Gospel Story Finder

Fifteen hundred LDS a youth met together in a Birmingham to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the Church in Great Britain. The crowd poured into the city’s ice rink for a morning of skating, followed by lunch and an afternoon of dancing.
Youth from at least 30 stakes from Scotland to Cornwall, from Wales to the East Coast met new friends and renewed old acquaintances.
Nicola Bunting of Wolverhampton commented, “I met so many friends. It was a lovely day. We’d certainly enjoy getting together like this more often.” Her dad, John, who acted as master of ceremonies throughout the day said, “With the majority of youth in this country coming from small wards and branches that are limited in teenagers and young adults, it’s marvellous for them to feel there are many other Latter-day Saints around.”
Birmingham police who were supervising the crossing of busy roads reported they’ve never seen a crowd of youngsters behave so well. Bishop Robin Gray of Sutton Coldfield said, “Unfortunately, British youth groups in excess of 400 have a bad name for trouble. Our young people excel in good manners and orderly behavior.”
After lunch, with energy levels still high, the youth headed for the dance floor, where the entertainment was provided by Church members. Liz Wilkins’ group and David Shepard’s Where’s the Beach (an appropriate name for singers from central England) raised roars of approval from the audience.
As the day drew to a close, final messages echoed across Birmingham streets, “Don’t forget to write. … It’s been great meeting you. … Hope you can come again.”

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

My senior year in high school brought me an experience that taught me much about obedience and prayer. I had joined the Church about six months previously, and now I had my first job with a regular paycheck: I was the projectionist at the downtown movie theater. I loved movies, and getting a salary for showing movies was like getting paid for having fun. Also, the job required my strict attention only about 5 minutes out of every 20, when it was time to change reels. As long as the film didn’t break or something else didn’t require my attention, I was free during most of my time in the projection booth to read, do schoolwork, or simply enjoy the movie.
The job had its downsides. One was that I would be required to work on Sunday nights.
After some weeks on the job I could tell that my spirituality was declining. I was becoming moody and depressed. My schoolwork suffered. But I still thought I had a wonderful job, and I didn’t want to give it up.
I asked my boss, Mr. Harper, if I could have Sundays off. He told me that Sunday was their biggest day, and he couldn’t spare me. A coworker agreed to work in my place on some Sundays. I thought that would be a great help, but my dark feelings, as well as my grades, continued to get worse.
Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I would give what I earned on Sundays to the Church as a special donation. I’d even add an extra 10 percent for good measure. Since I wouldn’t be profiting from my Sunday work, surely the Lord would accept my sacrifice and give His blessing to my activities.
I found myself praying while I was alone in the projection booth one night. “What should I do?” I asked aloud. “Should I keep going as I am now? Should I quit? Should I donate my Sunday earnings?” I truly wanted to know, and my questions were sincere.
When I asked if I should quit, I felt a warmth stir inside me. Was that an answer? If it was, I didn’t think it made sense. Why would the Lord refuse my offering of my Sunday earnings? Surely, I thought, He would consider my sacrifice the best possible option. I must have misunderstood what I felt. (If I had remembered that Heavenly Father prefers obedience over sacrifice, I would not have been so confused [see 1 Samuel 15:22].)
I stayed at the job. I added my Sunday earnings to what I was already paying for tithing and fast offerings. I thought I was doing the right thing. Why wasn’t I feeling better? After several weeks of soul-searching I concluded that I had chosen to do what I wanted to do when I decided to stay on the job, even though it violated the Lord’s commandments. I wouldn’t get better until what I wanted to do matched what the Lord wanted me to do. I enjoyed being a movie projectionist, but I wanted to enjoy being a good Latter-day Saint more. I found someone to recommend as my replacement, and I gave Mr. Harper my two weeks’ notice.
Around this time my priests quorum class discussed what the Lord told Oliver Cowdery about answers to prayer: “You must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right” (D&C 9:8).
When I thought about my prayer in the projection booth, I realized that what I had felt when I had asked if I should quit was that promised burning in the bosom. At the time I either hadn’t recognized it for what it was, or I hadn’t had faith that it came from God. Now I knew it had come from Him. I promised myself I wouldn’t be past feeling His words again (see 1 Nephi 17:45).

How those words touched me! It had been 15 years ago that the Book of Mormon became an integral part of David’s life. I had read it to him as he lay in bed, at life’s edge.
“What are you reading, Mommy?” David asked in the faintest whisper of a sound. His delicate face closely matched the color of the snowy pillowcase. Deep red drops of blood, descending from a bottle suspended above, provided a vivid contrast as they dropped through a tube into his motionless white arm.
“The Book of Mormon,” I replied. It helped me through the endless hours of watching my son fight a seemingly insurmountable battle. It was supposed to be minor surgery to correct a small health problem, but the whole procedure had become a nightmare. Face to face with the fragile quality of mortality, I groped for an anchor with eternity.
“Read it to me,” David said.
“But you wouldn’t understand it, David,” I told him. “You’re too young. Later, when you’re well and at home, I’ll read you some stories from the Book of Mormon.”
Again the whispered words, urgent this time. “Please read it to me, Mommy.”
Not knowing what else to do, and not wishing to further upset him, I began in First Nephi: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, …” I intended to read a few lines while he drifted off to sleep, and then continue my silent reading. Every time I thought he was asleep, my voice quieted and quit. Then, from the hospital bed, again and again, I heard, “Read it to me.”
And so I read it to him. I read all during the hospital stay, and then at home, where he lay attached to two tubes that drained fluids from his body into bags, one on each leg. Doctors had discovered a congenital defect that gave him only part of one kidney.
I did not read stories from the Book of Mormon. I read from the book itself. One morning, after David’s two sisters had gone to school and his two little brothers were sleeping, we sat together reading as usual. I stopped and looked down at him. “David, do you understand this?”
His blue eyes looked thoughtfully into mine. “Not all. But some of it.”
When I continued reading he stopped me and said, “Mother, kneel down.” Startled by the request, I simply knelt, feeling his small body at my side. Then, totally trusting, he said, “Now pray for me. Pray that I will understand the Book of Mormon.”
By the time we finished the book, David had turned five and was able to recognize and read many of the words on his own. Eventually he read alone. His health improved and, by the time he was baptized, he had read the whole thing by himself more than once. By the time he was ordained a deacon, he was eagerly preparing for a mission.

A little over a year ago a couple came into my office carrying a little boy. The father said to me, “My wife and I have been fasting for two days, and we’ve brought our little boy up for a blessing. You are the one we’ve been sent to.” I said, “What’s the matter with him?” They said he was born blind, deaf and dumb, no coordination of his muscles, couldn’t even crawl at the age of five years. I said to myself, “This is it. ‘This kind cometh not out save by fasting and by prayer.’” I had implicit faith in the fasting and the prayers of those parents. I blessed that child, and a few weeks later I received a letter: “Brother Cowley, we wish you could see our little boy now. He’s crawling. When we throw a ball across the floor he races after it on his hands and knees. He can see. When we clap our hands over his head he jumps. He can hear.” Medical science had laid the burden down. God had taken over. The little boy was rapidly recovering or really getting what he’d never had.

When it was time for the final softball game to determine which team from our stake would go on to regional play, the contest was between us and the neighboring ward. After a hard-fought game during which they heckled us relentlessly, they won. How disappointed we were! We had tried so hard and felt at that moment of defeat that all our practice, all our efforts, had been in vain.
Our misery abated slightly as one of the girls noticed Baur Dee and her husband Glen lifting a large tub containing two watermelons in ice from their car trunk. We hurried over to partake of our consolation prize. Before we could, however, Baur Dee suggested that we invite the winning team to share the watermelon with us. Protests arose immediately. Why should we share with those who had not only beaten us, but who had been so unkind about it?
The look of disappointment on Baur Dee’s face was obvious. As she turned to cut the melons, she said, “I’m leaving it up to you.” We stood silent for a moment, knowing what we should do but not wanting to do it.
Finally one of the girls spoke up, “Well, there’s Matthew 5:44 [Matt. 5:44]. I guess we’d better invite them.” We did so, and before long each one of us felt that sweet joy which comes when the hand of fellowship is extended, conflicts are resolved, and we know that we have done something good. It was an unforgettable lesson.

There is yet another gift some of you may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it started once when I was a bishop. A young man sat across my desk from me. He talked about mistakes he had made. And he talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they could be sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said something I will not forget: “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow. And he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort.

And so somewhere there is a family with a righteous priesthood bearer at its head. They have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He’ll probably give his family all sorts of gifts wrapped brightly, but nothing will matter quite so much as the one he started a long time ago in my office and has never stopped giving. He felt then the needs of children he had only dreamed of, and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like sacrifice now.

“What about family home evening? Aren’t we going to have it tonight?” my six-year-old daughter, Leilani, asked. A feeling of guilt flooded over me. My husband and I had been trying to hold family home evening, but with many claims on our time, we had fallen out of the habit. Leilani’s reminder made us recommit to not neglect family home evening for any reason.
As Leilani and her sister, Nadia, have gotten older, they have wanted to teach during family home evening what they have learned in Primary. They even draw their own visual aids to illustrate the principles they want to teach. We rejoice as parents to see them talking about the gospel and often can expand on the subject they have chosen.
“What about family home evening? Aren’t we going to have it tonight?” are words I am trying hard not to hear repeated. I know that when children are young is the best time to teach them. The world may exercise its influence, but if we work and grow alongside our children, we can reach our goal of raising men and women of principle.
Patricia Cárdenas de Prado, Guatemala

We encourage those of you who have a large reservation of names to share them so that members of your extended family or ward and stake can help you in completing that work. You can do this by distributing temple cards to ward and stake members willing to help or by using the FamilySearch computer system to submit the names directly to the temple. This latter option is something Cindy Blevins of Casper, Wyoming, has been doing for years.
Sister Blevins was baptized as a teenager and has been the only member of her family to join the Church. She has completed a vast amount of genealogical work. But there are far too many names for her and her immediate family to complete. Consequently, Sister Blevins has submitted the names to the temple, which, she reports, are often completed in a matter of weeks, usually at one of the two temples closest to her home. She says she likes to think that friends and neighbors in her own ward and stake may be among those helping to complete the work for her ancestors. She appreciates their doing so.

Yvette gets up at 4:00 A.M. every day to study for school, which starts at 7:00 A.M.. Once, getting good grades seemed impossible to her. “When I used to study, I was never able to remember and understand the things I was studying,” she said. “When I had tests, I’d get very nervous and not remember anything. My father told me that before I study and before taking tests, I should pray. When I follow his advice, I always do better. Before I started praying about my studies, I was never one of the better students in my class, but now I’m in third or fourth place in the whole school.”

When I was a freshman in college, I had a part-time job at a convenience store in a small town. I had the closing shift, which ended at 11:00 p.m. Despite the relative safety of the community, I would frequently get nervous while closing the store all alone.
One night I felt particularly anxious. As I finished cleaning the store and made my way to the cash register to shut it down, a feeling of dread came over me. I did not have any logical reason for being so afraid, but I could not shake my nervousness. I did not want to overreact by calling the police, but I also wanted to be protected if there was any real danger.
Finally, I knelt to pray. I told Heavenly Father that I was afraid and didn’t know what to do. It was the most sincere prayer I had ever given.
As I stood up, I immediately noticed a vehicle pulling up to the fuel pump nearest to the building. To my surprise and relief, it was a police officer. As he pulled out his credit card to fill his patrol car with fuel, I quickly started my final closing responsibilities. I wanted to take advantage of his protective presence and get as much done as I could before he finished at the pump. When he had finished fueling, he made a call on his cell phone and sat in his car as he talked. He was still there when I locked up and got in my car. Both of us pulled away from the convenience store at the same time.
As I drove home, I was amazed at how quickly my prayer had been answered. I humbly thanked Heavenly Father for listening to me. I had been taught that I was a daughter of God, but until that night I had never felt His love for me so near or so tangibly. Words cannot describe the peace I felt in my heart. I know that the Lord will bless me if I have faith and ask for His help.

Changing habits of nineteen or twenty years’ standing requires a careful persuasion of spirit, a restructured schedule of activities, and a conviction that the new habits will prove more valuable and effective than the old ones. A missionary, newly called, faces the necessity of revising his more worldly tendencies and arranging his life on a spiritual plane. His spirit is willing, and he knows that the main thing is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ; but how does he make daily preparation to accomplish that goal?
The answers are provided in a five-day program of transition at the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City, Utah. Under the supervision of President and Sister J. Murray Rawson, elders and sisters exchange their individual touches of hesitance, reluctance, and fear, for conviction and confidence. They begin on
Registration is from 9:00 A.M. to 12:00 noon. A sister missionary walks bravely into the room marked “Missionaries—Register Here.” She reports her name, pays a fee to cover meals, and is given a short briefing by a member of the mission presidency as well as written instructions relative to her future for the next eighteen months and instructions to attend her first meeting at 2:00 P.M. Now she somehow wrestles her suitcases upstairs—“Missionaries Only” territory. In her room are seven bunk beds with pink bedspreads, several closets, some mirrors, and another sister lying on one of the beds. She sits up.
“Is that all you brought? Oh no! I’ve overpacked!”
Downstairs two mothers wait, watching missionaries form small groups, shake hands, and ask, “Where are you going?”
Both mothers are smiling; they’re also keeping score.
“Look! There’s another lady missionary there.”
“That’s two we’ve seen.”
By the wall map of mission divisions a father points for his two children.
“Do you want to see where Richard is going?”
Then it’s two o’clock and time for the first meeting and the first rule of missionary life: Missionary time is five minutes early.
The hunt for assigned seats causes some confusion, but soon the missionaries get themselves properly distributed. Seated in front of the sisters are the missionary couples going into the field. One woman confides to the sister next to her, “Look at these clean looking kids. I call them kids. My husband says I will have to get used to calling them elders. You know, it’s exciting to watch them change.”
The meeting begins. “Elders and sisters …” Each meeting is opened and concluded with a song and a prayer. Today’s meeting begins with a welcome from the mission presidency. The group learns that the present group of missionaries represents twenty-seven states of the United States plus Australia and Canada.
Next, Sister Rawson speaks on housekeeping, personal habits, and grooming. Little-known facts of ministerial grooming emerge. The missionaries learn that they can remove grass stains with rubbing alcohol and ballpoint pen marks with hair spray. Then there are talks from the counselors in the mission presidency, President Rees and President Broberg.
After dinner the group is introduced to the missionary discussions, and then President Rawson talks to them about spirituality.
The missionaries then spend a half hour in temple preparation. A more serious mood settles upon them with a deeper realization of their relationship as missionaries to the plan of salvation.
Next comes an introduction to discussion memorization by the teaching director. A few mumbles follow his announcement of the “easy way” to do it.
“I think I have a congenital memorization inadequacy.”
“How about me? I almost failed Primary because I couldn’t memorize the Articles of Faith.”
But then the teaching director concludes his remarks with the fact that sixty percent of the previous group memorized all discussions while still in the Missionary Home and adds his testimony.
“Looks like it’s not impossible after all, doesn’t it?”
Ten-thirty is bedtime. There is a long line of sinks in the women’s dormitory, each equipped with a sister missionary.
“… because the Lord wants me here, that’s why.”
“My goal is to go through every temple in the world.”
“Everyone told me I’d probably be called to some place close, and now just think, Southern Italy. Wow!”
“If someone could just take my make-up case, it would take care of my six excess pounds of luggage.”
“My boyfriend said he’d wait for me, but …”
Back in their bedrooms the sisters kneel together in prayer and know the comfort of feeling their spirits united in a mutual goal: to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. An exchange of good-nights closes the day, except for a whispered, “The top bunk? I’ve never slept in a bunk bed before.” The light goes out, because in a shorter time than could be possible it’s
“Elders and sisters, it’s 6:15. All hands on deck!” President Rawson’s voice comes through the intercom, and missionaries in various stages of alertness arise and turn to make their beds.
Breakfast is at 6:30 in the new Church Office Building, where all meals are served during the five-day stay in the Missionary Home. The elders extend the sisters the courtesy of allowing them to be first in line at the cafeteria.
“I’m glad the Church doesn’t practice women’s lib!”
“Is there a rule against perfume?”
During breakfast the sisters make the acquaintance of a sister missionary whose family is all grown and married and whose husband is dead. She has been called to the Alabama-Florida Mission and speaks proudly of her children, all of whom graduated from college and were married in the temple.
“The Lord has been so good to me; I could not possibly refuse this call.”
Following breakfast the missionaries meet in the Visitor’s Center for a tour. The Tabernacle Choir broadcast then provides a half hour of enjoyment and relaxation prior to the first classes.
At 10:15 the sisters meet with the wives of the mission presidency for orientation and a question and answer session. The rest of the morning is spent discussing goals, self-improvement, and how to get organized.
After lunch it’s discussion study again. All the teachers are returned missionaries who have been called and set apart to this position. Each has completed a three-month training course.
Sunday morning the teaching staff for the sister missionaries gathers in the dormitory study area for a meeting to review the results of the previous week, check weak points, and assign study groups of six to ten sisters. The supervisor encourages her staff to maintain their enthusiasm and love for the sisters and to stimulate them to strive to reach the goals they have set. A member of the teaching staff reflects on her appreciation for this special calling with the comment:
“Sunday is the best day of the week!”
Sacrament meeting concludes with the testimonies of recent converts and Lamanite missionaries. A convert of one year bears his testimony to a congregation quiet in contemplation and reverence.
There are a few minutes between dinner and the evening classes, so the sisters use the dormitory to discuss mission rules, passports, bicycles, the language, hometowns, and expected conduct.
“We should exercise for a few minutes every day.”
“Let’s run in place; it’s good for your heart.”
“You mean all that walking isn’t going to do anything for our hearts?”
Then it’s back to the discussions again. The sisters approach memorization of the discussions with a concept of key-wording to establish a broad outline of thought patterns and content rather than the mechanical memorization of words, phrases, and sentences.
The legendary Mr. Brown becomes Sister Brown as the sisters pair off to tackle the first discussion.
“I think I make a better Mr. Brown than Elder Jones.” They memorize the first two discussions on Sunday.
Then, after straining their memories for two hours on the discussions, the missionaries strain them again with a class on how to remember names. Finally, it’s time for family prayer, and the day closes in the same peace of spirit with which the missionaries plan to meet
The temple session begins at 6:45, so the sisters get up at 6:15. The automatic protests at the early hour are brief and overshadowed by a low-voiced exchange of reasons for wanting to be part of this aspect of the Lord’s work.
“Every time I open my eyes it hurts.”
“… share something beautiful …”
“… an overwhelming desire to serve the Lord.”
“… feeling of peace as I signed the final papers in the bishop’s office.”
Between the two temple sessions that they attend, the missionaries meet with President Lee in the temple, where he answers any questions they may have about the endowment ceremony and the temple.
A late lunch is followed by a return to the classrooms, where the elders and sisters learn about door approaches and the use of the Book of Mormon in proselyting.
After dinner they memorize discussions three and four.
Two and a half days after their first apprehensive and impatient hours in the Missionary Home, the missionaries begin to feel a sense of purpose and belonging caused by tangible actions as well as their strong desires and aspirations. With this positive assurance they face
The day begins for the sisters with a morning prayer and song, and then a trip to the mailbox. A disconsolate elder stares at his empty box.
“I guess nobody loves me.”
“Sure they do. They were just glad to get rid of you.”
“Yeah! My brother was wearing my clothes even before I left.”
Most of the day Tuesday is spent learning about some important practical matters such as companion relationships, investigator relationships, health problems, auto safety, mission organization, and the daily work schedule.
Sandwiched in between these subjects is a unique little class taught by a member of the mission presidency. It is called “Listening.” In it the missionaries are taught how to listen perceptively and compassionately to others.
After dinner the missionaries memorize discussions five, six, and seven. Actually they have spent every spare minute all day long in concentrated study of the discussions. The time is only a few minutes snatched here and there, but it’s enough for most to get the job done.
It’s been a long day, but time seems to go faster each day. Lights out at 10:30, and more quickly than ever it’s
Today is the last day in the Missionary Home. This evening many of the elders and sisters will leave in buses for the language training missions at Ricks College and BYU. Others will leave on Thursday morning flights for their mission fields.
Everyone looks forward to Wednesday morning, not because it’s their last but because that’s the day the General Authorities speak to them. These leaders bear moving witness of the divine mission of Joseph Smith, of the importance of modern apostles and prophets, of the truth of the gospel, and of the divinity of Christ. They also explain the order of Church government in priesthood correlation, and advise the missionaries regarding their personal conduct. The morning passes far too quickly.
After lunch there is a testimony meeting. It ends with the elders and sisters singing “God Be with You” with some tears but mostly a sense of hope and enthusiasm and minds and hearts filled with words to remember.
“Smile, elders and sisters! These are glad tidings!”
“If you want to have a certain quality, act as if you already had that quality.”
“I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts than by any other book.”—Joseph Smith
“The gospel makes bad men good and good men better; it changes human nature.”—David O. McKay
Each missionary takes from the Missionary Home his suitcases, packages, “mission library,” and two special gifts: the gospel and the chance to share it, and the knowledge that he is prepared to succeed.

There is yet another trial which, when endured well, can bring blessings in this life and blessings forever. Age and illness can test the best of us. My friend served as our bishop when my daughters were still at home. They speak of what they felt when he bore his simple testimony around campfires in the mountains. He loved them, and they knew it. He was released as our bishop. He had served as a bishop before in another state. Those I have met who were from his earlier ward remember him as my daughters do.
I visited him in his home from time to time to thank him and to give him priesthood blessings. His health began a slow decline. I can’t remember all the ailments he suffered. He needed surgery. He was in constant pain. Yet every time I visited him to give him comfort, he turned the tables; I always was the one comforted. His back and legs forced him to use a cane to walk. Yet there he was in church, always sitting near the door, where he could greet those arriving early, with a smile.
I will never forget the feeling of wonder and admiration which came over me when I opened the back door at home and saw him coming up our driveway. It was the day we put out our garbage cans to be picked up by city workers. I had put the can out in the morning. But there he was dragging my garbage can up the hill with one hand while he balanced himself with a cane in his other hand. He was giving me the help he thought I needed when he needed it far more than I did. And he was helping with a smile and without being asked.
I visited him when he finally had to be cared for by nurses and doctors. He was lying in a hospital bed, still in pain and still smiling. His wife had called me to say that he was getting weaker. My son and I gave him a priesthood blessing as he lay in the bed with tubes and bottles connected to him. I sealed the blessing with a promise that he would have time and the strength to do all that God had for him to do in this life, to pass every test. He stretched out his hand to grasp mine as I stepped away from his bed to leave. I was surprised at the strength of his grip and the firmness in his voice when he said, “I’m going to make it.”
I left thinking that I would see him again soon. But the phone call came within a day. He was gone to the glorious place where he will see the Savior, who is his perfect judge and will be ours. As I spoke at his funeral, I thought of the words of Paul when he knew that he would go to that place where my neighbor and friend has gone:
“But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of thy ministry.
“For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:
“Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.”7
I have confidence that my neighbor made it through his trial and will face his judge with a joyous smile.

Now a story, one familiar to some of you:
In 1856 Robert and Ann Parker, with their four children, embarked from England to join the Saints in Utah. A prophet had spoken, and theirs was the charge to gather to the Great Basin and help build Zion. As members of the McArthur Handcart Company, each in their family bore a share of the work. Father and Mother pulled the heavy cart, Maxie (12 years of age) pushed, and Martha (10 years old) tended little Arthur (six years of age). Baby Ada (one year old) toddled, was carried, and rode in the cart.

Somewhere in Nebraska little Arthur sat down to rest and fell asleep. A sudden storm arose. The company hurried on and made camp. It was then they discovered that Arthur was not with the other children.

Days of searching were in vain. The company had to press on. This was the time for Robert and Ann Parker to act in accordance with their faith. Archer Walters recorded in his diary under July 2, 1856: “Brother Parker’s little boy . . . was lost, and the father went back to hunt him.”

As Robert departed, Ann pinned a bright red shawl about his shoulders and said: “If you find him dead, wrap him in the shawl to bury him. If you find him alive, you could use this as a flag to signal us.” She, with the other children, took up the handcart and struggled on with the company.

Robert retraced the miles of forest trail, calling, searching, and praying for their helpless little son. At last he reached a mail and trading station where he learned that their child had been cared for by a woodsman and his wife. Little Arthur had been ill from exposure and fright, but God had heard the prayers of his loving parents.

On the trail each night, Ann and her children kept watch. On the third night, as the rays of the setting sun caught the glimmer of a bright red shawl, this brave mother sank in a pitiful heap in the sand. Completely exhausted, Ann slept for the first time in six long days and nights.13 God indeed was kind and merciful; their works had rewarded their devotion and sanctified their faith, and in the gladness of their hearts the Saints sang, “All is well!”14

Baby Ada, my grandmother, grew to womanhood and married my grandfather, Brigham Young McMullin. Now here is the moral. She never allowed her children to forget that she and her family came across the plains with the Daniel D. McArthur Handcart Company. The story of the red shawl became our story—the legacy of their faith became ours as well. And so we all “carry on,”15 and great obstacles fade as the dew before the morning sun.
About these early Saints, the benchmark shows: Their works were a hallmark of faith, their devotion a standard for their posterity to live by.

When the girls’ mother was a teenager, her brother used to take her out on a boat in the river and read to her the names painted on all the other vessels. There was one racing yacht that she particularly liked. It was called the Treasure Lee. “That’s what I’m going to name my first daughter,” Susan told her brother.
The treasure she was to receive, in the form of two loving, giving daughters, was more than she could have hoped for.

“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”

One time when I was young, my friend and I had climbed up on top of a concrete water tower. It was probably 10 or 12 feet tall, and the ground below it was covered with huge boulders to prevent the soil from eroding. As I was playing, I stepped over the edge. I felt myself being lowered to the ground, and I wasn’t hurt. That was one of the first inklings I had that there is Someone watching over us.

Let me tell you one of my favorite stories from the late S. Dillworth Young, late-member of the first council of seventy. I heard him tell this about himself. He said that as a general authority, he traveled every weekend and seldom got to attend his own ward. On rare occasion, he found himself at home on a Sunday and went to church with his wife. Here is his story as I remember it.

He said, “As I settled down in the chapel at sacrament meeting, I was greatly annoyed that Old Brother Smith of the high counsel was the opening speaker. I turned to my wife and said, ‘Just my luck, the one time I get to come to my own sacrament meeting and who’s the speaker? The most boring speaker in the church.’ Well, my wife frowned at me and said that wasn’t a very nice thing for a general authority to say. I sat there glumly looking up at Brother Smith, who had a sweet smile on his face. I had heard him talk a dozen times before. Finally, I said to myself, ‘Well, at least he as a nice smile.’”

Elder Young went on to say, “The longer I sat there, the more ashamed I became at my attitude; so ashamed that I determined that I’d try hard to make up for the talk by concentrating on other aspects of the sacrament meeting. So when the opening hymn was sung, I sang with gusto all of the verses, concentrating on the text of the hymns. I listened carefully to the opening prayer and made it my own. During the sacrament hymn, I sang fervently and thoughtfully. I listened with attention to the meaning and beauty of the sacrament prayers. While the emblems were being passed, I concentrated hard on Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I pondered on life and teachings. By the time Old Brother Smith started speaking, I was thrilled at how wonderful the meeting had been so far. Surprisingly, even Brother Smith’s opening words were interesting. Then I became quite absorbed at what he was saying. At midpoint of his sermon, I was even excited about his address; it was brilliant. And when he concluded with a resounding testimony, I turned to my wife and said, ‘Well, honey, that’s one of the finest talks I’ve ever heard anywhere.’ To which my wife responded, ‘Sweetheart, Brother Smith does this every time he speaks and always has.’”

Then Elder Young turned to us, his audience, and asked, “And where was I when Brother Smith was giving those powerful, eloquent sermons? I was in ‘Boredville,’ being bored, feeling sorry for myself.”

Another story of a different kind of courage is told of Ruth Campkin Randall, a tiny mother who had spent enough time on the frontier to become accustomed to its risks. As a safeguard from marauding enemies around Pine, Arizona, where she lived, a stockade was built. When an Indian or other raid was reported, all the residents were to get into this enclosure for protection. This occurred frequently enough that Ruth got tired of it. Finally, when a call came for all to go to the fort, Ruth said, “No, I have been dragged from pillar to post and from the post to hell, and I am not going to the fort. I’m staying right here.”11 Others soon decided she was right; there was no longer any point in running to the fort every time some Indians were headed in their direction.

In his responsibilities as chair of the publicity committee, James was tireless in confronting errors and falsehoods, often by directly speaking to editors.15 Of one occasion, James related the stubbornness of some of the agitators and his desires for them to be honest in their publications:
“We made a personal visit to this editor and spent considerable time in an effort … to clear away the prejudice he had toward our people; and to show him the untruthfulness of the statements made in his article, [which] we took with us [as] unimpeachable evidence for this purpose. He emphatically told us there was nothing we could do or say or adduce that would change his attitude; that his mind was made up and that he was against our religion on general principles. He defended what he insisted was his right to attack us in any way he wanted to, in order to protect his patrons and friends.”16