Gospel Story Finder

Though he was extremely demanding of himself in working hard to pursue excellence, Heber J. Grant was not one to criticize imperfection in others. One day when he was a young man, a speaker in church made some grammatical errors in his opening remarks. Heber was sure he could get ample material for a class at school, for which he had been assigned to bring examples of grammatical mistakes to be corrected. As he began to write, he listened for errors. But instead, he began to feel the Spirit of the Lord in what the man was saying, and he wept as testimony was born of the divinity of the Savior, the mission of Joseph Smith, and the work of the Lord.
“During the years that have passed since then,” President Grant later said, “I have never been shocked or annoyed by grammatical errors or mispronounced words on the part of those preaching the gospel. I have realized that it was like judging a man by the clothing of his language. From that day to this the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the Spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had when proclaiming the gospel, and not the language; because after all is said and done there are a great many who have never had the opportunity in the financial battle of life to accumulate the means whereby they could be clothed in an attractive manner. I have endeavored, from that day to this, and have been successful in my endeavor, to judge men and women by the spirit they have.”

One Sunday before sacrament meeting, the bishop approached me and asked, “Can you help us bless the sacrament?” I said of course I would.
I went and got my hymnbook and then washed my hands before taking my place at the sacrament table. I opened the hymnbook, and the first hymn I saw was “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). The meeting hadn’t started yet, so I began to read the first line: “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.” Immediately a feeling of profound love filled my heart.
The previous night I had been reading in the Bible about the end of the life of Jesus Christ—the parts involving the Last Supper, the Garden of Gethsemane, and His death and Resurrection. I imagined Jesus being tortured, beaten, and ridiculed by the executioners. I also pictured Jesus carrying out His atoning sacrifice in the Garden of Gethsemane while His disciples slept.
I realized that I was about to bless the bread and water that represent His body and blood. The sacrament allows us to renew the covenant we made when we were baptized, which is to always remember Him, to keep His commandments, and to take His name upon us.
When sacrament meeting started, all of these thoughts were in my head. I felt profoundly that Jesus suffered in such a painful and incredible way that it is incomprehensible to us. The thought then came to me that He endured the suffering because of His love for us—for me.
I felt so loved by the Lord that I couldn’t control my tears. I felt like I wasn’t worthy of what the Savior did for me. But I also felt that His love for me is perfect. A friend will lay down his life for his friends (see John 15:13). When the sacrament hymn started, I stood with another brother to begin the ordinance.
We folded back the beautiful white tablecloth that covered the bread. As I held the bread, I knew I had the responsibility of breaking it as part of the ordinance, but I hesitated. The bread represents the body of Christ. I thought of the soldiers hurting the Lord, and I didn’t want to break the bread. When I broke the first piece, I thought of the painful and humiliating way Jesus was treated prior to His death—the crown of thorns, the whipping, the suffering. The tears continued to roll down my cheeks as I prepared the bread.
Then the thought came to me that these painful and humiliating events were necessary. They were part of the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, and He made the sacrifice because of His love for me and each one of us.
I began to feel a great peace and joy. I broke every piece of bread carefully and slowly, knowing that what I held in my hands was about to be blessed and sanctified for a special purpose and represented something very precious, beautiful, and extraordinary. I felt the great responsibility of doing this ordinance so that those in the meeting could renew a covenant with the Lord and receive the blessings of the Atonement.
When we finished, I saw the trays filled with the broken bread. The sight was marvelous and sublime. My companion said the prayer. Never before had I so clearly understood the phrase “that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son” (D&C 20:77).
When I partook of the bread, I felt my Savior’s love once again. I felt protected, humbled, and determined to do what’s right. I wanted to examine my life and repent of all I had done wrong.
I’m thankful to Jesus Christ for His love for me. I’m thankful that we can receive the blessings of His Atonement: to be forgiven of our sins and have the chance to return to our Heavenly Father.

To get the answer, you’ll have to skip back about three years, back to a time when Patrick was rebellious. “I wasn’t too right and correct,” he recalls, speaking with formal phrasing that identifies his Jamaican roots. “As they call it in scriptural terms, I was a wayward person.”
That may be a rather harsh assessment. But Patrick knew he needed to change. And when he decided he could change, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints played a big part.
“At that time our family seemed to be falling apart. Then one night my mother was watching TV, and she saw a ‘Mormon’ commercial about putting the family first. She decided to order the video so it could maybe reinforce our family ties.”
And she and other family members continued to work on Patrick. “They weren’t happy with the way I was behaving, and, to be honest about it, neither was I. So I started trying to do the things I knew were right. Then, precisely at the time when I was changing, the sister missionaries arrived at our door with a Book of Mormon and a video. They came into our home and started to teach us. I was really glad for the message and for the change they brought into our lives, even though I’m the only one (so far) who has joined the Church.”
Once Patrick started learning about the restored gospel, the change was remarkable.
“It took a year before I got baptized. My mother wanted me to be sure about my decision. So during that time I studied, I went to church, and I was active with the other LDS youth. I tried my best to participate in meetings and social events. I even enrolled in seminary before I was baptized. I was learning and growing in the scriptures and in prayer. By the time my baptism came, I felt ready.”
And Patrick kept right on growing. First, he was called to be the teachers quorum president. Now he’s first assistant in the priests quorum of the English-speaking Montreal Ward. He continues to study the gospel and to share his knowledge with others.
“There are four members in our priests quorum, and we try our best to reinforce each other in the gospel, to prepare ourselves to serve the Lord with all our capacities. Receiving the Melchizedek Priesthood is my goal as a young man. I want to be able to serve a mission.”

Carrying our brooms, buckets, rakes, and gloves, and sporting bright yellow “Helping Hands” T-shirts to identify us as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we walked through the neighborhoods of my hometown as part of youth conference. Two by two, we went to assigned homes, knocked on doors, introduced ourselves as members of the Church, and asked if there was any service we could perform.
It was scary at first to simply walk up to a house and knock on a door, not knowing whether we would be greeted with an invitation to rake the yard or a door slammed in our faces. With nervous anticipation, I approached the first house and knocked on the front door, only to find no one home. Persevering, my companion and I canvassed the neighborhood in search of a service opportunity. Knock, knock. No answer. Try again. Knock, knock. “No thanks.” Try again. I was beginning to feel discouraged as knock after knock, door after door, our offers to provide service were met with surprise, dismay, and ultimately, rejection.
As my companion and I made our way down the quiet street, we noticed a home in need of some attention. The grass had been mowed, but piles of trimmings and yard waste were everywhere. The flower beds were overgrown with weeds, moss had crept up the sidewalk and front steps, and the porch was thickly covered with dust. If there were ever a house in need of “helping hands,” this was it. With a silent prayer in my heart that we could be of service, I summoned courage and headed toward the house with my companion.
An older woman in a wheelchair was wheeling up the porch and into the home, but seeing us come closer, she turned and came toward us. As we approached her, I could sense her apprehension and reluctance to allow us to speak with her. My companion and I both smiled, introduced ourselves, and explained to her that we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were looking for opportunities to serve in the neighborhood. We asked her if there was anything we could do to help her. Instantly, the woman’s face lit up, and she began listing things we could do to help: weeding, raking grass, sweeping the porch, stacking wood, scraping moss, and washing the driveway. As her list of tasks grew longer and longer, I flagged the other members of our youth group to come join. Members from our group arrived, assignments were made, and we quickly set to work.
Performing this service put a smile on my face and made me want to do my very best. While we worked, we enjoyed getting to know this woman and listening to her stories. We learned that our offer to help came as a timely answer to prayer. She explained that she was not the homeowner but was caring for the house for her brother, who was scheduled to have open-heart surgery the next day. The woman knew how much her brother cared for his yard and enjoyed working in his garden, but because he was ill and she was unable to bend down and work, the yard was neglected and had become overgrown. Together, the brother and sister had prayed for someone to help with the upkeep of the yard. I felt the warmth of the Spirit fill my heart as I realized that through our service we were able to be the answer to another’s prayer.
Her brother called on the phone and, with tender emotion in his voice, thanked us for our labors. I was overcome with love for the man whom we had served and also for my Heavenly Father, who is ever mindful of the needs and prayers of His children.
When I set out that morning to perform service, I expected to use my rake, broom, and shovel to serve others, but I had no idea that the Lord would use me as His instrument to fill the needs of another. I am grateful for this experience that taught me the truth of the scripture, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

“Thanks for the ride!” José said. He grabbed his soccer ball and jumped out of his friend Trevor’s car. “See you tomorrow,” José called, waving to Trevor and his mom.
José’s stomach grumbled as he walked into the kitchen. Soccer practice had been hard, and he was hungry! “Hi, Mom. When is dinner?” José asked.
“In five minutes, so hurry and wash up!” Mom answered cheerfully. “And we’re going to have a family meeting tonight right after dinner.”
“Really? What about?” José asked.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Dad said mysteriously as he sat down at the table. “Come on, boys, it’s time to eat!” Dad called to José’s two younger brothers.
After dinner, José sat on the couch with his brothers. He smiled as Lucas and Martin made silly faces. Dad squeezed onto the couch and put Lucas on his lap.
“We have something important to tell you,” Mom said. “We’ve decided that we are going to move.”
José, Martin, and Lucas stared at their parents.
“But why?” José asked.
“You know that we’ve been having a hard time with money,” Dad explained. “Your mom and I talked and prayed about it, and we feel like this is the right thing to do.”
“Grandma and Grandpa are leaving on their mission soon,” Mom said. “They said we can live in their house while they’re away. We’re going to live there so we can save some money.”
José was stunned. Martin leaped up and asked, “But what about school? What about our friends?”
“Mom found your new school, and it looks terrific,” Dad said. “We’ll get settled in and make new friends. It might be hard at first, but we’ll get through it.”
“I can’t believe we’re just going to leave!” Martin exclaimed.
José, who had been sitting quietly, said, “Lehi and his family had to leave their house too.”
“That’s right, José,” Dad said. “Lehi and his family had to leave Jerusalem and live in the wilderness. We’re blessed to have another house to go to.”
“Can you think of other people from the scriptures who had to leave their homes?” Mom asked.
“Adam and Eve had to leave the Garden of Eden,” Martin said.
“And it was really pretty there!” Lucas added.
“The early Saints had to leave Nauvoo,” José said. “We learned in Primary that they loved their city and were sad to leave it.”
“Think about all the missionaries who leave their homes to go and serve,” Dad said. “Grandma and Grandpa are just one example.”
“Remember Jesus’s disciples? They left everything to follow Jesus and preach with Him,” Mom said. “Fortunately, we’ll still be together as a family, and we know that Heavenly Father will help us through our challenges.”
José thought about his house, his school, his soccer team, and his friends. It would be hard to leave them all behind. But he knew that as long as his family was together and they trusted in Heavenly Father, everything would work out. Despite his heavy heart, José felt a glimmer of warmth as he looked at the people he loved most—his family.

One day, 14-year-old Mosiah Cooper of Tokoroa, New Zealand, was a busy teachers quorum president. The next day, due to a diving accident, he was completely paralyzed—barely able to blink, and breathing only with the help of a machine. It was doubtful that he would live, but with the fasting and prayers of his fellow Scouts, ward, and family, Mosiah survived.
Not only has he survived, but thrived. He can get around on his own in an electric wheelchair. He studies, learns, and designs on a computer he operates by blowing into a special instrument attached to his head. Seminary is held in his house so he can easily attend.
Mosiah will always be grateful to those who have done so much to help him. Members of the community have cooperated to provide him and his family with special equipment for his special needs. He feels that his faith in God, and the faith of others, saved him and made his life as full as it is today.

Abuse harms the soul of both the offender and the victim and is contrary to the teachings of the Savior. Modern prophets have stated that those “who abuse spouse or offspring … will one day stand accountable before God.”4 Abusers often ignore or exploit principles of the gospel. For example, I counseled a couple where the husband pursued emotional affairs and gambled away their savings, but instead of apologizing, he pressured his wife to forgive and insisted she had the “greater sin” if she didn’t forgive him. He dismissed her pain and claimed he was right with God or he wouldn’t be a temple worker. When his wife talked to Church leaders, he downplayed his betrayals and exaggerated her concerns, saying she was depressed. The husband was rejecting “principles of … respect, love, [and] compassion”5 and mistreating his wife. Her efforts to live gospel principles could not fix a problem he was creating.Each of us can give in to unhealthy behaviors. There are certain characteristics common to all types of abuse, and the more severe and frequent these are, the less healthy the relationship will be. Here are five of these typical abusive patterns that can help you recognize unhealthy behaviors in yourself and others.

With February came Keith, and in our small branch one person can make a lot of difference. He was a convert of five months and had the enthusiasm of four new missionaries all wrapped into one person. So when the college we attended announced a foster grandparent program involving a local rest home, Keith approached me with the idea that we, the only LDS students on campus, should join and be good examples. I suggested we visit the two women who were in our branch who lived there. They couldn’t get to church meetings, and they probably needed us. We talked about it but took no action.
Then one Sunday our high councilor couldn’t make the 30 miles to our branch because of a heavy snow, and President Harrison gave what I am sure was an impromptu talk on faith. He said faith was putting your words and beliefs in action. It was that afternoon that Keith and I decided to visit the sisters in the rest home.
Our first visit was a disaster. We visited each sister alone, and didn’t really get beyond “How are you?” “Fine.” As we left we knew two things: first, that they needed us; and second, that we could do better. We had promised them that we’d return. And even though we spent much of the next Sunday afternoon driving home the 150 miles from district conference, Keith and I convinced Les Harrison, his sister LeAnn, and Portia (a nursing student) to visit the women with us.
We wheeled both sisters into a quiet corner. Keith read an article from a Church magazine, Les read a scripture, and Portia offered a beautiful prayer. We felt good about the experience, and the next Sunday we came with seven Young Adults and youth. Les and Keith blessed and passed the sacrament to the sisters. We then wheeled them into a small chapel in the home and sang a hymn. An article from the Church magazines was read, then a poem and a scripture. We had a closing hymn and prayer.
It was three o’clock before we left and we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, so Les invited us all to his house for soup and crackers. That Sunday afternoon I was again in the branch president’s home, only this time it was under much different circumstances. The faithful president had just come home from working at the church, and he and his wife joined us in our meal. During the week the seven of us were scattered about the town, and many of us were without families in the Church. For two hours we sat around the table and talked with each other and Les’s parents. Jokes, stories, and the problems of being lone Latter-day Saints out in “the field” were shared. It was truly an inspiring experience.
Les and I only had an hour to work on our home-study seminary lesson before I had to be back at the church for a branch correlation meeting. It was a good meeting, and it was ten o’clock before I returned home. I had no time left to work on my genealogy or write a letter to a missionary as I had planned.
When I knelt for prayer that night I realized there were more “dos” for the Sabbath than I could ever fit into one short day. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the special day he had set apart to bless us.

It has been a privilege to seal several adopted children to Nan and Dan Barker, now of Arizona. Some time ago Nate, then just over three, said: “Mommy, there is another little girl who is supposed to come to our family. She has dark hair and dark eyes and lives a long way from here.”

The wise mother asked, “How do you know this?”

“Jesus told me, upstairs.”

The mother noted, “We don’t have an upstairs,” but quickly sensed the significance of what had been communicated. After much travail and many prayers, the Barker family were in a sealing room in the Salt Lake Temple in the fall of 1995, where a little girl with dark hair and dark eyes, from Kazakhstan, was sealed to them for time and eternity. Inspired children still tell parents “great and marvelous things” (3 Ne. 26:14).

In the middle 1970s I experienced something that awakened my interest in the Hebrew Scripture, or as we often refer to it, the Old Testament. I heard Elder Packer deliver a wonderful sermon in the Marriott Center in which he discussed the gifts of the Spirit. As he spoke I began to have an experience not unlike what he was discussing. In particular, I learned that I should begin to study Hebrew in order to be prepared for opportunities that may come.

I have dropped into a number of Hebrew classes in the past twelve years. I haven’t given the language the time it needs and I am certainly not fluent, but I have learned enough to have received a great deal of enjoyment and edification from Hebrew Scripture and to gain a great love for the language, culture, and people of Judah. Through it I have discovered a marvelous source of insight into the Old Testament—the Soncino Bible. This is a Jewish publication with the Hebrew text on the right, corresponding English text on the left, and rabbinical commentary from the Talmud and other sources at the bottom. I seldom read it but what I find some great treasure. One very good way to learn about the ancient prophets of the stick of Judah is from the rabbinical commentators and through considering some of the Hebrew words. One really doesn’t need much skill in Hebrew to gain at least some benefit from this. Even a few words are a good start. And even without any knowledge of Hebrew one can learn a great deal from the commentary. The rabbis have considered, contemplated, debated, and pondered the words of the prophets for many years, and they give us contact with the ancient traditions.

So, imagine wonder of these people who’ve just walked across the central plains of the United States of America on the mainland only two days after they’ve arrived, two days after they’re in the valley of the Great Salt Lake, President Brigham Young marched to a center site, stuck his cane in the ground and announced, “Here will be the Temple of our God.”[14] No one knew that it would take now nearly four million dollars in 19th-century currency[15] and 40 years to construct, but they did know what they had just been through in the Ohio, and Missouri, and Illinois.

Surely there must have been at least a few in the congregation who heard that announcement that day, and from the memory of those earlier experiences where it was simply too fresh and too painful, were feeling some resistance. “Why spend the time and the money, and the tears and the labor to build another temple that we’re going to have to abandon? Surely this is too much to ask. That’s all they knew and it’s what they expected. Surely their sacrifice was too great to ask after so much. Such a gesture can’t be this important to the Lord.”

I don’t know whether people actually said that or not. But I am guessing that they had to at least felt it and perhaps there were some who said it. We can’t know, but presuming that a few may have been so troubled and so weary, President Brigham Young anticipated that and said on that day on that spot:

“Some will inquire, ‘Do you suppose we will finish this temple, Brother Brigham!’ I have had such questions put to me already. My answer is, I do not know, and I do not care. . . I have never cared but for one thing, and that is, simply to know that I am now right before my Father in Heaven. If I am this moment, this day, doing the things God requires of my hands, and precisely where my Father in Heaven wants me to be, I care no more about tomorrow than though it never would come. I do not know where I shall be tomorrow, nor do I know when this temple will be done. . . .

“This I do know?there should be a temple built here. I do know it is the duty of this people to commence to build a temple.”[16]

I grew up in Hawaii. I loved to swim in the ocean, to catch the waves, to bodysurf. Lest you think I was a pro, I was only about ten years old. Sometimes, as I looked out at an incoming wave, I would catch a glimpse of a beautiful bubble floating on top of the water. I would do anything in my power to move away from that bubble. The bubble was beautiful, alluring, and very deceptive. It was a Portuguese man-of-war, a small jellyfish. I knew the consequences of coming in contact with that bubble, with its long, almost invisible threads stretching out into the water below. The sting was terrible. It felt like dozens of bee stings as the strands brushed against your skin or wrapped around you.

At times, when we arrived at the beach, there would be a caring adult or another child who would warn us of the danger: “Don’t go in the water. There are a lot of Portuguese man-of-wars today.” If we were wise, we would listen and not go in the water. If we were not so wise, we would at least be alert and watchful. I was always very grateful to have someone warn me and prepare me for the danger.

Daniel stared out the window. He saw his friends heading to the park with their basketballs. He wanted to go too.
““I can’t take you today, Daniel,” Mom said. “Your sister has a bad cold. And you’re not quite old enough to go alone. I’m sorry.”
Daniel frowned at his sister, Elise. She was sitting in her wheelchair with her toys on her lap. She was five, but she couldn’t walk or talk yet. Elise coughed hard. She got sick a lot, and she couldn’t go outside if it was too hot or too cold. And she had to eat through a tube in her stomach.
Daniel loved his sister, but sometimes he felt angry too. It was hard to always do what was best for Elise. He just wanted to play with the other kids. His stomach knotted in frustration.
“It’s not fair!” he said to Mom. “Everything is always about Elise!” He ran down the hall to his room.
Two days later Elise’s cough got much worse, and she had to go to the hospital. Daniel’s grandparents came to stay with him. Mom and Dad spent most of their time at the hospital with Elise for the rest of the week.
Daniel’s grandparents could take him to play with the other kids. But now Daniel was worried about Elise. He was sorry for what he had said to his mom that day. He didn’t like how sometimes he couldn’t go play because of Elise. But Daniel loved how she smiled when he talked to her, and being with her made him feel happy.
Daniel looked out the window, hoping to see Mom and Dad bringing Elise home.
Suddenly Daniel saw Mom’s car turn into the driveway. He ran to meet her.
“Mom, I’m sorry for what I said about Elise that day I got mad,” he said, hugging her tight.
“It’s OK,” Mom said as she hugged him back. “I know you love her. It doesn’t seem fair that we can’t always do the things you want to do. It’s hard sometimes for everybody. But I know we are blessed to have Elise in our family.”
Daniel said, “I miss her.”
“Me too,” said Mom. “The doctor said she can probably come home tomorrow.”
Two weeks later Daniel and Elise were both in Primary.
“Everyone find a partner and form a circle!” the Primary president said.
Daniel hurried forward and grabbed his sister’s wheelchair.
“Elise is my partner,” he told her teacher. He wheeled her up front to join the circle of children.
He looked over at Elise. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Daniel was glad Elise could be home again. He wanted to be a special brother to her.

While serving as missionaries a number of years ago, a young married couple had been sent with a young elder to New Orleans by the president of the Central States Mission. They took with them their tiny eighteen-month-old daughter.
Upon returning, it was necessary for them to cross the Atchafalaya River, a wide and deep stream. They drove their car onto the raftlike ferry that was to be pushed across the river by a small tugboat. It was placed about two feet from the edge of the ferry with only a light cable across the front.
The flat ferry could accommodate just four cars at a time, and the automobile in which the missionaries were riding was the third to be driven on. The fourth automobile was to be placed immediately behind the missionaries’ car.
Looking back through the small rear window of the crowded car, the young elder saw a rather large car on the top of the high levee. It was waiting to approach the ferry. At a signal from the ferryman, it started down.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed. “That car is coming too fast! It’ll crash right into us!”
Faster and faster it came, gaining speed as it approached the ferry. There was no time for the missionaries to leave their car. The brief and terrifying thoughts of being pushed into the river raced through their minds. The driver, uttering a brief but fervent prayer, set his foot against the brakes—hard!
A woman in the onrushing car screamed. Onto the ferry it hurtled, out of control. Then, miraculously, one of the wheels struck the edge of a raised plank on the floor of the ferry, and the car turned abruptly away from the one in which the missionaries sat. With its right wheel on the very edge of the platform, the runaway car came to a halt within inches of their car. A period of complete silence followed.
“Poor brakes,” gasped the frightened driver as he climbed out of his car.
Neither he nor the stunned onlookers could explain why the runaway car had stopped where it did rather than bumping the missionaries’ car over the edge of the ferry and into the river. Undoubtedly, many silent prayers were given by both the frightened passengers and the onlookers.
“You must all be good praying folks!” the ferryman said in wonderment, shaking his head slowly.
The missionaries knew that only the watchful care provided by our kind Heavenly Father had prevented a disaster. Before leaving that morning the missionaries had not forgotten to ask their Heavenly Father for special protection in their journey. Their prayers had been answered!
NOTE: I know that this incident is true because I was the driver of the small car. Others involved were Sister Christiansen, our daughter, Frances Jean, and a fine elder. Although Frances Jean was too small to realize what had taken place, the scene has never been blotted from the minds of the rest of us.

They have this mountain in Norway, right by the town of Drammen, called the Spiralen. From the outside it looks like a normal mountain, nothing special, but inside it is hollow. The mountain hides an old quarry where rock was dug from the mountain forming a spiral tunnel. Now the tunnel has been converted to a roadway which takes cars to the top for a panoramic view of the town and the ocean.
On this day, 43 priests and Laurels from the Norway Oslo Stake were climbing the Spiralen as part of their annual priests and Laurel conference. This is not a normal youth conference. The stake also sponsors one of those each year. But the stake has a long tradition of holding a special conference where they gather all the priests and Laurels in the stake together for two days of fun and serious discussions.
At this conference they’ve had panel discussions where their Church leaders agreed to answer gospel questions. They gathered together for dinner and a dance. And then they were climbing the Spiralen. But soon it was clear that this hike was something more than just a fun activity. They should have known. The hike was going to be symbolic.
First they divided into family groups using last names from Church history. The family groups were sent on their way in intervals following the path. The first rest stop was for water. Everything seemed normal. Then the second stop was for juice. What the hike meant was starting to become clear—traveling in family groups, the rewards becoming better and better.
John Gundersen of the Fredrickstad Branch said he caught on to the symbolism of the hike at the first stop. “I started to understand when they told us to hold to the iron rod.” The first stop could be telestial glory. The second stop could be the terrestrial. So when the families emerged from the woods at the parking lot near the top, they were expecting the end of the journey and their celestial reward. But it was not over yet.
Each family was given a wheelbarrow loaded with five large stones. They were told to continue up the path. Everyone was laughing and joking, and no one thought this last stretch was hard at all. One strong boy could easily handle the loaded wheelbarrow—that is until they saw the last pull to the summit. It was so steep and slick that they would have a hard time just getting themselves up the hill. But their wheelbarrows and those loads of rocks would make it really hard work.
Each family figured out their own method for getting up the hill. ElRay Gene Hendricksen from the Hokksund Branch said, “We decided to share the burdens. Everyone took a stone out of the wheelbarrow. Two other guys took the empty wheelbarrow. We made it. We were the only family group who did it that way.”
No one complained. They all just pitched in and figured out how to get their rocks to the top. Then came their reward. Hot and tired, they could rest and look out at the beautiful country below them. They were pleased that everyone made it to the top, where they were able to drop their burdens, represented by the stones. They piled the rocks together into an impromptu memorial. Then they were served lunch, food to feed the body, and listened to a speaker who talked of heavenly things, to feed the soul.
Bishop Aabo of the Drammen Ward explained that at times the climb was more challenging for some than for others. For a while a few carried the burdens while the others just walked along and didn’t need to help. But even though the challenges were uneven, at times they all had to work together to make sure everyone made it to the top. Bishop Aabo pointed out that Christ promised he would help make our burdens light. Gaining their own testimony would give them strength to reach the pinnacle.
The hike was the perfect conclusion to the conference. On a social level, it was great fun. Cathrine Opdahl of the Oslo Second Ward said, “The most fun is meeting people of your same age from different parts of Norway, getting to know them in a new way.”
“Yes,” said Kathinka Svendsen, also of the Oslo Second Ward. “We have problems in common, especially at school where people are not accepting that you’re a Latter-day Saint with high morals.”
“Here,” said Kjetil Pedersen, Drammen Ward, “it’s people with your same attitude and outlook about religion. It’s good to do something together.”
Then it was time to leave the mountaintop and go back down to the real day-to-day world. But as these friends make their way back down, they know that in that high place they have built a monument more significant than of simple stones. ElRay Hendricksen explained, “It is a monument that symbolized that we have all done the same things and made it to the top by helping each other. But we are not finished yet. We will have to develop ourselves and stay together and stay true.”
On a mountaintop in Norway, one group of teens has found some answers.

The name of Asael Smith connotes honesty and responsibility. He in turn was the son of Samuel Smith, an influential man in Topsfield, Massachusetts, who exercised local leadership through the Revolutionary War. Samuel’s oldest son (another Samuel) had priority of inheritance of his father’s land, so Asael, the second son, learned a trade and purchased a farm in Derryfield (now Manchester), New Hampshire. There he was town clerk for seven years, and his handwriting can be easily seen in the microfilm of his town record book, which includes the personal notations of the births of most of his children. Asael faced crossroads at the death of his father, taking the path of personal sacrifice. Everyone ultimately faces such crossroads, and many apparent sacrifices are disguised opportunities for personal development through serving others. In Asael’s case, his brother came from Massachusetts to explain that the obligations against his father’s estate exceeded the assets, so he recommended settling the debts on a percentage basis. But Asael said simply that he would not allow his father’s name to go down as that of an insolvent debtor. So he and his brother exchanged farms, and Asael moved to Topsfield to attempt the impossible. The postwar depression decreed minimal profits on farming, but for seven years he applied his total resources to supporting his large family and reducing the debts of his father. Finally he sold the land to satisfy every creditor, and moved to Vermont with just about $100, enough to buy timbered land there and start over in a log cabin.

It started when I lost the Book of Mormon “my” missionary, Sister High, had given me more than five years earlier. I knew I could obtain another one, but my copy was full of my own markings and cross-references. Tucked between its pages were cherished quotes, a heartwarming note from a friend, and a copy of my patriarchal blessing. Although I looked and looked, the book was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless.
Shortly after this incident, I was let go from one of my jobs. My income was now cut in half. I had promised my parents I would pay my own way through college. How was I going to afford to keep going to school?
I had been keeping the commandments to the best of my ability; why were things going so badly? Friends at school didn’t pass on the chance to rub it in. One said, “You should cut back on how often you attend church. You can save bus fare.” Another said, “Why don’t you take a break from church for a month or two? You might find out that you don’t notice much of a difference.”
For a moment, their comments made sense. I started to wonder if my life would be better without the Church.
I went back to my dorm room, where I saw a picture of my family taken during Chinese New Year. I thought about how much I love them and how happy they make me. And I thought about my Heavenly Father, whom I love and who loves me. I realized maybe I needed to focus on what I had rather than what I lacked. Still, I wondered how I was going to get through these trials.
A short time later, I confided my feelings to my institute teacher, Sister Ou, who said, “Many members have experienced a phase when the ‘all is well’ period of being a new convert ends and you begin to face the trials of faith. The scriptures say, ‘Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith’ (Mosiah 23:21).”
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“Study the scriptures even more diligently, and pray even more earnestly,” she said. “True faith comes when you have trials and pain. Your faith will grow, you will progress, and your testimony will be strengthened.”
I decided to follow her advice and put my faith in God. I tried to do as Alma 38:5 teaches: “As much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”
As it turned out, I found another job—one that was better than my previous one. Better yet, I found my copy of the Book of Mormon.
I learned that our disappointments, sorrows, and dark hours are to help us grow. They can lead us to much joy if, as Sister Ou taught me, we put our faith and trust in a loving Heavenly Father. How grateful I am to have a reaffirmed testimony that the Church and gospel are true.

During the banquet and program, I sat next to a well-known personality, Flip Harmon, and his wife, Lois. Flip has been involved with the direction of the Days of ’47 celebration for forty-three years, this being an annual July 24th activity in Salt Lake City. Since Flip was up and around the room fulfilling his official duties, I had the privilege of talking with Lois. She mentioned that she and family members were in attendance at every presentation of the famous rodeo which is one of the highlights of the Days of ’47 celebration. Now, a rodeo is nice once in a while—but every night? I asked Lois how she endured the schedule. Her response was from the heart. “This is Flip’s life, and I want to be part of it. He counts on me.” The night I had attended the rodeo with Sister Monson, my Aunt Blanche (age ninety-five), and our grandchildren, Lois was surrounded by children and precious grandchildren. She was the epitome of happiness. Now, during our luncheon conversation, Lois volunteered to me a few details about her husband. She said Flip had an angel mother who prayed fervently for her sons as they served their country during wartime. When Flip returned home, he and Lois were married. A busy life and welcome children followed. Each year as their wedding anniversary approached, Flip would say to Lois, “What gift do you want for our anniversary?” Each year the answer was the same, “A temple sealing.” The gift was not given.

Then one year, as the perennial question was asked, “What do you want, Lois, for our anniversary?” and the usual response was given, “To go to the temple of God together,” Flip’s reply was unexpected: “Fine. I’ll prepare for such an event.” They were sealed for time and eternity in the holy house of God on their twenty-ninth anniversary. Later, Flip served as a bishop. Each remains faithful to the other and loyal to the Lord.

As Lois continued, I noticed tears brimming in her eyes. She said, “You know Flip always wears cowboy boots. At the end of each day he would sit in the chair before the fireplace, where he would take off his boots and then read the paper. He would never put away the boots, no matter how many times I mentioned the subject. Years ago that would bother me. But not anymore. Today I just love those boots. Tender are my feelings and full is my heart as I willingly and lovingly pick them up and put them away each evening.”

Now tears were brimming in my eyes. Unexpectedly, Lois Harmon was asked to come to the podium, where she was given signal honor for her silent service. A beautiful bouquet of red roses was presented to her. Flip was asked to respond. His expression was from his heart. It was as though the two of them were alone in the large hotel dining area. “Lois is the light of my life. She’s my eternal partner.” (The word partner seemed to fit with the cowboy boots.) “We’ll be together forever.” Patience was rewarded. Love was expressed. Heaven was near.

Was Joseph a leader-servant? Demonstrably! A girl and her brother were struggling in the deep mud on their way to school. The Prophet Joseph “stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us, and sent us on our way to school rejoicing.” (Juvenile Instructor, 15 Jan. 1892, p. 67.)

Maren Nelson, 16, of the Alma Branch, was helping her mother make a salad for dinner. When the house started to shake, she automatically dove under the table, pulling her mother with her. Huddled together, they could see cupboard doors flying open, dumping dishes out. The refrigerator fell over, spilling food everywhere. The built-in oven was wrenched from the wall, kitchen cabinets tore loose and fell into a messy heap on the floor. A massive china cabinet tipped over against the table, crushing the chair between. “After the shaking stopped,” Maren said, “I remember the terror in my father’s voice as he yelled into the house to find out if we were safe.”
The Nelson home was one that was heavily damaged. Maren was grateful her family was uninjured. “Even though our home was destroyed, I have learned and continue to learn from the experience. The most important thing is that we are all alive and together.”