Gospel Story Finder

In late February of 1834, the Prophet Joseph Smith was inspired to organize a group of brethren to travel to Missouri to assist the Saints who were being severely persecuted for their religious beliefs. This group, which became known as Zion’s Camp, was to resist the unlawful mobs that were harassing members of the Church and help restore the Saints to their lands, which had been unlawfully taken from them.

Zion’s Camp, a group of over 200 brethren and a few women and children, left Ohio in early May of 1834. Led by the Prophet Joseph, they marched a thousand miles in 45 days, finally arriving in Clay County, Missouri.

From the start the expedition was fraught with suffering and hardship. Some members of the group murmured against the Prophet and questioned his ability to lead. The majority, however, remained true to his counsel and continued on.

Zion’s Camp did not achieve its political or military objectives. Having been met by a superior force of Missourian ruffians, the Prophet Joseph resisted the bloodshed that would have certainly come from armed conflict. In early July, Zion’s Camp was disbanded and its members were honorably discharged.

Later the Prophet explained the outcome and purpose of the march:

God did not want you to fight. He could not organize His kingdom with twelve men to open the Gospel door to the nations of the earth, and with seventy men under their direction to follow in their tracks, unless He took them from a body of men who had offered their lives, and who had made as great a sacrifice as did Abraham. [HC 2:182, note†]

Wilford Woodruff, a member of Zion’s Camp and fourth president of the Church, said:

We gained an experience that we never could have gained in any other way. We had the privilege of beholding the face of the prophet, and we had the privilege of travelling a thousand miles with him, and seeing the workings of the Spirit of God with him, and the revelations of Jesus Christ unto him and the fulfilment of those revelations. [JD 13:158]

Within a few months after the discharge of Zion’s Camp, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the First Quorum of the Seventy were organized. Seventy-nine of the 82 positions filled in these quorums were filled by those who had served and been proven in the march of Zion’s Camp. Men like Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Wilford Woodruff, and many other members of Zion’s Camp were strengthened spiritually and gained practical experience that would be of great assistance to them in the future as they were called to lead the Saints west.

Two Brisbane youth recently completed a unique double. As members of the 11th Regional Army Cadet Unit, Michelle Park and Rebecca Hollis received awards as cadets of the year at their annual ceremonial parade. Michelle and Rebecca are the only Church members in the cadet unit, which covers the 16 high schools in the Logan City area.
“I’ve been told the other cadets really respect us for the standards we keep,” Rebecca says. “They know we don’t smoke or drink or swear.”
“Just the same,” Michelle says, “it’s nice to have Rebecca around to help me maintain my standards.”

… She couldn’t believe it! She, Kristi Evans, had been chosen as a contestant, and they were already to the final big choice of the show. She’d been so clever and careful and thoughtful and had won so many beautiful gifts. She had so much; how could anything be better? Yet here was the M.C. pointing toward another curtain where a gorgeous girl with a frozen smile gestured gracefully toward the next option. The M.C. was describing with his smooth voice all the joys that would await her if she were willing to give up the things she was certain she had for the things behind that curtain. The audience was shouting a din of advice all around her; she looked down at Nils. He shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
The M.C. said, “It’s up to you.”
The gorgeous girl gestured, and her grin dripped ice. Nils shrugged, and the M.C. urged her to hurry. She tried to think, but all that came through was, “It’s up to you.”
Suddenly she was seated beside Nils, the M.C. was signing off until tomorrow, and Kristi felt sick. It was all over and she had lost. Why, why, why had she traded that one last time? Why couldn’t she have realized that she had everything she could ever want or need already? She had had no idea what the curtain concealed; she had known what she had; she could see she was well off already. Why, why …

By the time my plane approached the Salt Lake airport, I felt worn out with the traveling and emotions of the day. The plane had crossed the high Rocky Mountains, which in the early sunset presented a fairy world of peaks and crevices, clouds and shadows in changing, shifting patterns before my eyes.

But now, as the plane touched down, as I moved with the press into the crowded terminal, it seemed everyone had someone to meet them and some place to go. I hesitated, uncertain what to do or where to go next. I noticed a woman approaching, an older woman, very attractive, with rich brown hair and a lovely face. As she drew closer, I thought she looked familiar, so I glanced at her again. It looked as though she was coming directly my way. I shifted my feet and stared down at the floor, and when I glanced up again the woman was standing right beside me. She smiled, and the feeling that I had seen her somewhere before grew stronger.

“Michelle?” she said, with a little question at the end of the word. “You are Michelle Briggs, aren’t you?”

“Yes …” I stammered.

“I thought so,” she said. “You look very much like your mother, Michelle; you have her beautiful eyes.” She smiled again. “I don’t mean to alarm you, my dear, but I’m your Aunt Beth.”

“I don’t understand,” I cried. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me … or … or that I exist at all?”

“Your mother, Michelle,” she said, and took my hand gently in hers. “All these years I have written to your mother, but not once did she reply.”

“You, you mean, my mother’s known where you’ve been all along?”

“She’s known, but she hasn’t wanted to admit it. Your mother was very young when I went away, and your Grandpa Hunter did a good job of poisoning her mind. By the time she was old enough to understand … well, it was too late.”

“Understand? Understand what?”

She paused, and her eyes began to sparkle. “When I was a girl I defied my father and joined the Mormon church. I was young and unwise. I hurt his pride, and he refused to forgive me. When I left and went to Utah, he refused to tell anyone where I had gone or what had really happened to me. He died without knowing that I had married and that he had three grandchildren he had never seen and another one on the way.

“But you see, Michelle, I kept taking the Franklin City paper and I read about your mother’s wedding, and I wrote to her faithfully, hoping that sometime something would touch her heart and she would respond to me.”

“All these years?” I breathed in amazement.

“All these years. And all these years I have prayed that the Lord would soften her heart; and he has answered my prayers, Michelle, through you.” The sparkle in her eyes was wet now and her hand tightened over mine.

“But what …” I stammered, “how …” I still didn’t understand.

“Your mother wrote to me telling me you had joined the Mormon church, telling me you were coming to BYU and asking me to take care of you.”

“My mother … did that … ?”

My aunt nodded. “She told me what a special girl you were and how much she loved you.”

I couldn’t see too well, for my own eyes were clouded with tears and my throat ached trying to hold them back. My prayers and Aunt Beth’s prayers—and the prayers of a mother whose concern had overcome her “Pride and Prejudice,” and who could still teach me something about sacrifice and love! I smiled at the lovely woman who held my hand.

“I’ve got a long way to go,” I said.

“You’ll make it,” she replied, and I felt she understood all the things I was unable to say.

“Yes, yes,” I agreed, I have to make it. I want to be a real Latter-day Saint. I want to make my mother proud of me.”

“Dad was on his first mission and was the mission secretary in charge of the travel preparations for the missionaries in Europe. When it came time for him and his companions to leave, he booked their passage on the big “unsinkable” ocean liner, the Titanic. However, one of the boys could not go then so Dad changed their departure date. When the boys heard that the Titanic had sunk, they all knelt down and thanked the Lord for preserving them.”

As soon as I returned from the Thanksgiving break during my freshman year of college, my roommate hung golden bells on our door and decorated our bulletin boards. The Christmas season was upon us. A ward dance and residence hall parties were sandwiched in between studies, and a new snowfall created a perfect canvas for the tinsel and colored lights.
Still, despite our decorations, being a freshman away from home for the first time left me feeling like something was missing. The idea of Santa Claus no longer held any excitement. A student budget limited Christmas gifts to the simple and practical. Where was the spirit of Christmas?
The Sunday before we were to go home for Christmas break, I arrived at sacrament meeting early. I was nearly alone in the chapel. After the business of the week before, it was a relief to just sit by myself and relax in quiet.
As I sat there, I noticed the priesthood holders had come in to prepare the sacrament table. Reverently, they spread the cloth on the table. It somehow seemed more white and clean than even the new snow outside. They then brought out the sparkling trays with the bread and water. Finally, they quietly unfolded another white cloth and laid it carefully down over the sacred emblems.
I watched spellbound. The impact of what I had seen hit me full force. This, I thought, is what Christmas is about. The baby in the manger was only the beginning. The real meaning of Christmas is in the sacrifice of the Savior—the Atonement.
Since that day, I have known where to find the spirit of Christmas any week of the year. It’s there at the sacrament table.

May I give you an example of a Korean brother who heard the Savior’s voice? Brother Choi had left his wife, two children, and his mother for nine months. One day our missionaries were tracting in the city of Kwang Ju, Korea. They found his family. The family began to study with the missionaries and were baptized shortly.

The missionaries started the family home evening program with this family.

One day the seven-year-old daughter purchased a Book of Mormon from a missionary and sent it with her simple, yet beautiful testimony to her daddy. Two missionaries took that book to her father and bore their strong, firm testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel and the importance of the family. Her father wondered why these people were so concerned and kind to him and his family. When evening came, he began to read, and heard a familiar voice of the Lord. He was so inspired and found it to be true. And also he found the testimony written by his daughter. I would like to share it with you, brothers and sisters. She said:

“Aboji, Aboji, Aboji (which interpreted is “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”), I want to have family home evening with you! Please come back! We love you! I love you! I need you! I want you to read this book! Heavenly Father loves you!”

Brother Choi was so inspired and magnified by reading the Book of Mormon and touched by it and touched by his daughter’s testimony that he asked the missionaries to baptize him. Therefore this family was reunited, and Brother Choi is now the bishop of the Kwang Ju Third Ward. He sits in this hall today, a living example of one who heard the Savior’s voice from the Book of Mormon.

It was the middle of winter and I was serving my eighth month as a missionary in the Asana area of the Bergen Norway District. Although we tracted many hours, we taught few discussions. A baptism seemed like a miracle.
Bergen is a city built on and among seven mountains on the west coast of Norway. The mountains catch every storm that rolls up or down the coast. The clouds dump their rain on missionaries and nonmissionaries alike. The winds blow the rain horizontally, so umbrellas are used more like shields. We were lucky if our raincoats and boots dried overnight so we could wear them the next day.
One particular day the wind and rain were even much worse than usual. My companion, Sister Dolinsky, and I debated the wisdom of going out at all in such harsh weather. We knew if we didn’t we were sure to feel that depressing feeling missionaries feel when they aren’t out working. The severe weather helped us to decide to stay in and catch up on our records.
The day passed, and the storm showed no signs of stopping. Soon it was 5:30—time for us to go out for our evening tracting. We could see the fjord from our window; the water was dark and choppy. The winds were blowing full force, and the rain beat against the window. We knew we couldn’t stay in all evening too, so we dropped to our knees and asked the Lord for the strength we would need to go back out. When we got up, Sister Dolinsky said she felt the Lord wanted us to read Alma 17. We sat down at our table and began to read about Alma and the four sons of Mosiah. In verse five we read: “Now these are the circumstances which attended them in their journeyings, for they had many afflictions; they did suffer much, both in body and in mind, such as hunger, thirst and fatigue, and also much labor in the spirit.”
The fierceness of the storm seemed to diminish, and our discomfort seemed very minor as we read about those missionaries’ sufferings. The Spirit filled our tiny apartment as we continued to read verses 10–12 [Alma 17:10–12]:
“And it came to pass that the Lord did visit them with his Spirit, and said unto them: Be comforted. And they were comforted.
“And the Lord said unto them also: Go forth among the Lamanites [we substituted Norwegians for Lamanites], thy brethren, and establish my word; yet ye shall be patient in long-suffering and afflictions, that ye may show forth good examples unto them in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.
“And it came to pass that the hearts of the [missionaries] took courage to go forth unto the [Norwegians] to declare unto them the word of God.”
After reading those verses we knew that the Lord knew the discomfort we experienced tracting in such harsh weather, yet we also knew that he expected us to take courage and go forth in affliction to bring the word of God to the people we were called to serve. Our afflictions were small compared to those of Alma and the sons of Mosiah.
We put on our coats and took the bus to our tracting area. At the first door we knocked on we found a young man who worked out on the North Sea on an oil rig. He said he wasn’t usually home, but the storm had kept him from going out to sea to work. We taught him about the Book of Mormon, and he said he would like to read it. We gave him a copy and left with a good feeling.
The knowledge that the Lord knew of my small sufferings as a missionary, and that his Spirit comforted and encouraged us to continue with his work by inspiring my companion and me to turn to the scriptures, stayed with me the rest of my mission and will stay with me for the rest of my life.

When it was time for Father to attend October conference, Mary Ann and Mark were excited. Father had promised they could visit Temple Square with Mother while he attended a special meeting in the Assembly Hall.
Mark and Mary Ann were surprised when Father announced, “Here we are at Temple Square.”
“That’s sure a high wall!” exclaimed Mark.
“Does it go all around the block?” asked Mary Ann.
“Let’s walk around and see,” answered Mother.
As the four of them walked, they discovered that the wall did go all around the block. In each of the four sides of the wall there were beautiful see-through iron gates.
“Oh, Mother!” said Mary Ann. “It’s so pretty. Look at all the beautiful flowers. Flowers are even in boxes on that wall, and the trees are so tall!”
“Look up,” Mark said excitedly. “You can see the angel Moroni on the very top of the temple.”
“While I’m in my meeting, why don’t you three go to the Visitors Center,” Father suggested. “There’s a very special statue there that you’ll want to see.”
Inside the Visitors Center Mother, Mark, and Mary Ann walked up a winding ramp. At the top against a dark blue background of sky and soft rose pink clouds was a beautiful statue of Christ. It was so lovely that Mark and Mary Ann had a quiet reverent feeling as they looked up at the statue and thought about Jesus.
After looking at the beautiful murals of the life of Christ, they stopped to talk about the scene of Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
Then they walked down the spiral ramp, and in a few minutes they were outside again.
Mother told them about a large bronze statue that was shaded by a lacy tree branch.
“The man in the center,” she explained, “is John the Baptist. The two young men kneeling are the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. John the Baptist is bestowing the Aaronic Priesthood upon these two men.”
Mother and the children walked down the path toward a large dome-shaped building. “This is the famous Tabernacle,” said Mother.
“It looks like a great big turtle,” said Mary Ann.
“Or half an eggshell,” said Mark.
“Yes, it does,” Mother agreed. “There’s a story about how President Brigham Young received his idea for the shape of the Tabernacle one morning when he was having boiled eggs for breakfast.”
Just then a guide came by with a group of people who were visiting Temple Square.
Mother and the children decided to join the group as they went into the Tabernacle.
The guide pointed out many interesting things about the Tabernacle. He told them that it was over a hundred years old. He showed them the famous organ that could make music soft as a tinkling wind bell or loud as the crash of booming thunder. He pointed out the balcony that formed a giant U shape as it curved around the building. Then he asked everyone to be quiet. A pin was dropped in the front of the big building and the group in the back could hear it hit the floor.
“Now let’s walk over to the campanile,” Mother suggested.
“What’s a campanile?” asked Mary Ann.
“A campanile is a bell tower that is built separate from a church,” replied Mother. “The bell in this campanile is the Nauvoo bell. It was made in England, shipped across the Atlantic Ocean, and hung in the Nauvoo Temple. It was carried across the plains by oxcart. The Relief Society sisters had the campanile built to protect the bell.”
Mother and the children walked past the Assembly Hall with its colorful stained glass windows and its many quaint spires reaching up toward the blue sky.
They stopped to look at the beautiful Sea Gull Monument. Around the base of the monument was a pool of clear water and eight fountains that sent sparkling water spraying into the air, curving umbrella-fashion and splashing back into the pool.
“Right over here is a statue of a handcart family,” Mother told the children as they walked away from the Seagull Monument.
Mark said he thought the father looked strong but tired.
“The mother looks strong too,” said Mary Ann, “but I think she looks worried. Maybe she’s afraid her children will get too tired in the hot sun.”
“It took brave boys and girls to walk across the plains,” said Mother. “But all of the pioneers loved our Heavenly Father and His gospel, so they pushed on and on until they arrived in Salt Lake City. We should always remember our pioneers and be proud of them.”
Past the Bureau of Information, Mark wanted to stop and look at a real pioneer cabin. He caught up with Mary Ann and Mother, who had circled back and were looking up at the beautiful white granite temple with its rounded windows and majestic spires.
They also paused to look at the statues of the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother, Patriarch Hyrum Smith.
“I’m glad we could come to Temple Square,” said Mary Ann. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
By now the sun had set and it was beginning to get dark. Although everyone was tired, they had a special quiet feeling of happiness because of the wonderful things they had seen and learned that day on Temple Square.

Sustaining him in the many challenges of life, including a long series of life-threatening illnesses, was the inner strength he received in his devotion to Church callings. Even as a boy, he felt an urgency to be about his Father’s business. While tromping hay for his older brothers one hot summer afternoon, he heard the bell for Primary ringing about a mile away. Ignoring his brothers’ insistence that he miss Primary and stay with his job atop the hay, young Spencer slipped off the wagon, unseen by his brothers, and was nearly to the meetinghouse before they discovered his absence.

Jane hurried out of the classroom to the front of the school building. Her big brother, Ronnie, was waiting for her. “Mum said we have to go straight home today because we mustn’t be late for my baptism,” Jane said excitedly. “After tonight I’ll be a real Church member. It’s the most important day of my life, so far!”
Ronnie smiled at his sister and teasingly messed up her hair. “Well, we can’t be late, then. Let’s go.”
When they got home, dinner was nearly ready and Dad was home from work early. When he saw Jane, he smiled and said, “I haven’t forgotten that today’s the big day.”
After dinner, Jane, Ronnie, Mum, and Dad all got in the car and set off for the chapel, twenty miles away.
As they arrived at the chapel, Mum looked at her watch. “We’re just in time—the service should start in ten minutes.”
Brother Jones, the custodian, hurried up to them. He looked worried. “I just arrived about half an hour ago. I had planned to come earlier to fill up the font, but we had an emergency at the station. I’m ever so sorry. The water is running now, but at this rate, it will take a couple more hours to fill the font. There are huge kettles of water heating in the kitchen, and I’ve a plan I’m working on. …”
Jane didn’t listen to what her dad and Brother Jones said next. She went outside and sat on the wall next to the car park. She knew she’d have to wait a long time before her baptismal service could start.
She looked down the road that led up to the chapel. The chapel was on a hill, so she had a good view. At the bottom of the hill was a big red fire engine coming up the road. I can’t see any smoke—I wonder where the fire is. She looked around her. As the fire engine came closer to the chapel, Jane ran inside to get Ronnie so that they could both watch it pass by. By the time they got back outside, the fire engine had stopped in front of the chapel and the firemen were unwinding the big hose on the side of the engine!
When Brother Jones came out of the chapel, Jane remembered that he worked at that station. He showed the firefighters where the font was, and Ronnie and Jane watched while they filled it. Soon the font was full and the fire engine was gone.
While the ward members poured the heated water into the font, Jane dressed in her white clothes and sat down next to her dad. After the opening hymn, Ronnie offered the opening prayer. Mum and the branch president gave talks; then Jane and Dad went to the font. Dad got in first. “Oh! It’s a bit cold,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” Jane said as she went into the water. She felt so wonderful that the cold water didn’t even bother her. After she changed her clothes, she was confirmed a member of the Church by her dad. The branch president, her dad and mum, Brother Jones, and Ronnie shook her hand and congratulated her.
“Now I’m a member of the true Church,” Jane said proudly. “I feel really good. Thank you, Brother Jones, for getting a fire engine to fill up the font, just for me!”

“Nathaniel, would you be a narrator in the Primary program in sacrament meeting?” Sister Mitchell asked before sharing time started.
Nathaniel hesitated. He really wanted to say yes, but sometimes he stuttered, especially when he was nervous. How could he narrate the whole program?
“Maybe,” he said. “But I s-s-tutter.”
Sister Mitchell smiled. “I know. We’d love your help, though. You’re the oldest one in Primary, and the other kids look up to you. I know you can do a great job.”
“Th-th-anks.” Nathaniel was glad that Sister Mitchell believed in him. Still, he didn’t know if he should say yes. What if he stuttered in front of the whole ward?
Later Nathaniel and his family gathered in the living room to talk about what they’d learned in Church that day.
“How was Primary, Nathaniel?” Dad asked.
Nathaniel sighed. “Sister Mitchell asked me to be a narrator in the Primary program. I want to do it—especially since I’m l-l-leaving Primary soon. But I d-d-don’t know if I can.”
“Hmm,” Dad said. “Are you worried you’ll stutter? It’ll be OK, even if you do.”
Mom put her arm around him. “It’s your choice,” she said. “We’ll pray for you.”
“Thanks,” Nathaniel said.
He thought about it the whole next week. By Sunday he’d made up his mind.
“I’d like to be a n-n-narrator for the Primary pr-pr-program,” he told Sister Mitchell in Primary.
“That’s great,” Sister Mitchell said. “Thank you! That will be a big help.”
For the next month, Nathaniel worked on his part. He said his lines over and over until he’d memorized them. But sometimes he still stuttered.
One afternoon he was practicing a really tricky word. “I c-c-can’t d-d-do it!” he yelled in frustration.
Mom walked in and sat down on the couch next to him. “I know it’s hard, but you can do it,” she said. “Do you know the story about President Heber J. Grant learning to play baseball?”
He shook his head. What did baseball have to do with stuttering?
“When President Grant was young, he wanted to play baseball. None of the other boys wanted him on the team because he couldn’t throw the ball very far,” Mom said. “So he saved up his money, and he bought a ball. Then he practiced until he could throw the ball as well as anyone. Eventually he made the team.”
“But playing baseball’s n-n-not the same as s-s-stuttering,” Nathaniel said.
“No, it isn’t,” Mom said. “But President Grant had a challenge just like you do, and he practiced and practiced. And you know what? He did great even though it was hard for him.”
“Mom, I want to do m-m-my best, and I have been practicing a l-l-l-lot. But what if I s-s-till s-s-tutter?”
Mom smiled. “Doing our best doesn’t mean doing things perfectly. When we work hard and ask Heavenly Father for help, we are doing our best. It’s OK if you stutter, but don’t let it stop you from trying. Dad and I will be proud of you no matter what.”
Nathaniel kept practicing his lines every day. And he prayed for help to be brave. At the final practice for the program, he said his part and only stuttered a few times. He was ready.
The day of the program, Nathaniel said a quick prayer for help. When the program started, he felt warm inside. He knew he could do his best—stuttering or not.

The morning of my eighteenth birthday was beautiful. I opened my birthday gifts and left for college classes knowing that the best part of the day would be at 7:30 that evening, when I would be baptized.
My family met me for lunch. Shortly after eating, I became ill and began to have great pain. My mother suggested I go home, where she put me to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was so great that I got out of bed and knelt in prayer. As I pleaded for the Lord to take away the pain so I could go through with my long-awaited baptism, a great darkness filled the room. Frightened, I cried for help to see me through this terror. When I opened my eyes, it was three hours later and my older sister stood beside me. She asked how I was and suggested I get ready for the baptism. I looked out of the window and saw the sun was shining brightly. I thanked my Father in Heaven for my answered prayer, and my family and I went to the church.

The second lesson was learned several years later when we were more financially secure. Our wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted to buy Mary a fancy coat to show my love and appreciation for our many happy years together. When I asked what she thought of the coat I had in mind, she replied with words that again penetrated my heart and mind. “Where would I wear it?” she asked. (At the time she was a ward Relief Society president helping to minister to needy families.)

Then she taught me an unforgettable lesson. She looked me in the eyes and sweetly asked, “Are you buying this for me or for you?” In other words, she was asking, “Is the purpose of this gift to show your love for me or to show me that you are a good provider or to prove something to the world?” I pondered her question and realized I was thinking less about her and our family and more about me.

After that we had a serious, life-changing discussion about provident living, and both of us agreed that our money would be better spent in paying down our home mortgage and adding to our children’s education fund.

Although the grand Tabernacle Organ was not completed for the October conference in 1867, it could be played. Sixteen-year-old Joseph was small for his age, and he found he could not reach the foot pedals of the new organ. An accomplished musician, he had been appointed as Tabernacle organist, and he worried about not being able to play the notes with his feet. It took some thinking, but he came up with the idea of attaching cork to the soles of his shoes—and it worked!
Born in Norwich, England, April 2, 1851, Joseph J. Daynes displayed a rare musical talent when only four. When he was eleven his family immigrated to the Salt Lake Valley. With a little harmonium (small organ) strapped across his shoulders, Joseph walked most of the way.
During the time he was organist of the Tabernacle, Joseph Daynes wrote music for hymns and composed the marches that were played for the funerals of Brigham Young and Wilford Woodruff.

Let me share with you the moment in my life when my world was its heaviest. One of our children was born with serious medical problems. The doctors knew the instant she arrived that all was not well. You have all probably seen those red emergency buttons that are in hospital rooms and have wondered, “What would happen if I were to push that button?” In this instance that button was pushed, and controlled chaos erupted. Doctors and nurses came running from all over the hospital. We, the parents, were pushed to the side as they took our baby and immediately prepped her for surgery. It turned out that her insides were not hooked together properly, and if they didn’t act quickly she would not survive. And even if they did act quickly, things didn’t look hopeful. We were told prior to the surgery that many babies with her condition just didn’t make it. She was just a little over six pounds, less than one hour old, and she was going under the knife.

In less than one hour I had gone from the highest high to the lowest low. One minute my wife and I were eagerly awaiting the arrival of our beautiful baby. The next minute we were being told that this one might not ever go home with us. The weight of our world became crushing—and earthly angels instantly rushed to our aid to help us lift the burden. Family members, ward members, friends, and strangers—people we did not know—literally did all they could to help us face this struggle. And, believe me, watching a tiny newborn fight for life is a very heavy burden to bear. She made it through the first surgery. That was followed by ups and downs and then another surgery, and then another.

My wife or I were always at the hospital in hopes that our baby would somehow know that however things turned out, she was loved and she was not alone. All the while our other children were cared for. Food appeared from out of nowhere, and dirty dishes would simply vanish. The clothes hampers were always empty and the clothes closets were always full. Children would disappear for sleep-overs and reappear, well-kept, days later. People fasted for our baby. Prayers were offered for our baby and for our family—and the blessings of heaven rained down on our home. As with Alma and his people, the Lord did strengthen us that we could bear our burdens with ease. In this case we were strengthened by the willingness of countless Saints to magnify their baptismal covenants and help bear our burdens, mourn with us, and comfort us. After three surgeries and 35 days in the newborn intensive care unit, our baby came home, and she was perfect. Now, six years later, I am her prince and she is my princess. It was only through heaven’s help and through the help of those around me that I was able to carry the weight of my world. I don’t think I could have done it on my own.

We had a Young Women’s conference, and a sister talked about this very subject. She had us walk into a messy room with pictures that were not uplifting. Then she took us into another room that was organized and had uplifting pictures and sayings. The difference in atmosphere and feeling in each room was amazing. A clean, organized room can bring the Spirit of the Lord.
Heather Holmes, 15Milan, New Mexico

When I first got to know the Church in 2016, it was a strange thing for me to have received the gospel through my two classmates, who today also serve in the same mission as I do. I waited a year to be baptized since my family was Catholic and it was a difficult thing for me, but thanks to prayer, the Lord supported me, and I was baptized in July 2017. I was in fifth grade, and I was the only member of the Church in my family, and in my neighborhood. I had to walk at least nine kilometers every Sunday to attend sacrament meeting, which from the start was difficult for me.
After my baptism, I lost the job that I had, and I began to go through a difficult moment. I applied the advice given in Deuteronomy 31:6, only if I was not afraid, the Lord was going to help me, and with His help I brought one of my best friends to Church who was the second person in my neighborhood to join the Church, and who also serves a mission today in Liberia.
After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.
In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.
When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.
I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.
I am happy to serve Him in this time, I know that our Heavenly Father knows us personally and prepares us with the means to serve Him in his time by the tools He himself prepares to help us get there. Fervent prayer is the only way that can bring us closer to Him and help us prepare to become more like the Savior Jesus Christ.

A glimpse of our Heavenly Father’s anguish came to me several years ago during a high-adventure trip with my oldest son and several members of his priest’s quorum. We had gone to the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington. One of the activities the boys wanted to do was ride their bicycles on the paved road down from the top of Mount Constitution. I’ve done a bit of riding in my life, and I encouraged the boys to first ride up the mountain so they could remember where the gravel, the cracks in the pavement, the tightest turns, and other such potential hazards were. But of course that was too hard. So we took all the boys and the bikes to the top and all started down. I came down last, and I helped pick up each boy as each crashed at a different location. My son, for example, had entered a hairpin turn going hopelessly too fast. He had a choice: go over the railing or lay the bike down. With brakes tightly squeezed, he laid the bike down and skidded for some distance on the asphalt. His T-shirt rolled up his back, and he received quite a road rash, including embedded bits of small gravel and tar.

Like any unprepared Scout troop, our only cleaning agent in the first-aid kit was alcohol. As I watched his friends begin to clean the wounds on his back with the alcohol, I simply could not bear to watch. The pain must have been excruciating, and I could not stand to see my son suffer.

I know that Heavenly Father hurt at the sight of His Son’s suffering. I know that both Heavenly Father and His Son love us.

We were driving through the majestic Swiss Alps on a family vacation when, without warning, our van lost all power. My husband, Floyd, pulled over to the side of the alpine road and tried to restart the engine. Suddenly there was a loud bang. “It’s okay,” Floyd said. “Just a backfire.”
But something made me look out the rear window. To my horror, I saw flames of fire coming out from under the van, spreading across the back of the vehicle. “There’s a fire!” I cried. Floyd reacted instantly. “Everyone out of the van—now!” he yelled, running around to open the side doors for us. Our two girls, ages sixteen and six, quickly climbed out of the van and ran down the roadside out of harm’s way. Our four-year-old son, shoeless and frightened, was next into his father’s arms. He was sent running away from the burning van which we expected to explode at any minute.
The baby and I were last. It seemed to take forever to unfasten the harness holding him in his car seat. Floyd helped us out, and we ran, too.
A cloud of oily black smoke was rising from the burning van as a young French couple stopped. The man ran to telephone for help. His wife helped me calm the children.
Next a truck driver stopped, and began to put out the fire with an extinguisher from his truck. Then he helped my husband rescue most of our baggage. The van continued to burn.
By now, farmers had wandered out of their homes to watch the excitement. Soon a large fire truck and police cars arrived. Quickly, the fire crew put out the blaze and retrieved the rest of our baggage.
There we were, our suitcases scattered beside the burned-out van, stranded at the side of a highway in Switzerland—a long way from our home in California. But we felt relieved and thankful to be safe and to have most of our baggage as well.
“Anyone here speak English?” my husband asked hopefully. There were only blank looks and a few shrugs.
Then a man and his son stepped forward. “You come to my house,” he said in halting English. “You come to my house.” He pointed across the valley to a small cottage. It took three trips in his little car to get all of us and our baggage there. Our new-found friend’s wife and family fed us, put our weary children to bed, and helped us sort and repack all our things.
The wife spoke perfect English, and we stayed up late into the night talking with our hosts, but it wasn’t until the next morning as we prepared to leave that we discovered they were Latter-day Saints, too. It made our host family even more special to us.
That day in the Alps was the most memorable part of our vacation. We will never forget our frightening experience. Nor shall we forget that Swiss family—brothers and sisters in the gospel whom we found by accident—and the love they showed for us.