75 miles on Highway 95 because at this point the modern road was much the same as the route taken by the early pioneers.
Along this part of the journey they saw Clayhill Pass, where the existing road crosses the old trail. They also were able to see Comb Ridge and Salvation Knoll in the morning light. Because they were traveling from Blanding back to the Hole-in-the-Rock, they were seeing the pioneers’ journey in reverse order. The caravan turned off the paved highway and headed into the desert. Early morning light amplified the color and richness of the red sands and the desert spring wildflowers. The yucca plants were in bloom with many of the pale yellow flowering spikes rising six feet and taller into the air. Purple sage and prickly pear cactus blooms added to the beauty of the desert with its many other flowers. After driving for a few miles they stopped at a tank trailer that seemed to be parked alone in the middle of the desert. Of course Brother and Sister Boyles had towed the trailer here earlier so every vehicle’s fuel tank could be topped off before they got into the more rugged part of the journey.
Even at this point, however, there was some uncertainty from a few of the young people about continuing on.
Peggy Sue Pincock said, “I surely wish I was home doing something else.”
For the rest of the day they traveled. Walking and riding they crawled up slick rock slopes and over sandy dunes and finally inched their way down into Lake Canyon.
They drove through the sandy bottom of Lake Canyon, and then bumped up and down ridge tops for an exhausting final leg of their journey into the camp near Marble Canyon at the base of Grey Mesa.
By this time, even though the group had only been out one day, many felt as Elizabeth Morris Decker felt 100 years earlier when she said, “It’s the roughest country you or anybody else ever seen; it’s nothing in the world but rocks and holes, hills and hollows.”
As the afternoon sun leaned farther to the horizon, tents sprang up around the campground. The clang of dutch ovens could be heard as the aromas of the evening meal spread throughout the campsite. Dutch oven potatoes cooked with onions and bacon, barbecued chicken, corn, fruit punch (seven gallons for each 50 people), and s’mores (a graham cracker, chocolate bar, and marshmallow sandwich dessert) seemed to fill stomachs and rejuvenate the spirits of the camp. Then, like their pioneer ancestors, they held a meeting with musicians and speakers who told about the original journey, and they sang songs of the present and the past.
After a good night’s sleep and a campfire breakfast of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and orange juice, the group felt strong enough to tackle the slick rock slopes of Grey Mesa. Once they got to the top they had relatively smooth going for 15 miles. From the top of the mesa they could look down and see Lake Powell and the Big Bend of the San Juan River. The drivers let themselves and their vehicles slowly down the other side of Grey Mesa while many from the company enjoyed the walk.
As the day wore on they traveled to the top of Cottonwood Canyon, where they were able to look down the canyon and across Lake Powell to the Hole-in-the-Rock.
Though the youth activity took three days instead of six months, there were many parallels in the two journeys. Many of the names were the same, the country was still the same, this modern trip was organized much like the original one. And, like the first trip, this one accomplished the purposes originally intended for it.
“What an eye opener! I couldn’t believe the places those people went over. I love the stories of all the hardships and trials and especially the motivating stories of super faith and hard working pioneers. They were great and very faithful people to do what their leaders asked them to do. I hope I can take this wonderful example and apply these hard working and faithful qualities to my life,” said Annette Carroll.
John Hunt, one of the leader specialists, added “I am 47 years old and have lived in Blanding all of my life. This is my first time to go on this trail. I learned that pictures and stories are not adequate. I have flown over this trail many times, but nothing equals being here. I took my jeep places I never would have believed it would have gone.”
Brother Shumway seemed to sum up most of the feelings of the group when he said, “We all came home with a greater appreciation for the original Hole-in-the-Rock pioneers, who showed their love for the gospel by leaving comfortable homes, disrupting their lives to heed the call of the prophet to extend the boundaries of Zion into this beautiful but inhospitable land of San Juan. We found greater love and appreciation for one another as we camped, ate, jeeped, played, and worshiped in that pleasant setting. We were touched by the Spirit of the Lord in our fireside programs as we listened to the special speakers and music. Most of all, we felt the hand of our Maker, who was with us on this journey and who will be with us on all of our journeys through this life and the eternities.”

Steve Crandall sat bolt upright in bed.
“Your mother’s pains have started.” His father’s face was lined with worried creases. “Can you come help me clear the road to the highway?”
Steve was already struggling to pull on long underwear, sweaters, socks, pants, parka, boots, muffler, gloves. His heart was racing.
Shoveling snow, opening the garage door, starting the jeep, hitching the drag, swinging open the jeep door for his father—Steve fumbled with numb fingers while his heart beat with the fury of the wind swirling up the snow drifts.
Through the roar and clanking of the old jeep, his father shouted, “Take it easy, Steve. We’ll make it. Your mother has had nine kids before this, including you.”
Steve was glad to be able to hide his face in the parka hood. He was quiet for a moment. Then he let his memory wander and thought back to the time when Mom had Julie. There had been no special precautions that time; Dad had just helped Mom to the car, and they drove off to the hospital.
That seemed a long time ago and many miles away in a place where everything was so much different. This was Alaska. It was 50° F. below zero. The hospital was 51 miles away, and there was no telephone in their house. This time Dad paused to give Mom a priesthood blessing before helping her to the car. This time, Dad, Steve, and his two sisters prayed together in the car that they would make it down the road before the baby came. But this time, too, when it was all over and little Rachael took her place in the Crandall clan, 16-year-old Steve felt older somehow. It was as if he had been a part of something that was much more real than he had ever experienced before.

One day while carefully crawling over the frosty cliffs in search of random fossil bones, I came upon a spot where a few fossil mud-balls and some interesting bone scraps seemed to suggest it might be an area worth prying into. Our general collecting technique was to find a single bone exposed on the surface, harden it with shellac, and then chisel it free. In this one spot, however, I felt an urge to dig and see what might be below the surface. I pried several shoe-box-size sections of sandstone free with my ice ax, and kneeling down on the cold, dry sand, I split them apart for examination. I chanced to split one fragment in a manner that exposed a curious triangular bone about two inches long displaying a single tooth. I studied it for a moment and, unable to identify it, wrapped it carefully for Dr. Colbert to examine back in camp. I spent several hours on this small cliff. In so doing, I forgot to watch my face and as a consequence received a nasty frostbite on my right cheek and nose. The skin in these areas formed hard, cold, white patches.
That evening while I was eating and undergoing a painful thawing, Dr. Colbert came dashing into the mess hut and cried, “You’ve got Lystrosaurus!” I looked on my plate, then at my sleeve, and felt the back of my head, but failed to comprehend his excitement. “Lystrosaurus,” he repeated. “You’ve got Lystrosaurus!”
I sat there blinking dumbly and twitching my red nose. Finally I began to comprehend that he was referring to my day’s collection and not to my physical condition, and also that Lystrosaurus was the scientific name of a mammal-like reptile found abundantly in Africa. It seems I had found the right maxilla (upper jawbone) of one of these curious creatures, which have but two teeth in their entire skull. This unusual characteristic makes a bone from this animal a very important diagnostic fossil. Their presence on Coalsack Bluff as well as in Africa and India meant but one thing; these continents had once been joined as part of Gondwanaland!
My frostbite was still my most impressive feeling at that moment, but I later realized I had discovered what is said to be the single most important object that has yet been found relating to earth history, for it was first proof that there was once a great supercontinent on earth. Future exploration will naturally follow with possible discovery of complete fossil animal skeletons, but they will only be additional information, for the vital moment of truth has passed. The first discovery has been made.
It has now been one year since that discovery, and several workers have now published aggressive articles on continental drift. Although some of them ignore fossil vertebrates, they proceed with a confident vigor made possible only by a frozen nose and the revelation of a little one-toothed jawbone on Coalsack Bluff.

In a recent gathering of friends who served missions in Scotland in our youth, I heard the following story from one of my former companions, Joseph McConkie. While serving as a chaplain in Viet Nam during that conflict and war, Brother McConkie was responsible for helping meet the spiritual needs of LDS servicemen. He said that at military headquarters, there was an assembly hall where religious services were held. At that time the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was not viewed as a major religious denomination so the time for religious services given them was 4:00 P.M. on Sunday afternoon. One day, following their meetings, a soldier who was responsible for the upkeep of the assembly hall said: "I want to join your Church." Joseph asked: "What has prompted this desire?" The soldier replied: "I watch your people come to Church each week in the late afternoons--and they come happy. When they leave, they are even happier!" No doubt this soldier could see the light of the gospel emanating from the faces of those soldiers who rejoiced every week in the great privilege of worship and fellowship--even in the difficult circumstances in which they found themselves. These soldiers knew their identity and it blessed others.

“Mais oui, Maman (Of course, Mama)!” Louis said. “First I will take the socks you knitted to Monsieur Dubois, then I will meet Pierre and Henri.” Louis glanced at the clock. He still had plenty of time. The puppet show did not start for another hour.
“Voici (Here)!” His mother handed Louis a small, brightly wrapped package. “And remember to wish Monsieur Dubois Joyeux Noël (Merry Christmas) and invite him again to have Christmas dinner with us.”
“He will not come, Maman. He will just smile and say that Christmas is a time for families as he does every year.”
“Dommage (Too bad)! Nothing is as sad as being old and alone at Christmastime. I do wish we could make him understand that our Christmas would be happier if we could share it with him.”
Louis nodded politely, though he did not think that he would be any happier if Monsieur Dubois came for Christmas. Christmas was perfect for Louis, just as it was.
“Hurry home as soon as the show is over, Louis. Grandpère (Grandfather) will be arriving soon.”
Louis grinned excitedly. “Do you think that Grandpère has finished my music box?”
“Perhaps,” his mother answered, “but do not ask him. He is always busy, and making a music box takes a long time.”
Louis was very proud of his grandfather, a fine craftsman who owned a shop in the city, where he repaired watches and clocks. In his spare time he had been making a music box for Louis, one that would play the French national anthem, “La Marseillaise.”
Louis was still thinking of the music box as he walked down the village street. He paused for a moment before the patisserie (pastry shop) and admired the special cakes in the window. They were shaped like yule logs and covered with mouth-watering chocolate frosting.
“Allons (C’mon), Louis!” Henri called from down the street. “You’re late. It’s almost time for the show to start. Pierre has gone ahead to hold seats for us.”
Louis ran to join Henri. “First I must take this gift to Monsieur Dubois. Come with me, Henri. It’s not far.”
Henri frowned. “Pierre will not be able to hold our seats much longer. Can’t you take the gift after the show?”
Louis hesitated a moment. “Oui, en effet (Yes, of course),” he agreed, hastily stuffing the package into his pocket.
The boys hurried down the street to the hall that had been rented by a traveling puppet show. They were glad that they had come when they did, because the room was already crowded. Pierre motioned to them, and Henri and Louis hurried to the seats that he had saved. In a few moments the small building rocked with merriment as the children followed the antics of Punch, or Guignol, as they called the puppet.
When the show was over, the children did not linger as was their custom. Christmas Eve was a special time, and they were all eager to get home.
Outside, Louis talked for just a moment with Henri and Pierre. Then he remembered Monsieur Dubois and felt in his pocket. His eyes widened in distress. “The gift for Monsieur Dubois is gone!” he cried. Louis ran back inside the hall, followed by his friends. They searched the hall, looking up and down the aisles and beneath the seats. The package was not there.
“Maman will be angry and disappointed in me!” Louis said.
“If you do not tell her, perhaps she will never find out,” said Henri hopefully.
“I’m sure that she will ask me,” Louis said sadly.
When Louis got home, Grandpère had just arrived from the city, and Maman was smiling and bustling about. Louis’s heart rose. He was lucky; he had only to remain silent. Maman was much too busy now to ask him about Monsieur Dubois.
His grandfather placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “Ah, how you have grown, mon petit (my little one)!” His dark eyes twinkled. “I have a surprise for you.”
“The music box!” Louis cried.
“Close your eyes,” Grandpère said.
Louis obeyed, smiling.
“Now!” Grandpère cried.
“La Marseillaise” tinkled and chimed from a small, beautifully carved music box, and—wonder of wonders—two tiny soldiers moved in a slow circle on top of the box.
Louis clapped his hands. “It’s wonderful, Grandpère! I have never had so fine a gift.”
Grandpère’s eyes were bright. “And without you, my grandson, and your mother and father, I would be a lonely old man.”
Louis swallowed uncomfortably, for suddenly he saw the face of Monsieur Dubois, who had no one, no one at all. All that evening he could not get the thought of the lonely old man out of his mind—not even when he placed his shoes before the fireplace so that Père Noël (Father Christmas) could find them. And when Louis awakened before daylight on Christmas morning, his first thoughts were of Monsieur Dubois. His heart was heavy. Even the music box on the table beside his bed did not help.
Suddenly Louis knew what he must do. He must take Monsieur Dubois a gift, a very fine gift, so that the old man would know that he was not forgotten at Christmas. He must go at once and be back before his parents and grandfather awakened.
As he dressed, Louis forced back a twinge of sadness. The music box was the only gift that he had that was fine enough for Monsieur Dubois.
It was still dark outside, and Louis had to ring several times before Monsieur Dubois opened the door.
“Joyeux Noël, Louis!” Monsieur Dubois greeted him. “Entre! Entre (Come in! Come in)! You are early this morning.”
“Joyeux Noël, Monsieur.” Louis smiled. “I—I was supposed to bring your gift yesterday, but I have brought it for you today, instead.”
Louis wound the music box and placed it on the table. He stood back, listening to the tinkling music and watching the proud little soldiers. “Is it not beautiful?”
“Oui, Louis, very beautiful.” Monsieur Dubois’s eyes were thoughtful. “Now tell me, Louis, why did you bring me one of your gifts?”
Louis hung his head.
“Come, Louis,” Monsieur Dubois insisted, smiling kindly.
Before he realized it, Louis poured out the whole story. “I—I’m sorry, Monsieur,” he finished. “I hoped that the music box was a fine enough gift to make up for my carelessness.”
“It is the finest gift that I have ever received, Louis,” Monsieur Dubois said softly. “But I want you to keep it for me. Each Christmas bring it here, and we will play it together.”
Louis’s face cleared. “You are not angry, Monsieur?”
“Non, Louis. I am not angry.”
“And you will have Christmas dinner with us? Please, Monsieur!” Louis pleaded. “Our Christmas will be happier if we can share it with you,” Louis said, repeating his mother’s words. And, strangely, they were no longer just words. Now he understood them. Monsieur Dubois seemed to understand, too, for his face brightened like a Christmas candle.
“Wait for me, Louis,” he cried. “I will put on my finest suit.” Then Monsieur Dubois laughed. “Today, Louis, you and I have both learned something important. We have learned the real meaning of Christmas, n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so)?”

I feel so blessed to be born of such goodly parents who raised me and my sisters in a modest home full of so much love. Even though we didn’t have the gospel in our home, we were encouraged to do what is right and always felt safe and loved.

Heavenly Father has a plan for each of us and literally creates circumstances that brings life changing miracles to us. That occurred for me when the Lord introduced my beautiful wife Deon to me in a sacrament meeting that I was attending with my recently baptized sister and her family. Sister Fuller was an angel and the instrument the Lord used to introduce me to the sweetness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through her display of having high personal standards and her firm and unwavering testimony, the gospel was brought into my life. I started attending church regularly, and we started dating. Things were going well except for one major glitch: she was leaving shortly to attend BYU–Provo, and I was still in California. At that point, I knew she was the choicest young lady I had ever met, so I pondered and prayed, and the Lord answered my prayers. It was time to start preparing to experience a little bit of heaven on earth. After Sister Fuller left to college, I decided to take the missionary lessons and read the Book of Mormon. It wasn’t until I read the Book of Mormon and received a strong confirmation that it was true that I decided to be baptized.

After my baptism, I did begin to experience a bit of heaven on earth. Things worked out as the Lord had intended, and Sister Fuller and I were married 46 years ago in the Los Angeles Temple, about a year and half after my baptism. Since that day of kneeling across the altar in the temple, we committed to the Lord that we would always do our best to protect each other and our future children from the evils and dangers of the world and encourage the Spirit of the Lord to always reside in our home.

Thirty-three years ago, I received my call to serve as a missionary in the Utah Ogden Mission. Of course, because I was coming from Europe, some local Utah traditions like “green Jell-O with carrots” and “funeral potatoes” were a bit peculiar to me!
However, I was deeply impressed by the devotion and discipleship of many of the Saints, the sheer number of people attending Church meetings, and the scale of fully functioning Church programs. When my mission came to an end, I wanted to make sure that the joy I felt and the spiritual strength and maturity I observed would also be available for my future family. I was determined to return quickly to live my life in the “shadows of the everlasting hills.”
However, the Lord had different plans. On my first Sunday at home, my wise bishop called me to serve as the Young Men president in our ward. Serving this wonderful group of young men, I quickly learned that the joy that comes from being a disciple of Christ has very little to do with the size of Church meetings or the scale of programs.
So when I married my beautiful wife, Margret, we joyfully decided to stay in Europe and raise our family in our home country of Germany. Together we witnessed what President Russell M. Nelson taught many years ago: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” When the focus of our life is on Christ and His gospel message, we can experience the full blessings of discipleship wherever we live.

Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”

When I was eight, I lived in a house that had the best view overlooking a valley. In the evenings, I would sit on top of my barn, watching the purple-and-orange glowing sunsets with my calico cat, thinking about and observing the world.
These moments of pondering eventually led to a lot of questions about life.
One day I asked my mom, “What happens when we die? I know there is a heaven, but what actually happens after this life?”
The look on her face implied that she wanted to know the answer as well. I could sense her anxiety when she replied, “I’m not quite sure.”
After that conversation, I immediately started thinking of all the possibilities of what would happen after I died. I feared that I would just cease to exist. These thoughts spiraled and often turned into panic attacks over the years.
I constantly questioned my identity, my purpose, and what would happen to me after I died. I felt so lost. And when I got to high school, I struggled and made decisions I wouldn’t have if I had understood my divine worth and eternal potential.
While I was attending college in Oregon, USA, I found myself at the lowest point of my life, praying for help to get out of the darkness I was in. I didn’t feel right about anything in my life. I didn’t know who I was or why I was on this earth or even what my purpose was.
During this time, I made a new friend named Nick. We met through mutual friends, and for some reason, as I got to know him and spent time with him, I felt a strange pull toward him, and I wasn’t quite sure why. He seemed different than all my other friends—in a good way.
One day, I felt like I had reached a breaking point with my unanswered questions and anxiety, and I had an impression to visit Nick. I told him how I was feeling, and we talked for hours! He mentioned that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That news unsettled me because of various false rumors I had heard about “Mormons” growing up, but since nothing scared me more than the unanswered questions I had about life, I listened to what he had to say.
A few days later, as I pondered what Nick had told me about what he believed about life after death and our purpose as God’s children, I had a strong, overwhelming feeling that I needed to make a change in my life. I ended my relationship with my boyfriend and moved back home to start over. Nick also invited me to go to church, and while I was scared, I agreed to go with him.
As I was sitting in church, I was amazed at how friendly and loving everyone was. I also felt a peaceful, warm feeling that I had experienced only a few times before in my life—a feeling that I would later learn was from the Holy Ghost.
But what truly struck me was that every lesson and talk I heard that day focused on Jesus Christ and His Resurrection and what His sacrifice means for each of us. Learning that He still lives taught me that there is life for each of us after we die. That knowledge gave me so much peace.
I learned about the plan of salvation and about who I truly am and why I am here. And as I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me understand and believe these truths, I felt my faith grow.
Nick baptized me a month later. For the first time, I truly felt the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I felt like I finally understood my divine identity, my purpose, and my worth.
After I received my endowment in the temple, I felt that the big questions I had about life that had stirred in my heart since I was eight years old were finally answered. And a year later, Nick and I were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple.
Now that I know my true identity and that “the worth of [my soul] is great in the sight of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 18:10), my life is so much more joyful. And even when I still have moments of anxiety, focusing on that truth helps me keep moving forward.

I express my love and appreciation to my wife. She is an example of one who has retained her eternal nature through 47 years of marriage, six children, 29 grandchildren, and putting up with me.

Wearing that eternal nature well, she has supported me as a General Authority for 25 years. I could not have served nor would I have been qualified to serve without her love and support. She has been the crucial key to the metamorphosis I desperately needed to become worthy and able to serve.

Her eternal nature and destiny was never clearer to me than at the temple marriage of our youngest son. I have had the sacred honor of performing the temple marriages of all six of our children, and they along with their spouses were worthy to be in attendance on this occasion.

Prior to the ceremony as I spoke of sacred things, I looked at my wife, who was seated next to our son. My spiritual eyes were opened, and I saw her shining in all of her glory as she basked in the warmth of having joy and rejoicing in her posterity. She was radiant. I saw before me a priestess, queen, and goddess. There is absolutely nothing the world can offer that could come close to the fulfillment she was feeling. There was no accomplishment in the world she could have attained that would have made me love her more or be more proud of her efforts. Her eternal nature was then and is now still intact.

3 Several weeks after his baptism, Lorenzo still had some unanswered questions about the gospel. He believed that it was true, but he wanted to know it. One night while he was studying, he felt depressed.
4 Deep in thought, Lorenzo left his books and went walking through the fields around his house, whereupon a feeling of darkness and confusion overcame him. He had made a habit of praying every night in a nearby grove, but that night he did not feel like praying.
5 However, Lorenzo knew that he should pray, so he went to the grove and knelt down. As soon as he began praying, he felt the Spirit stronger than he had ever felt it before. He knew that the gospel was true and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ lived and loved him.
6 Lorenzo later became the fifth President of the Church, and he often told the story of the night that he gained his testimony. The memory of that night stayed with him and strengthened him throughout his life.

I recall, as an 11-year-old, being reverently escorted by my bishop into the chapel of our new ward building, where he sat with me in front of the sacrament table. He said, “You know, Larry, you will soon be ordained to the office of deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood. Do you realize what a special blessing and duty that will be?” He told me that I would have the sacred responsibility to act as the Savior did in providing the holy emblems of the sacrament to those in our congregation. I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the priesthood calling I was to receive.
My bishop asked that I memorize the two sacrament prayers and think about how they fit into my life. He said I must strive to do the things the sacrament prayers ask each of us to do if I was to act for the Savior in providing the sacrament to others. After I returned home, my father helped me locate the sacrament prayers in both the Doctrine and Covenants (20:76–79) and the Book of Mormon (Moroni 4; 5). I read them carefully for the first time in my life. I listened closely as they were offered in church. I pondered the words as the bread was being passed, but the full impact of the sacramental covenant became apparent when I heard these words in the blessing on the water: “that they do always remember him.” I asked myself, “Do I always remember Him? What does always mean? How can I remember Him always?” Every time I hear those sacred sacramental prayers I am moved to reflect on these same questions.

Shelly sat on the front steps with her big pink elephant. “Remember when we went to Mr. Bin’s farm?” she asked. “He let us ride the pony, and you were scared. I was a little bit scared, too, but not really.”
“Hello, Shelly,” called her neighbor Mrs. Lee. “Are you talking to your toy elephant? I remember how I used to talk to my doll when I was your age.”
“I’m talking to Jojo,” Shelly replied.
“Jojo’s a nice name for an elephant.”
“He’s not an elephant! He’s a boy,” Shelly explained.
Mrs. Lee smiled and nodded her head. “Whatever you say, dear.”
Shelly watched Mrs. Lee drive away in her car. She giggled. “She thought you were an elephant.”
The mailman came up the walk. “Are you and your elephant having a nice chat on this beautiful day?” he asked.
“He can’t talk,” Shelly said.
“No, but you can talk to him. I remember talking to a teddy bear when I was little.”
“I was talking to Jojo,” Shelly said. “But he doesn’t talk much to me.”
The mailman looked around. “Jojo, eh?” he chuckled. “No, I’d guess he wouldn’t have much more to say than the elephant does. What’s your elephant’s name?”
“Just elephant,” Shelly replied.
The mailman chuckled again. “Well, have a good day.”
“You have a good day too,” Shelly said.
Shelly set the elephant down on the step. “I’ll be back,” she promised, “after I take the mail to Mom.”
When she returned Shelly sat down beside the pink elephant and flipped its trunk up and down. “Mom baked a chocolate cake. Pretty soon we can have cake and milk. Ummm, I can taste it already.”
She got on her knees and watched an ant crawling along the sidewalk. “Wow, that tiny little ant is dragging something bigger than it is. Ants are fun to watch, you know. Hey, look at that. Wow! There’re millions of them I bet.”
Billy Hale skidded to a stop. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking at some ants,” Shelly answered.
Billy got off his bike and came to look. “You think those ants understand what you’re saying?”
Shelly snorted. “I wasn’t talking to the ants.”
“Yeah? Who were you talking to then?” Billy slung a leg over his bike.
“Jojo,” Shelly replied.
Billy looked all around. “Jojo? Oh, the toy elephant.”
“No, silly. Jojo is a boy.”
Billy laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Shelly! You’re something else.” He rode away laughing.
“What’s the matter with him?” Shelly sputtered.
“Milk and cake!” Mother called.
Shelly’s cousin Jojo, who had come last night for a visit, crawled out from under the porch. His face and hands were covered with dirt. His hair was full of cobwebs.
“Did you find it?” Shelly asked.
The boy raised his left hand, holding a red ball.
“Oh, thank you, Jojo,” Shelly said. “I thought sure it was lost.”
Jojo smiled and said, “Let’s go get that milk and cake!”

The energetic little girl hurried past Micah and his friends toward the carnival’s train ride. Some in the crowd stared at the brace on her leg. A couple of Micah’s friends mimicked her limp and laughed.
“Hey, don’t, you guys,” Micah told them firmly. “That’s mean.”
Jason shrugged. “So what? We’re not hurting anyone. She can’t even see us.” He went on limping.
“Yeah, she’s too busy running for the train,” Matthew chimed in, swinging his leg stiffly.
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Jason asked. “We’re not making fun of you.”
Micah shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt to want to be just like everyone else and to not be able to. The hurt from people laughing at you is pretty tough to get over, too. I don’t like to make fun of people—even if they can’t see it. It’s just wrong.”
The boys reached the train ride as the little girl with the brace was getting off. A couple of girls about Micah’s age stared at her but didn’t say anything until she was out of hearing. Then they started making jokes.
“She can’t help wearing that,” Matthew told them.
“What if something like that happened to you?” Jason added. “How would you feel?”
The girls blushed. “Sorry,” one of them said. “Is she your sister or something?”
“I don’t know her,” Micah told them, “but I know that she has feelings.”
“Next time we’ll be kinder,” another girl promised.
“Good for you,” Matthew said. “So will we.”

Reader 3: My dad and I used to fight all the time. Anytime I wanted anything or wanted to do something, I’d always give all my reasons because I was afraid dad would say no. And he always did. Then once, when I argued with dad and he said no, I went to mom. All she said was:
Reader D: “Why didn’t you ask him?”
Reader 3: “I did ask him, mom. I just told you what happened.”
Reader D: “You told me you argued with him. But you didn’t ask him. If you treat your father as if he’ll argue, he’ll argue. Next time, simply ask him.”
Reader 3: It sounded so simple it seemed stupid. But I tried. I stopped defending myself as if I didn’t deserve it, and he was more positive, too.

I saw that same happiness in the faces of people who helped for the Lord in Idaho years ago. The Teton Dam burst on Saturday, June 5, 1976. Eleven people were killed. Thousands had to leave their homes in a few hours. Some homes were washed away. And hundreds of dwellings could be made habitable only through effort and means far beyond that of the owners.
Those who heard of the tragedy felt sympathy, and some felt the call to do good. Neighbors, bishops, Relief Society presidents, quorum leaders, home teachers, and visiting teachers left homes and jobs to clean out the flooded houses of others.
One couple returned to Rexburg from a vacation just after the flood. They didn’t go to see their own house. Instead, they found their bishop to ask where they could help. He directed them to a family in need.
After a few days they went to check on their home. It was gone, swept away in the flood. They simply walked back to the bishop and asked, “Now what would you like us to do?”
Wherever you live, you have seen that miracle of sympathy turned to unselfish action. It may not have been in the wake of a great natural disaster. I have seen it in a priesthood quorum where a brother rises to describe the needs of a man or a woman who seeks an opportunity to work to support himself or herself and his or her family. I could feel sympathy in the room, but some suggested names of people who might employ the person who needed work.
What happened in that priesthood quorum and what happened in the flooded houses in Idaho is a manifestation of the Lord’s way to help those in great need become self-reliant. We feel compassion, and we know how to act in the Lord’s way to help.

Let me tell you how one of my sons learned obedience. When he was about deacon-age, our family went to visit his grandfather in Wyoming. My boy wanted to start training a horse he had been given. It had been running wild in the hills.
It took nearly all day to round up the horses, get them to the corral, and then tie up my son’s horse with a halter and rope.
I told him that his horse must stay tied there until it settled down; he could talk to it, carefully touch it, but he must not, under any circumstance, untie it.
We finally went in for our supper. He quickly ate and rushed back out to see his horse. Presently I heard him cry out. I knew what had happened. He had untied his horse. As the horse pulled away from him he instinctively did something I had told him never, never to do. He looped the rope around his wrist to get a better grip.
As I ran from the house, I saw the horse go by. My boy could not release the rope; he was making great leaping strides to try and keep up with the galloping horse. And then he fell down! If the horse had turned to the right, our son would have been dragged out the gate and into the hills and would certainly have lost his life. But the horse turned to the left, and for a moment slowed down—just long enough for me to loop the rope around a fence post and to free my son.
Then came a father-to-son talk! “Son, if you are ever going to control that horse, you will have to use something besides your muscles. The horse is bigger than you are, it is stronger than you are, and it always will be. Someday you may ride your horse if you train it to be obedient, a lesson that you must learn yourself first.” He had learned a very valuable lesson.
Two summers later we went visiting again to look for his horse. It had been running all winter with the wild herd. We found them in a field down by the river. I watched from a hillside as my son walked carefully to the edge of the field. The horses moved nervously away. Then he whistled. His horse hesitated, then left the herd and trotted up to him.
My son had learned that there is great power in things that are not seen, such unseen things as obedience.
Just as obedience to principle gave him power to train his horse, obedience to the priesthood has taught him to control himself.

Many youth in the Church have had the opportunity to do baptisms for the dead, but for the priests and Laurels of the Adelaide Australia Modbury Stake, this great blessing has come only in recent times with the completion of the Sydney Australia Temple.
Even so, the trip to Sydney was a long one. As a fund-raising project, the young people committed to deliver 50,000 telephone directories. With many ward members helping, the youth spent Saturdays and many evenings making the deliveries.
The 26 enthusiastic youth attended two baptismal sessions. Many were baptized for their own ancestors or those of other members of the stake.
What may have seemed like a trial to some when they had spent several Saturdays delivering heavy directories turned out to be one of the most wonderful experiences of their lives.

Before Elder M. Russell Ballard was an Apostle, he had an unusual experience on an airplane. He was flying to Salt Lake City on a very foggy day. The small plane held only four people. When they got close to the airport, the pilot radioed the control tower.
“We’re about to close the runway because the fog is so thick,” the air traffic controller told the pilot. “But I can talk you through the landing.”
The pilot asked Brother Ballard and the other passengers, “What do you want to do? The controller can guide us down. Or we can turn back and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” They decided to try to land in Salt Lake.
The controller could see the plane on his radar. He told the pilot when to lower the plane and when to turn. The pilot watched the plane’s controls carefully. He followed the controller’s directions exactly.
Finally the man in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
They looked out the window. The runway was directly ahead. The nose of the plane was right on the centerline! They were so grateful that the controller guided them safely to the ground.
Brother Ballard thought about how this flight was like our lives. We can’t see or understand everything, so Heavenly Father has given us ways to get help. The prophet is like an air traffic controller. He gives us directions to return safely to Heavenly Father. We also have the Holy Ghost, the scriptures, and leaders and parents to guide us safely home.