Gospel Story Finder

“Two months before the tour, I had an impression to look for a face in the audience while on tour, so I prayed that I would find the face,” said Janalee Free. “Then I had a dream—I saw a person, but no face. Somehow the idea that he was Czechoslovakian was in my mind. Each concert night I looked for the face. After the Prague concert, I saw a man clutching his program as he looked intently at me. I put out my hand to him, and in that instant I knew he was the one I was looking for. He held my hand with such intensity and emotion. We exchanged names. He said he never could have imagined what he felt at the concert. ‘I cannot explain it,’ he said. ‘Would you like a tape of the choir?’ I asked. He cried as I gave it to him. He held it close to his chest as I filled out a referral card for the missionaries.”
Following the concert in Prague, Czechoslovakia, a choir member went outside Smetana Hall and walked up to greet a father and mother and their teenager, but they were unable to communicate. Very shortly a young man stepped up to translate. As he talked, he said that the couple were his parents, that he had gone to the United States as an exchange student, had found the Church, and had been baptized. But he said that his parents were very much against his decision and that he had practically forced them to come to the concert that evening. He explained, however, that during the concert, “they come on fire.” “We talked for a few more minutes, then I turned to the parents and said to the English-speaking son, ‘Tell your parents that if they want to be truly happy, they will join the Church. Tell them the gospel is true. Tell them that I love them.’ The Spirit was overpowering! They hugged me. They kissed me. They held my hand. And they said they would see the missionaries.”
“We have a distant relative in Warsaw and so we informed him of the choir’s coming,” said Charlene VanWagenen Gale. “After the concert, with a picture of him in hand, I looked for him until I found him. At his home that evening, we talked of the gospel—modern revelation, the Restoration, the Word of Wisdom. On occasion, tears would stream down his wife’s face. After we discussed Apostles and prophets, in the midst of our conversation, he asked, ‘Are you an Apostle?’ ‘No, I’m a disciple,’ I said, and explained the difference. ‘But you speak with such conviction,’ he said. ‘I only speak what I know,’ I replied. He said, ‘I want to know why I feel the way I feel when you speak.’ I talked to him about the Holy Ghost and then asked him, ‘Would you like to visit the missionaries to learn more?’ The answer was yes.”
“After the Budapest, Hungary, concert I walked up to two full-bearded men,” said Kay Lynn Wakefield. “I asked if they enjoyed the concert, putting my hand out to greet one of them. He looked around, wondering who I was talking to. I then gave him an Articles of Faith card. He backed away, saying, ‘I am light man’—an electrical technician for the concert. He seemed surprised I would talk to him. I assured him I was happy to talk to him, and I thanked him for his lighting. I asked him who his friend was, and he said he spoke no English and was studying for the ministry. At this point, he said again, ‘I am light man only.’ I then put my hand on the arm of this man, looked him in the eye, and said, ‘You are a child of God, and he loves you very much.’ I bore my testimony to him, telling him that we represented our Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I asked him to translate this message to his non-English-speaking friend. As he repeated my words, he began to weep. It seemed almost as if a protective bubble fell over us and we no longer heard the noise of the crowd. I told them both how they could get a Book of Mormon from the missionaries. The student was visibly moved and promised that he would get and read the book.”
“Before the concert at the Bolshoi,” said Ann Halversen, “I felt a hand on my arm. ‘Would you tell me more about Mormons?’ said a woman. ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Are you Christian?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Did you know that Christ came to America after he was resurrected?’ I asked. ‘He did!’ she exclaimed, wide-eyed. I then briefly gave an overview of the Book of Mormon. I felt to keep going—to tell her how we obtained the Book of Mormon. When I got to the name of Joseph Smith, the Spirit was so powerful that the instant I said his name I started to cry. The Spirit was so strong that she started to cry, too. ‘What is it that I am feeling?’ she tearfully asked. I then explained about the Holy Ghost. Immediately she reached out and stopped me and said, ‘This is what I have been looking for.’ Before the evening was over, I was able to introduce her to the missionaries.”
“I had carried with me a Russian Book of Mormon through the entire tour, and by Saturday—the last day of the tour—I had not handed it out. I wondered why I had not given it away earlier,” said Wilma S. Livsey. “As I went to breakfast in our St. Petersburg hotel, up the stairs came one of our Russian guides—a beautiful young woman. She asked if I was ready to go. I said, ‘No, I have to find a place for my Book of Mormon.’ I showed it to her. She said she would like it. Surprised, I said, ‘No, this book is for someone very special. It must be. I have carried it all over eastern Europe waiting for the right person to give it to.’ She again said that she would like the book. ‘But this book must go to someone who will read it. It is Russian.’ Then she said with great intensity, ‘I read Russian. I will read it. I want the book!’ Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, ‘I’d like to start reading it right now.’ I then handed the book to her. I told her that the book was a second witness for Christ—and that the Bible was the first. I told her of the promise in the book of Moroni and told her that if she prayed after she read it, and if she felt the same about it as I did, she was to get in touch with missionaries. I gave her a card with the mission home address on it. Tears came down both our faces as we hugged, and she again said, ‘I want the book. I promise I will read it.’”

Early in April Chauncey traveled to Salt Lake City with LeRoi, who had been staying with him. They took the train as far as Ogden, where Chauncey visited his cousin, his uncle, and other relatives, and went to the cemetery to see the burial spot of his father, who had been murdered in 1894. They then continued to Salt Lake City. The busy day was not over: “On arriving LeRoi C. Snow took me through the electric light works, business college, bicycle school, and Christensen’s Dancing Academy. … We then went to my aunt’s house.”
The next day, after a trip to the depot to get their baggage, LeRoi showed him ZCMI, the Deseret News building, and the natatorium, where they took a swim. On April 6 they went to see the City and County building:
“It is a fine, large, immense and beautiful structure in outside appearance, with a town clock and tower, in which we were favored with the privilege of ascending into. We went through the principal halls and some rooms, winding our way gradually to the top. We were in the clock and saw the four chimes that make known the time. At last we reached the high tower and could see all over the city, being up a height of 263 feet.”
After attending all of the sessions of general conference, they visited the Deseret Museum and Science Building at the University of Utah and attended a class in theology at LDS College. Later Chauncey visited the gymnasium and the public library.

President and Sister Johnson were set to begin their service in July 2020, but their arrival was delayed nearly seven weeks waiting for their visas to be processed during the unprecedented circumstances surrounding COVID-19.

“We are humbled by and grateful for the legacy of faith and the foundation of righteousness that exists throughout the United Kingdom,” said President Johnson to listeners at their first, Why I Believe online devotional in September.

Even during their two-week self-isolation in England when they arrived, the Johnsons were busy engaging with each of their missionaries via Zoom.

“It was amazing to feel instant love and gratitude for each missionary in the Manchester mission,” said Sister Johnson. “That is the miracle of serving God and one another.”

As an undergraduate student taking a full load of classes, I worked a full-time job, and often felt frustrated about my lack of free time- envying others who seemed to have far more time for the “college experience.” I felt frustrated about my lack of money, just scraping by to pay my bills each month—and if something unexpected came up, I was always short. I would look at friends and others who had more and was…again…extremely frustrated.
Also, I did not get married until my last year of college. Although in many places that is considered normal or even “early”, at the time often looked at others in relationships and felt frustrated that my full-time work and school schedule didn’t allow for socializing like I wanted.
These feelings were real for me and perhaps are for many of you. However, sometime in this period of frustration—I don’t know exactly when—I simply got tired of being frustrated all the time. Have any of you ever felt that way?
So, because I was tired of my own complaining, I decided to look for the positives of my situation and find ways to be more grateful. By doing so, I quickly realized that because of my circumstances, I had actually learned to manage my time extremely efficiently—far better than many of my peers. This was something that not only blessed me then as a student but has continued to be a blessing as we have owned and operated companies while raising a family and serving in the church.
Another positive from these situations was that I learned how to value my time and money, including the concept of “return on investment.” In other words, I learned to spend my time and money on the things that provided the greatest benefit while eliminating distractions and less-important pursuits.
Lastly, by having the opportunity to date for many years, the decision to marry my wife was very natural. The experiences I had during all those years of dating made it easier for me to recognize what I was looking for in a wife and gave me time to grow and become the type of person my wife would want to be with. That said, I’m still working on becoming the person she deserves!

Swish! The basketball sank through the hoop as the final buzzer rang. Josh had made the shot! They had won the game! He jumped up and down and high-fived his teammates as the bleachers roared to life. “Go Lions!” all the parents yelled, and Josh smiled to hear his mom cheering loudest of all.
On the drive home, Josh couldn’t stop grinning as he replayed the game in his head. “Wow,” he thought. “I’m so lucky to be a part of this team. And my coach is really great too.” He thought of how Coach John always complimented every player and did funny cheers to get the team excited.
“And I’m glad Mom and Dad let me sign up this year,” he thought. They’d even come to his games. Sometimes he felt silly when Mom cheered so loudly, but he was secretly happy his family was there.
He started to list other blessings in his mind. He had a nice teacher this year who helped him with math. His family had just gotten a dog, and Josh found out he was pretty good at training animals! Just last week, he found out his Primary friends would be going to camp with him, and Josh couldn’t wait to learn some new sports there … The list could go on forever, Josh thought with a smile on his face. Heavenly Father had given him fun talents and loving family members and chances to try new things.
“Mom?” he said.
“Yes, Josh?”
“I just love being me! If I were somebody else, I would wish I were me!”
Mom laughed and squeezed his knee. “You are pretty great, kiddo!”
Josh turned to face her. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything.” He grinned and settled back in his seat. Winning a basketball game was great, but just being himself was the best feeling of all.

I opened the door a little, but an enormous barrier divided us still. I stood back, away from her. I felt swollen and sore from so many tears, forever isolated by shame and disgrace, absolutely empty of any hope of future happiness. The girl at the front door was a numbing reminder of the most hateful part of all: that everyone knew.
But into my unyielding dimness, Karen spoke quietly. “Come back to school, Heather. No one will hold what your dad did against you.” That was all. I closed the door firmly without a word.
I listened to her walk away, my feelings unraveling with each footstep, my thoughts trailing backward.
My 13-year-old world fell apart when the local newspaper revealed, without feeling, the enormous surprise: Mr. David McPhie,* bookkeeper and owner of McPhie Accounting, was convicted of embezzlement and would serve his sentence in the jail across the river. It seemed so impossible, so comically bizarre. But it was so painfully real.
The subsequent events are unclear and without sequence to me now, obscured not only by time, but by the confusion and withdrawal I was feeling then. Dad was gone. He never said “I’m sorry I have destroyed you” or “I regret turning out to be a stranger you never really knew.” Mom was unreachable, struggling herself to cope. She offered no explanation of why this had happened or how to go on.
The sheriff came into our home. Everything of value was seized: records, books, furniture, the bed Dad had made me with the headboard shelf for pretty things, the piano. Mom and I slept on mattresses on the floor of one empty bedroom. Did we cook and eat? What activities filled the empty days? I can’t remember. Focused on my own grief in an intense and self-centered way, I clung to one determination: I would never go back to school.
I don’t know how many days I’d been away from school when Karen came. And I don’t know how many days it was after she came that I went back to school.
Karen was there for me when I went back, gentle, with no questions. And other friends I didn’t know I had were there, too: enough of them to elect me secretary of the student council; to teach a shy girl that if you are brave enough to smile first, others will smile back; to show me I could survive.
In the years that followed, our lives went different ways. My family was put back together. I learned to love my dad again. Then I moved miles away.
Through the rest of growing up, through high school and college and marriage and children and all the ups and downs in between, I’ve often thought about Karen. About a principal calling a few students into his office to show them a newspaper headline and to ask them how they could help. About one girl saying, “I’ll go.” About which way my life might have gone without that one pivotal act of reaching out.

Brigham Young sent several messengers to Washakie to assure him that the members of the Church were willing to assist the Shoshones in learning to raise crops. One of the messengers, James S. Brown, recorded the meeting with Chief Washakie. He said that they were taken to the chief’s lodge and invited to sit with a group of tribal leaders. Brother Brown read a letter from Brigham Young, proposing to furnish seed and tools and some men to demonstrate how to plant and cultivate. He also presented the group with a copy of the Book of Mormon. The leaders passed the book around the circle and declared that it was of no use to them. Washakie let the council members speak and waited until they were finished talking. Then he reached for the book, leafed through it, and spoke to his group.
You are all fools; you are blind and cannot see; you have no ears, for you do not hear; … These men are our friends. The great Mormon captain [Brigham Young] has talked with our Father above the clouds, and He told the Mormon captain to send these good men here to tell us the truth, and not a lie. They have not got forked tongues. They talk straight, with one tongue, and tell us that after a few more snows the buffalo will be gone, and if we do not learn some other way to get something to eat, we willstarve to death. Now, we know that is the truth, for this country was once covered with buffalo, elk, deer, and antelope, and we had plenty to eat, and also robes for bedding, and to make lodges. …
The time was when our Father who lives above the clouds loved our fathers who lived long ago, and His face was bright, and He talked with our fathers. His face shone upon them, and … they were wise and wrote books, and the Great Father talked good to them; but after a while our people would not hear Him, and they quarreled and stole and fought, until the Great Father got mad, because His children would not hear Him talk.
Then James Brown said that Chief Washakie drew a contrast between the Indian’s way of life and the white man’s, telling his people that they could gain much by learning from the settlers. The chief went on to say,
We feel that it is good for them to come and shake hands. They are our friends, and we will be their friends. Their horses may drink our water, and eat our grass, and they may sleep in peace in our land. We will build houses by their houses, and they will teach us to till the soil as they do. Then, when the snow comes and the game is fat, we can leave our families by the Mormons, and go and hunt, and not be afraid of our families being disturbed by other Indians, or by anybody else, for the Mormons are a good people (James S. Brown, Giant of the Lord, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1960, pp. 373–74).
Brother Brown reports that without a vote being taken, each man in the group gave his assent to the chief’s decision.

When I was deciding if I should serve a mission, I was called to serve as a digital missionary in my home ward. In this calling, I was asked to share the gospel on social media by posting uplifting messages about Jesus Christ. I wanted to do my best, so I posted conference quotes, scriptures, and gospel insights on Instagram every day.
On most of my posts, I got likes and comments from people I knew, but there were also times when I would get likes and comments from people I didn’t know. One time, I shared part of an address by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the principles of Jesus Christ’s gospel. A girl I didn’t know saw the post and reached out to me. Her name was Emma (name has been changed). She was a college student in England and had been searching for truths and more meaning in her life.
When Emma saw my post, she searched for and read the full talk by Elder Bednar and felt a deep desire to learn more. So, she started messaging me to ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and what I believe as a member. We had some insightful discussions as she expressed her interest in the gospel.
Over time we continued to reach out to each other and get to know each other. Eventually she became more and more interested in the Church, and I explained how she could get in touch with missionaries in her area. Soon she was meeting with them often!
After a few months of being taught, Emma accepted the invitation to be baptized, and she became a member of the Lord’s Church. She struggled for a while with difficult family relationships because of her desire to join the Church, but I was amazed by her courage and faith to keep moving forward with hope in Christ. Today, she loves the gospel and is so thankful for the effects it has had on her life.
Before I became connected with Emma, I had been contemplating serving a mission but had felt so uncertain and insignificant. I didn’t feel that my efforts to share the gospel would make a difference for anyone. But seeing how much Emma’s life changed simply because a stranger like me posted a message about Jesus Christ on social media, I was filled with hope that my desire to share the light of Christ as a full-time missionary and as a disciple of Jesus Christ could truly change people’s lives and bring them to Christ.
Emma and I continue to encourage each other and are now both serving full-time missions.
I know that Heavenly Father inspired me to post that original message from Elder Bednar on social media. The message was small and simple, but that’s all it took for Him to work a miracle.

My parents always felt that it was important for me to get an education. When I was a junior in high school, I wanted to buy a car. It was the prettiest car I’d ever seen, a white 1950 Oldsmobile convertible, and its price was four hundred dollars. I had just four hundred dollars in my bank account. This is going to work out great, I thought.

When I told my mom about my plan, she asked, “How will you get to college?” Then she said, “I believe that if you will save your money and go to college, you will be able to buy an even nicer car.” I thought and prayed about it and decided that she was right. I saved my money and went on to college. Then, when I had finished the “twenty-second grade” and had my bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees, I bought an old classic convertible. I still drive this car. It reminds me that if you are patient, follow good counsel, and follow the Spirit’s guidance to do what’s right, there will be all kinds of rewards.

Buying and acquiring things when you are young is unwise. Invest in yourself with education. And the kind of education we will need most through the eternities is spiritual.

In that company was a Mrs. Jackson. She said:
“About nine o’clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce so I did not disrobe. I slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold. The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed, he lay so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body, when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed. My husband was dead. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone by the side of the corpse till morning. Oh, how the dreary hours drew their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who had died, and then covered him up with snow. The ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace until the trump of God shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. …
“A few days after the death of my husband … the male members of the company had become reduced in number by death and those who remained were so weak and emaciated by sickness, that on reaching the camping place at night, there were not sufficient men with strength enough to raise the poles and pitch the tents. The result was that we camped out with nothing but the vault of Heaven for a roof and the stars for companions. The snow lay several inches deep upon the ground. The night was bitterly cold. I sat down on a rock with one child in my lap and one on each side of me. In that condition I remained until morning.”3

Let me tell you of my own experience. As a child, I was blessed with a good and kind but also overly-busy father. He was very active in the Church as well as in politics and often had to leave his family alone.

I had wished that in my future life this would not happen to me again. The man I fell in love with, however, not only kept busy with the Church and politics like my father but he also had to serve for a long time in the Swiss army.

Believe me, there were moments when I was rather furious and, in my thoughts, wanted to abolish politics and the army and to rearrange church affairs so that I would have more time to spend with my husband and our children would have more time to spend with their father. At church, none of the sisters ever complained or talked about these problems because we were afraid of appearing critical.

A talk I heard many years ago by Lois Brown, the wife of a former Presiding Bishop, changed my attitude. She convinced me that I was not alone in my problem and that it was acceptable to talk about being alone and feeling lonely. Sister Brown said that often, even in her later years, she had to fight against feelings of disappointment when a good meal burned while she waited for her husband.

All of a sudden I didn’t feel guilty. I wasn’t ashamed of my feelings anymore; I dared talk about them—not in order to criticize, to wallow in self-pity, or to express anger, but in order to find solutions.

Several years ago I attended a seminary graduation in Hawaii. A handsome young Hawaiian athlete was being honored. He had been blessed with a well-formed body, and he had excelled in several sports. As athletes often are, he was well known both in and out of the Church. His athletic coaches had trained him for the most part in the coordination of his physical powers, adding a little on such virtues as determination and courage.
He said it had not been difficult for him to achieve athletically. If he practiced and kept the training rules, the muscles of his body responded as he wished and he had coordination and control.
Then he talked of a control that did not come easy and said: “I found it is easier to control the muscles in my arms and legs than to control the muscles in my tongue. I found it easier to control my eyes on the playing field than on the street. It is not easy to control what I will hear. Most of all, it is not easy to control my thoughts.” He then expressed gratitude for the seminary program and paid tribute to his seminary teachers. They were the coaches who taught him control over the most permanent part of his nature.

Gwendolyn’s Gifts by Patty Sheehan Queen Gwendolyn was bored. Every time she said so, King Cornelius told her, “Perhaps you need a change, my dear,” and ordered something new to be made for her. Finally she took matters into her own hands and learned how to make things for herself, and she was never bored again. King Cornelius learned a lesson from her, and became a gourmet cook. Perhaps you need a change, too, my dear?

President McKay’s bearing, nobility, and dignity and his love of the Savior he served were evidenced in every word he spoke and in every thing he did. But what he had become through his commitment to the gospel was evident even when he sat peacefully and said nothing. The following incident is told by a man who met President McKay on his return from one of his visits to Europe:
“I remember being in New York when President McKay returned from Europe. Arrangements had been made for pictures to be taken, but the regular photographer was unable to go, so in desperation the United Press picked their crime photographer—a man accustomed to the toughest type of work in New York. He went to the airport, stayed there two hours, and returned later from the dark room with a tremendous sheaf of pictures. He was supposed to take only two. His boss immediately chided him: ‘What in the world are you wasting your time and all those photographic supplies for?’
“The photographer replied very curtly, saying he would gladly pay for the extra materials, and they could even dock him for the extra time he took. It was obvious that he was very touchy about it. Several hours later the vice-president called him to his office, wanting to learn what happened. The crime photographer said, ‘When I was a little boy, my mother used to read to me out of the Old Testament, and all my life I have wondered what a prophet of God must really look like. Well, today I found one.’”

You are not too young to gain a testimony and bear it. In a stake conference we called on a young lady to speak. She had just returned from the Hill Cumorah pageant. She bore a fervent testimony. After she finished we called on 17-year-old Gary. He looked surprised when his name was called. He unwound his full six feet and came to the pulpit. His first words were, “I don’t know why the president called on me; I don’t even have a testimony” (referring, evidently, to the testimony borne by the young lady). For several minutes he spoke about seminary, he expressed gratitude for his family, then said: “I know the gospel is true, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

When I was in high school, my mom would place the New Era so that when I came home from school, I would be sure to see it. I usually glanced at the cover and that was it. My freshman year of college my mom started sending me the New Era every month. At first I would just put it on the coffee table hoping to impress someone. Now in my sophomore year, I anxiously await the arrival of the New Era. I really appreciate the uplifting articles and the inspirational musical numbers. Now I don’t have to use the New Era to impress anyone but myself.
Heidi SmithEllensburg, Washington

During the spring, my husband and I attended our four-year-old grandson’s soccer game. Excitement was in the air as children ran in every direction chasing the ball. When the final whistle blew, the players didn’t know who won or who lost. They had simply played the game.
The coaches asked the players to shake hands with the other team. Then we saw something quite remarkable. One coach called for a victory tunnel.
Parents, grandparents, and anybody who came to see the game stood up and formed two lines facing each other. Then they raised their arms and created an arch. The children squealed as they ran under the arms of the cheering adults and down the path.
Soon the children from the other team decided to join in the fun. All of the players were cheered on by the adults as they ran through the victory tunnel.
In my mind I could see another picture. I had the feeling I was seeing these children living the plan Heavenly Father created for every child. They were running on the strait and narrow path, under the arms of the people who loved them. Each child felt the joy of being on the path.
Jesus Christ has “marked the path and led the way” for each of us.* If we follow His lead, we will all return to our heavenly home and be safe in Heavenly Father’s arms.

As a new employee with LDS Humanitarian Services, Sharon Eubank witnessed misery, sadness, and grief that made it hard for her to function. Through prayer, she came to understand that although she could help the Lord take care of His children, she was not in charge of that sorrow. “Jesus Christ is in charge. He will bear this burden. They are His people, and He hears and answers their prayers.” That answer changed her ability to reach out and serve.

The answer is one that Latter-day Saints would hardly call coincidence. In a little known note to the Manuscript History of the Church, Joseph named his doctors: “Smith, Stone and Perkins” of Dartmouth Medical School in Hanover, New Hampshire, 8 kilometers from the Smith home.

These were not the ordinary, poorly trained country physicians so commonly found in those days. Nathan Smith, graduate of Harvard Medical School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, sole founder of the Dartmouth Medical School, later to found three additional New England medical schools, was also president of the New Hampshire Medical Society and had, prior to treating Joseph Smith, accepted the position of the first professor of medicine and surgery at Yale Medical School in New Haven, Connecticut. He had delayed moving to New Haven so he could care for the victims of the 1813 typhoid epidemic in the communities surrounding Hanover, New Hampshire.

Cyrus Perkins was Nathan Smith’s former pupil and a graduate of the Dartmouth Medical School. Perkins had later returned to the area to become the professor of anatomy and join his former teacher in a medical practice.

Stone was very likely also a former student of Smith’s: earlier class rolls of the Dartmouth Medical School lists several Stones.

Even more significantly, Nathan Smith was one of early America’s greatest medical men and had, on his own, devised an operation for osteomyelitis as early as 1798 that he published in 1827 but that was not used for two generations. In other words, generations ahead of his time, he was the only man in America who could have saved Joseph Smith’s leg.

Without a college education, Nathan Smith apprenticed himself to a country physician for three years, then began his own practice in Cornish, New Hampshire. Dissatisfied with his preparation, he applied to the newly founded Harvard Medical School in Cambridge, Massachusetts three years later. He became its fifth graduate and returned to his country practice in 1790.

Now he felt his mission included raising medical standards and proficiency among his colleagues as well. He petitioned Dartmouth College trustees to establish a medical school and spent a year in Edinburgh, Scotland, accumulating equipment, books, and clinical experience. His opening lecture in 1797 was the beginning of Dartmouth’s medical college.

For thirteen years, he single-handedly taught anatomy, chemistry, surgery, remedies, and the theory and practice of medicine, until the New Hampshire legislature allowed Perkins to join him as professor of anatomy in 1810.

Neither one received a salary for the teaching: tuition fees and their joint medical practice made up their income. Since Dr. Smith had trained many of the physicians in upper New England, he was consulted on many difficult cases, which meant travelling as much as 160 kilometers on horseback over rough dirt roads. He routinely invited ten to twenty of his medical students along on these trips as part of their training.

This pattern was repeated in Joseph Smith’s case. After Dr. Stone had unsuccessfully performed two operations on Joseph’s diseased leg, his mother insisted on another opinion and requested a “council of surgeons.” Nathan Smith, his partner, Cyrus Perkins, and medical students from Dartmouth came to do the necessary surgery.

At first an amputation was suggested: Lucy Mack Smith instead asked for the experimental operation of removing only the diseased bone. Her description of the procedure is accurate and parallels the description of the operation found in early Dartmouth medical student notebooks.

The operation was successful, and Joseph’s wounds healed. The fact that a wound with the exposed shaft of bone healed so readily is truly miraculous; however Nathan Smith had achieved an unusual record of good results—he never described amputation following his operation. Joseph used crutches for three years but his life and his leg were spared.

After the epidemic and the operation, both Nathan Smith and Joseph Smith left New Hampshire, Nathan Smith to become a professor at Yale Medical School and Joseph to return to Vermont for three years before moving to Palmyra, New York, where he eventually began his great work.

It is hard to call it an accident—a boy plucky enough to refuse amputation despite two unsuccessful operations; a mother who requested the experimental procedure, not knowing Nathan Smith was the only surgeon in the United States who had such a successful experience treating osteomyelitis; and the undramatic conjunction between the right man and the right time.

Thomas (that is not his real name) was one who had lost his way. We became acquainted at a special fireside attended by members one doesn’t normally see on Sunday. He was then 35 years old and had not been active in the Church for some 20 years. The day before, Thomas’s father had invited him to attend the fireside. Thomas said, “I’ll think about it.” I quote now from a letter written by his father:
“Thirty minutes before the fireside, [Thomas] called and asked me to pick him up. I can’t explain the anticipation I felt as we walked into the room [to join] you and about 40 others. There was a special feeling and spirit there that touched [Tom’s] heart and he went home determined to read again the passages in the Book of Mormon that you had outlined.
“This led to a reading of the whole book and the beginning of his payment of tithing. He began to see his life in a different light. … He stopped using drugs and caffeine. He continued to read, not only the Book of Mormon, but also the Doctrine and Covenants. He started to attend sacrament meetings and … literally began to be a different person. In fact, we jokingly asked him, ‘What have you done with our son?’
“The great blessing to us was when he was interviewed by the bishop … to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. This has truly been an answer to prayers which have been offered in his behalf for almost 20 years” (personal letter, 1 Aug. 1997).
This account recalls to our minds the words of another parent: “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found” (Luke 15:24).