Gospel Story Finder

While at Eastmont Junior High, Dene was approached by Coach Massey. He knew Dene played soccer and asked him to try kicking a football. Coach Massey was impressed with what he saw. When he moved up to be freshman coach at Alta High School, he asked Dene, who was to be a freshman at Alta in the fall, to come and try out for the freshman team. Dene was kicking so well that Coach Massey sent him to see Coach Berry, who needed a place kicker for the varsity team. And so the 105-pound freshman soccer star found himself competing with two big, strong seniors for the varsity job. When Dene stepped up and booted a 45-yarder, the seniors both started making other plans for the football season.

My husband, Yves, was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1989. I was an atheist and had no understanding of the gospel. And even when I heard all the discussions with my husband, the teachings of the missionaries didn’t touch me in the least.
I soon realized that my husband was serious about the gospel. He had quit smoking and drinking alcohol; I waited to see how long it would last. Several years earlier he had tried to quit smoking, but he made it only three months before he started again.
After Yves’s baptism the missionaries came to our home every week to try to teach me the gospel and to read the Book of Mormon with me. But they didn’t have much success.
Then one day I was reading the Book of Mormon by myself. I was smoking at the same time. Because I wasn’t able to concentrate, I put my cigarette down and gathered my thoughts. I began reading again, and this time I was able to understand what I was reading. Not only did I understand, but I wanted to know more.
That night I had a strange but marvelous dream. I believe the Savior was inviting me to join His Church. When I woke up I had a smile on my face and I felt very good.
The months passed, and my husband continued to live the Word of Wisdom. I told myself he must have a good reason to do so, but I didn’t make any changes in my own life.
At the beginning of 1990 I became close to two sister missionaries. They fasted and prayed that I too would be able to quit smoking. It was extremely difficult for me because I had smoked for 22 years and smoked about 40 cigarettes a day. Finally I told them that when I finished the pack, I would quit and would be baptized.
I quit smoking on 1 April 1990, and I was baptized a week later. I am very happy to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am grateful to my husband who changed his habits for good and showed me the way.

The first time I saw the Saturn V vehicle, it seemed unimpressive. It looked exactly like all the other boosters. All boosters look exactly three-quarters the height of your TV screen, don’t they? It was out on the beach all by itself. There was no way to judge its height. We had spent all day on Missile Row at Cape Canaveral, Florida, becoming aware of some of the other booster systems. The second day, on our tour of the cape, we went out on pad 39A where the Saturn V test vehicle was sitting. It was 3.7 miles away when we started from the firing room, and the closer we got the more impressed I became. When we got there it was like trying to view the Empire State Building from the sidewalk. It was just a great curved mass of aluminum above me. The best way to see it was to get into the umbilical tower, press the button for the 23rd floor, which is the boarding platform, go up and look down on that vehicle, and then contemplate that someday you might be able to go into that white room and lie on that couch while someone back in the firing room pushes the famous button. It’s a very impressive sight. It gave me gooseflesh. Everybody likes to drive a souped-up car and have some real power in his hands. When you’re in control of the Saturn V, you’re burning fuel at the rate of 14.8 tons a second. The first stage holds 4.8 million pounds of propellant. You run out of that amount of fuel in two minutes and 31 seconds. The ten first-stage fuel lines going into those engines are the size of sewer pipes. With your hands on those controls, you have a certain sense of power.

Matthew gingerly fingered a few pages into the little book, stopped, and began to read aloud: “March 18. Our Conestoga left without Ma’s piano. There just wasn’t any room, and the oxen were put upon enough as it was. Baby Jess nearly took a joyful fit when a butterfly lit on her cradle in the back of the wagon.”
The boy turned a few more pages. “March 29. Saw some Indians not too far from our camp today. Brother Ezekiel said they were Crows. They didn’t look as though they meant us any harm, but Ma took on fearful and then became prayerful. Pa tried to comfort Ma and told her not to worry because God would see to it that all of us got to the valley in one piece.”
Digging into the diary a little deeper, Matthew read: “April 3. It rained some today. Old Sister Weber died this morning. Found me a real arrowhead in the skull of a dead coyote. Brother Beacon’s boy said he’d give me his gold watch for it but I’d rather keep the arrowhead. Baby Jess has taken to coughing something fierce.”
More pages were turned. “April 19. We only made about a mile today. Pa took time out to bury Baby Jess. Didn’t see Pa cry but he put his arms round Ma in the holdingest kind of way. Then he walked off somewhere by himself for the rest of the day. Once I thought I heard someone crying off aways. Maybe it was just the wind coming down off the butte.”
“April 20. Brother Ezekiel shot a wild pig that came into a place where Sister Gunnerson was digging some Indian Soapweed. The pig was acting crazy and bubbling at the jaws like he had a devil in him. And before it was killed it horned a place across Ma’s leg—just a scratch but there’s some folks looking unusually mournful. Pa and Nephi Cole administered to Ma. Flora Clanton found some berries and said she’s going to work up something special for the one that sings the loudest tonight at the camp sing.”
Matthew fingered ahead. “May 2. They had to tie Ma down in the wagon today.”
“May 3. Ma died this morning. Just before the end she told us good-bye. I think I heard her tell me to be strong and to praise God.”
On another page Matthew read: “May 4. Cold all day—colder than ever before. We found some little wild flowers to put on Ma’s grave.”
Matthew rubbed his arms, looked up at the snow falling against the little attic window, then he flipped the page. “May 6. We’ve been trying to catch up with the rest of the wagons. Pa told me to try to stop looking so stretchy-faced over Ma being gone. He says we’ll all get to the valley, only we’ll have to take Ma and Baby Jess with us in our hearts. He said they’ll live forever because things eternal never die. And maybe it’s so.”
Matthew turned one more page. “May 7. The wind is most howly and wild today, guess that’s why Pa’s been holding me tighter than I can ever remember.”

This incident happened during World War II. I was serving on a four-man agriculture advisory committee to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and was chief executive officer of the National Council of Farmer Cooperatives, a federation of 4,600 farmers’ marketing organizations located in every state of the Union and in Puerto Rico.
Because of the demands of the war, materials used in farming were in short supply. With the help of the board of directors, we had organized a National Committee for Farm Production Supplies to help focus the attention of heads of government agencies on the needs of farmers. If they were to produce to the maximum, meet the challenge of the president of the United States that “food will win the war,” they must have adequate production supplies.
I had gone to my office at 1731 “I” Street N.W. early to prepare for the meeting at the White House and also the meeting of the committee in the hope that I would get much work done before office hours began and the telephone started ringing.
I had just arrived at my desk when the telephone rang. A total stranger on the other end of the line introduced himself as a prominent businessman from Chicago. He invited me to have lunch with him at a downtown hotel. I told him I was too busy for lunch, but he was so sincere and earnest that I finally agreed, and so at one o’clock I faced him across the luncheon table at the Washington Hotel in downtown Chicago.
After introductions he said, “I suppose you wonder why I have invited you to lunch inasmuch as I am a total stranger.”
I said, “Yes, I have been wondering.”
Then he said this: “Earlier in the week I came out of a businessmen’s luncheon in Chicago and while talking with some of my friends, I told them that I was going to Washington, D.C., to set up an office and hire a young man to take charge of the office and represent our corporation in the nation’s capital. I began telling my business friends the kind of a young man I would like to have represent our firm. I said I would want a young man whose integrity would never be questioned, who was clean in his habits, who would leave liquor alone and was living a clean, moral life. In fact, I would prefer to have a young man who didn’t smoke.”
Then he said, “One of my business associates said, ‘What you want is a returned Mormon missionary.’
“I had heard about the Mormon Church,” he continued, “but I knew very little about their organization or standards. I knew they had missionaries because my wife told me that she had a very pleasant conversation with two young men in dark suits who had called during the day and left literature.”
He added, “As I rode down here on the train last evening, I thought to myself that possibly the suggestion of my business friend had merit. Possibly that’s just the kind of a young man I do want—a returned Mormon missionary. When I registered at the hotel here last evening, I said to the clerk at the desk, ‘Are there any Mormons in Washington?’
“He said, ‘I don’t know. I suppose there are; they seem to be everywhere.’ But I said to him, ‘Do you know any?’ He said, ‘Frankly I can’t say that I do, but Mr. Bush, the manager, is here, and maybe he can help you.’”
Then my new acquaintance said, “I put the question to Mr. Bush and he gave me your name. Now that’s why I’ve invited you to lunch. Can you give me the names of three or four young men who meet the standards I have outlined? I would like to interview them for a job that I think has a great future with a starting salary of some eight or nine thousand dollars.” (In the 1940s the purchasing power of the dollar was about three times what it is today.)
My new-found friend continued, “Our corporation is one of the largest in Chicago and has among its assets the largest hotel in the city.” And he repeated, “Can you give me the names of three or four young men?”
I was happy to tell him, as president of the Washington Stake, that I could not only give him the names of three or four, but ten, or fifteen, or twenty, any one of whom I felt sure would meet the standards that he had outlined.
Yes, it pays for young men, and young women too, to maintain the standards of the Church and be true to the faith.

“The death of my father and my mother’s going away so soon were difficult experiences for me. When I was about nine years old, I remember thinking that there was nobody in the world as unhappy as I was. As dear and wonderful as my grandparents were, it was difficult for them to be parents to a young family while Mother was away at school.

“I remember that in the fourth grade I was a bewildered little boy who couldn’t do long division and couldn’t spell. Every day we had about twenty spelling words and twenty long-division problems. Whenever we would correct our papers, I would always miss fifteen or more. Everybody knew that Dallin Oaks was the dumbest boy in the room.

“But after my mother recovered, our family was reunited and we moved to Vernal. There, I had a wonderful fifth-grade teacher, Pearl Schaeffer. She is still living in Vernal, and I correspond with her. She helped me understand that I was somebody who could achieve in school, and she expected me to do it. She was a good, warm, loving person and a fine teacher. My school performance changed almost overnight as a result of her expectations and our improved family situation.

He bears his missionary testimony as a special witness without the fear of man. I have observed it. At the Copenhagen Denmark Area Conference held August 3–5, 1976, President Kimball went to see Thorvaldsen’s beautiful sculpture The Christus, the resurrected Christ, which has been reproduced, as you know, for the visitors’ centers in Salt Lake City, Los Angeles, and New Zealand. After a few spiritual moments admiring The Christus, President Kimball bore his testimony to the caretaker who stood nearby. As he turned to the statue of Peter and pointed to the large set of keys in Peter’s right hand, he proclaimed: “The keys of priesthood authority which Peter held as President of the Church I now hold as President of the Church in this dispensation.” Then he stated to the caretaker, “You work every day with Apostles in stone, but today you are in the presence of living Apostles.” He then introduced President N. Eldon Tanner, Elder Thomas S. Monson, and Elder Boyd K. Packer. He presented the caretaker with a Book of Mormon in Danish, and bore his testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The caretaker was moved to tears in acknowledgment of the Spirit he felt in the presence of a prophet and Apostles. He acknowledged to me as we left the church, “Today I have been in the presence of servants of God.”

As a youth, Elder Osborn especially enjoyed Scouting. One time when he had gone on a hike into the mountains with his Scout troop, he took a different path from that of the rest of the Scouts, thinking that the two paths would eventually meet. The trail was steep and rocky and did not join the path that the other Scouts had taken, after all. He was lost, and he prayed that the Lord would help him. “A short time later,” he said, “my Scoutmaster, having been prompted by the Spirit to find me, came up the path and helped me back down the trail.”

Growing up, I loved watching how Grandmother’s hens would gather their chickens under their wings during storms to keep them safe and protected. This image became more important to me after reading about it in the Book of Mormon (see 3 Nephi 10:4–6). As a young adult, my bishop and his wife, who traveled a lot for their business, told me that they shared a Book of Mormon with someone on every trip they took.
That inspired me. I admired them, and their examples touched my heart. I decided that if I ever got the chance to travel outside of Utah, USA, I would follow their example and share a Book of Mormon each time.
As a cheerleader for Brigham Young University, I traveled frequently with the cheerleading team. Before my first trip, I bought a Book of Mormon and wrote my testimony in it. I wanted to develop the courage to share what I valued most with others: my testimony and the Book of Mormon. I wanted to be like my bishop and his wife. I wanted to be like Jesus Christ. I wanted to help gather others and help them to come unto Him.
I quickly learned that if I prayed before each trip to be led to the one who needed it, a person would show up at the right time and the right place for me to make sharing the Book of Mormon natural and easy. The more I practiced, the easier my sharing became. My journeys became more meaningful for me. I was always thrilled to find Heavenly Father’s blessed recipient of this sacred testament of Christ.
When I traveled, I pondered, “Where should I go to find the one whom Heavenly Father is sending me to this time? What can I say to him or her to convey how precious the Book of Mormon is to me?” My thoughts and actions became focused outside of my own needs and entertainment, and I felt increased love for everyone I met. I tried to look at them through the Savior’s eyes. I prayed for them to accept the divine gift that Heavenly Father had sent me to offer them.
I was sad when my senior year came to an end. Being a cheerleader for BYU was a lifelong dream for me. I would have enjoyed the incredible experience to cheer no matter what, but the opportunity to share a copy of the Book of Mormon on each cheerleading trip enriched my life in beautiful, unexpected ways.
Sharing the Book of Mormon was a valuable and easy way to add an extra layer of meaning to my university experience. I know that the people with whom I shared the Book of Mormon were specifically guided to receive it. I also know that into the incredible tapestry of my life, Heavenly Father wove a loving and sweet tender mercy: He allowed me to feel His love for His children in a special way every trip I took.
After I graduated, I decided to always continue looking for someone with whom I can share my testimony. Over time, I developed greater ability and comfort with sharing my testimony. I learned to no longer fear sharing it. I believe everyone can become more comfortable sharing their testimony with practice and by asking for divine help.
Choosing to follow the examples of my good bishop and his wife made my life more meaningful in many ways. It taught me to see that the Lord is aware of every single one of His children. He loves us and is eager to gather us all under His wing. What a blessing to understand the beautiful imagery that He uses when He describes His gathering. He gathers us as a hen gathers and tenderly protects her chickens.

I received a similar letter from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, from a woman who said: “At the age of 19, I sat next to a sweet grandmother in Relief Society and learned to knit. She also was learning to knit. Over the years, I learned of bread making, of strength and perseverance. I learned that my toddler was just being a normal two-year-old, and I learned of a Heavenly Father who loves me. I learned to teach, to hug, to lead, and to follow.”

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and the grocery store was crowded with shoppers. Jeff and his mother stood near the end of a long line at the checkout.
Suddenly the young woman in front of them gasped. “My purse! I’ve lost it!” The baby in her shopping cart blinked and started to cry.
Jeff’s mother stepped forward. “My name’s Sara Yoder,” she said. “Maybe my son and I can help you.”
Oh, no, thought Jeff. If we lose our place in line, we’ll miss the beginning of tonight’s TV mystery.
The young woman picked up her baby and turned around. “I’m Melanie Ross.” She patted the infant and sighed. “My husband’s paycheck is in that purse.”
Jeff looked at the food in Melanie Ross’s cart. There was a turkey, a carton of milk, butter, bread, celery, and a package of cranberries. This lady’s Thanksgiving dinner is not going back on the shelves, Jeff decided. Not if I can help it.
“Mom can check the dairy case, and I’ll search the produce section and the bread aisles,” Jeff suggested. “Mrs. Ross, maybe you could check the frozen meat case.”
“Leave your carts where they are, and I’ll save your places,” the man behind them offered.
Mrs. Ross looked relieved. “Oh, thank you,” she said.
The three of them left to look for the purse. Very slowly, Jeff walked up one side of the bread aisle and down the other. He looked carefully at each shelf, but he didn’t see a misplaced purse. Then he walked to the produce section and searched just as carefully—no purse.
Jeff returned to the checkout line. Mrs. Ross and his mother were already there. Their hopeful looks disappeared when they saw that he, too, was empty-handed.
Mrs. Ross started pushing her cart out of line. “Thanks, anyway,” she told Jeff and his mother.
“Wait!” said Jeff. “There’s something else you can do.”
“What’s that?”
Jeff pointed to a small room with a window. “Try the lost and found.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Ross returned to the checkout line, still holding the baby and nothing else.
Just then a voice came over the loud-speaker: “A red clutch purse has been lost in the store. If anyone has found it, please bring it to the lost and found office. Thank you.”
The line moved forward. Soon it was Mrs. Ross’s turn to pay for her groceries.
“Trade places with us while you wait for someone to turn your purse in,” Jeff’s mom suggested.
“Is there any chance that you left your purse at home?” Jeff asked as the carts were switched. “Or in your car?”
Mrs. Ross patted the baby, who was now sleeping on her shoulder. “I rode the bus here, so I had my purse with me then, and I remember having it when I put my baby in the cart.”
Jeff’s mother exchanged glances with him before she turned back to Mrs. Ross and offered, “I’ll drive you home.”
“You can leave your cart here,” the cashier put in kindly. “The stock boy will return the food to the shelves.”
Moments later, shuffling through the snow in the parking lot, Jeff remarked, “It doesn’t seem much like Thanksgiving, does it?”
“To me it does,” Mrs. Ross disagreed.
“How can it?” Jeff asked. “What do you have to be thankful for?”
Mrs. Ross smiled. “I’m thankful that I live in a city where strangers go out of their way to be helpful.”
Jeff opened the car door for Mrs. Ross and the baby. As Jeff climbed in, he asked, “What is a clutch purse, anyway?”
Jeff’s mother put the key in the ignition and explained, “A purse without handles.”
“Wait just a minute,” Jeff said excitedly, getting out of the car again. “I’ll be right back.” He raced toward the store. Soon afterward he came back, clutching a red purse!
“That’s it! Oh, thank you! Where did you find it?”
“In the frozen meat case,” Jeff answered. “Behind the turkeys.”
Jeff watched as Mrs. Ross opened the purse and looked through it. “But I searched there,” she said. “I didn’t see it.”
“I couldn’t see it, either,” Jeff explained. “It was too far back and way at the bottom.”
Jeff’s mother looked at him. “If you couldn’t see it, how did you know where it was?”
“Your shopping cart had a clue in it,” Jeff answered. “Let’s go get your groceries, and I’ll show you.”
The women followed him back to the store. Mrs. Ross’s cart of groceries still stood by the counter. Jeff pushed it back in line. “Watch,” he said as he took the items out of the cart one by one and put them on the conveyer belt. “It takes two hands to lift out the turkey. Everything else I can pick up with one. Since clutch purses don’t have handles, you must have set it down to pick up your turkey.”
“That’s just what I did,” Mrs. Ross admitted. “I remember now. Then my baby started crying, and I forgot all about the purse. I’m sorry that I caused all this trouble.”
“Forget it,” Jeff told her. “Not many kids get a chance to solve a grocery-store mystery.”
“We’re just glad that everything turned out all right,” Jeff’s mother said. “And we’ll still drive you home.”
Jeff looked at his wristwatch. The TV mystery was half over, and he didn’t even care anymore.

I spent three years in that ward where I had initially felt so uncomfortable. My last 18 months were a wonderful, fulfilling time. Sometimes I faced difficult trials, but I also felt an assurance that the Lord was mindful of me and that the painful experiences were for my growth.
By the time I left that ward, I not only felt loved, I also felt trusted and honored by the members there. I had had many humbling, spiritual experiences as well as opportunities to serve, to speak, and to teach. The ward had become a cherished family.
Julie remains a dear friend. Her gift for radiating light continues to touch my life and the lives of many others. Her example showed me how to reach for the Savior, the source of the light. And this has given me the means to lift and love and comfort many people. I believe that if I continue to progress, someday I, too, will be filled with his love and receive his image in my countenance.

Three of her four children joined the Church with her, and all of them are still active Latter-day Saints. “When I was first being taught, the children would laugh behind the door. After I received my own testimony of the gospel, I got them to promise that they would listen to one discussion. I told the missionaries that they had better be good, because the children had promised to listen just this once. The elders prepared a very fine flannel-board presentation, after which the children promised that they would also join the Church. It is true, though, that the youngest son, Eikki, later said the reason he joined the Church was that his mother told him to,” Sister Rinne says, laughing.

The tall yellow weeds in the big field behind Grandpa and Grandma’s place look pretty. When the wind blows they’re like a yellow sea that rolls and whispers. I like to lie in them, especially when it’s windy. Especially with my dad. He said that when the weeds are all rustling, it’s like they’re telling a story. He listened to those stories and passed them on to me. He called them his tall-as-a-yellow-weed tales.
Sometimes we played hide-and-seek in the field. I liked that, too. Dad closed his eyes while I hid. Then he had 10 minutes to find me and tag me. If I won, he took me to the soda fountain in Hadley and bought me a milk shake. I usually won. I think he let me sometimes. He knew how much I like chocolate shakes.
I miss those times. I still like Grandma and Grandpa’s place, but the yellow field isn’t the same. It looks the same, but without Dad, it’s just … different. It’s just a field.
Mom and I live with Grandma and Grandpa now. At least for a while. Until Mom can make enough money at her new job, or until Dad gets better. Dad has a drinking problem. It got pretty bad, and he wouldn’t get help. We prayed and prayed for him, but Mom said Heavenly Father can’t help us if we don’t try to help ourselves. I know she’s right, because once I asked Him to help me on a school test that I hadn’t studied for. I failed it anyway. Mom said that if we do all we can do for ourselves, then ask Heavenly Father for help, He will then assist us.
One day my friend Barry said that if his dad were like mine, he wouldn’t love him anymore. Because if my dad cared about us, he wouldn’t keep drinking.
I couldn’t sleep too well that night. My mom came into my room and asked what was wrong. When I told her, she explained some things that helped me to feel better.
The next day when Barry and I were looking for arrowheads in Baker’s Canyon up behind the yellow field, I told him I still loved my dad. When he asked me why, I said, “Remember when your brother didn’t tie up the chain that was hanging way down from the siren on his bike?”
“Yes,” Barry said, “and I told him it could cause an accident if it got caught in the spokes, but did he listen to me? No!”
Last month Barry borrowed that bike. He was flying down a hill when, sure enough, the chain got caught in the spokes of his front wheel. All of a sudden the bike stopped, but Barry kept going, right over the handlebars. He banged himself up pretty badly. In fact, his arm was still in a cast.
“Do you still love your brother?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“Well, because … because he’s my brother. He didn’t want me to get hurt. He was just being careless.”
“I’m sure your brother feels bad about it,” I said. “My dad feels awful, too, after he sobers up.”
Barry and I sat down on a rock to drink from our canteens. Grandma’s cold lemonade tastes so good that it makes getting thirsty fun. Dad always said, “On a hot day your grandma’s lemonade takes all the discomfort out of being alive!” And he was right.
I looked at Barry seriously, trying to get the deep down inside of him to listen. I had written down some of what Mom said the night before so I wouldn’t forget. Now I read it to Barry: “‘God loves all of us, even when He doesn’t love all of our actions. It’s called charity—the pure love of Christ, and we need to try to love like Jesus does.’”
Barry nodded his head and smiled. I could tell that he knew my mom was right. Her words made me feel good inside, too. About my dad. About a lot of things. It was as good a feeling as Grandma’s lemonade going down on a hot summer day.
Mom and I kept praying for Dad. He stopped drinking, and he’s in a special program that’s helping him. He’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He says he wants to play hide-and-seek with me in the tall yellow weeds. And he wants me to win, because he misses those chocolate milk shakes as much as I do!

When I was 17 years old, we lived on an island in southern Norway called Andabeløy. My father converted to the Church on Andabeløy, and I was baptized in the ocean there.
I was a fisherman by that time and was well experienced in handling a boat. My father put me in charge of our maritime taxi service used by area residents.
One day in 1941 we got a call from the doctor in Flekkefjord, to the north. A woman who lived about two hours away by boat needed immediate medical attention. Dr. Hoffman asked if I could take him to see her, but my parents were worried about a storm raging in the North Sea. We decided to pray, asking Heavenly Father what to do. We received an answer that I should proceed.
When I eased Tryg, my 31-foot (10 m) fishing boat, into the sea, the weather was bad and the waves were big. After picking up the doctor, I set out through the fjord into the open sea. We were to travel to a community just north of Lista, located on Norway’s rocky southern coastline—famous for stormy weather and shipwrecks.
I steered through the storm until we got to a rocky inlet, about 40 feet (12 m) across, which led to our destination. The waves, so high I could not control the boat through the inlet, were rushing into the inlet and crashing against the rocks.
“What should we do?” the doctor asked over the gale.
“We have to pray about it,” I replied.
I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.
I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”
Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.
I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

Lives are shaped through the influence of obscure, faithful members who carry the spirit of the gospel.
When once I tried to thank a great teacher and patriarch, William E. Berrett, he quickly passed the credit back to one who had taught him. An old convert from Norway was called to teach a group of mischievous Aaronic Priesthood boys. They were greatly amused by his broken English, but somehow the Spirit polished his words and soon the boys responded.
I have heard Brother Berrett testify on more than one occasion, “We could warm our hands by the fire of his faith.”

As a youth of 18, I went off almost directly from high school graduation to World War II, carrying with me a carbon copy of my patriarchal blessing, which got very smudged. I read it for consolation and reassurance as a young, frightened infantryman during the fighting on the Pacific Island of Okinawa. Just prior to that, high school, for me, had brought some crises in self-esteem. Raising pigs for a farm club project did not, with some, help my social life; severe acne was no help either; and not being very tall meant, among other things, not making the basketball team. All of these things had combined to produce personal disappointment just prior to my going off to war.

But as I left the home of loving and “goodly parents,” I knew who I was and there were some glimmerings of the future. I knew, too, that the Lord loved me. Otherwise, I was insecure and anxious.

One of the many stake presidents that have aligned their efforts to gathering Israel is Chukwu Nnanna of the Abakaliki Nigeria Stake. In his words: “It all started at Port Harcourt when Elder D. Todd Christofferson visited with Elder [S. Mark] Palmer of the Presidency of Seventy. I had a deep conversation with Elder Palmer who thought me a Ghanaian as I wore a Ghanaian tie gifted to me by one of the young single adults who served in Ghana. He asked how many sons and daughters I had out there. I knew he wanted to know how many young single adults were currently serving full time missions. I thought for a while in my heart, and then told Elder Palmer that I was just three months in my calling as a stake president.
“He then said, ‘Send as many missionaries as you can.’
“I held on to those words and prayed that many will serve a full-time mission while I serve as a stake president. I asked the Lord to help me fulfill His words coming forth from His servant of the Seventy”.
President Nnanna continued: “As I reflected on what to do, knowing the Lord always provides a way to accomplish His purposes; my attention was drawn to the Gathering Place as the way”. The stake presidency standardized Abakaliki Gathering Place activities. The stake operates two gathering places to overcome challenge of distance as there are units about 70 kilometers away from the stake centre. Great are the miracles that follow the rising generation as the Gathering Place becomes a spiritual and temporal muster point for young single adults and their friends who are offered a wide range of activities such as missionary preparation, institute, skills acquisition, BYU Pathway, socials, family History work, self-reliance class, games and many more.
Evidently, the Lord Has blessed the stake presidency’s efforts in strengthening the Abakaliki Nigeria Stake Gathering Place. Today, in addition to the eight serving missionaries, a brother will be leaving for full time service to Nigeria Port Harcourt Mission in November 2022. A sister will go to the Kenya Nairobi Mission in January 2023. Literally, the prayer of a committed stake president has been answered and Elder Palmer’s charge to send many young single adults on missions continues to be fulfilled.
Consistent with priesthood direction and the principle of the Gathering Place, we have seen strong leadership development among Abakaliki youth as they are given opportunities to serve in the stake presidency, high council, bishoprics and stake family history with their exceptional contributions. At stake and unit levels, young single adults are championing family history and temple efforts. Temple worship has become a culture for these young people who contribute significantly in assisting our brothers and sisters on the other side of the veil.

From a missionary I received an unforgettable letter. He wrote: “I still am not certain why it was that I was [afflicted] with [cancer], particularly during the time I was serving the Lord on a mission, but I can say with all honesty and sincerity that I am eternally grateful to our gracious Heavenly Father for allowing me to have that experience. … Not a day goes by,” he continued, “that I don’t think about the days I spent lying in the hospital suffering through chemotherapy or grimacing with the pain from another operation. … Not a day passes when I don’t think of the days I spent studying the scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon, and remembering the overwhelming feelings of comfort and peace which I felt. I often think of the nights when I would retire to bed and pour out my soul to my Heavenly Father and thank Him for preserving my life.” Then the elder shared this wonderful news: “I returned to the doctor this week … and … he found no evidence of any disease in my body.” I love such faithful missionaries!

Elizabeth woke up early and lay in bed for a few minutes thinking about Gerald. Today was their last day together. Tomorrow morning his aunt and uncle would arrive from Connecticut to take him home to live with them. Elizabeth had no brothers or sisters, but for the past two weeks Gerald had been like a big brother and she didn’t want that to end. She watched the sun’s rays slanting across her bed and thought about the first night at the dinner table when Gerald had been so silent and shy, his almost white hair covering half his eyes. Neither of them had known what to say. Later when she had shown him around the farm, he was very quiet, looking a long time at everything but not saying much.
In the days that followed, he began to talk more as they rode horses through the sagebrush or gathered alfalfa for the rabbits. He never laughed, and Elizabeth thought he had the tiniest smile in all the world. Even though he was two years older than Elizabeth, he never acted bossy or like a know-it-all, the way the bigger boys at school did. He had told her about his parents’ deaths in a plane crash and about his aunt and uncle, whom he’d seen only a few times on holidays. Now they would be his new parents.
Elizabeth dressed slowly, wishing this last day would never end. When her father had first told her that a boy was going to stay with them for two weeks until his aunt and uncle could pick him up, she wasn’t sure she’d like that—a strange boy she’d never even seen before. But now she wished he could stay forever.
When Elizabeth went down to breakfast, she found that Gerald had already eaten and gone outside. She gulped her eggs quickly and ran out to find him. She searched around the chicken coops and looked inside the barn. Finally she saw him stooped down by a woodpile, peering between the boards. Elizabeth approached him quietly. “What are you doing?”
Gerald did not turn around. “There’s a baby rabbit in here,” he said in his quiet, pleasant voice. She stooped down beside him.
“Where?” she said softly. “I don’t see it.”
Gerald pointed between two boards, and Elizabeth saw the snowy white fur of the kit. Very slowly and gently, Gerald put his hand between the boards and then quickly grabbed the rabbit and pulled it out. It was very small and fluffy. He held it in one hand and stroked its ears with his finger. The kit blinked its pink eyes nervously, but did not seem too frightened.
“Last spring we had a terrific windstorm that blew over our rabbit hutches,” Elizabeth said. “Lots of rabbits got out and we never caught them all; this must be from one of them.”
“It’s as small and round as the white doorknob on our bathroom door,” Gerald said. “I’m going to call it Knob.” He stood up and tucked the rabbit into his shirt pocket.
Elizabeth followed him as he walked toward the canal, where some big white ducks were swimming on the still water. “Gerald,” she said as she caught up with him, “I think maybe you should leave that kit in the woodpile. Its mother is probably still nearby.”
Gerald looked at her, and the morning sun glistened on his hair. His eyes were very blue. “No,” he said, “this rabbit is an orphan like me. Your rabbits are all in pens.” He stared at the ducks, his mouth firm.
“Didn’t you hear what I said about the windstorm?”
“Yes, I heard, but Knob is an orphan.” He patted his pocket and smiled his tiny smile.
Elizabeth did not know what else to say. “Come on,” she said finally, “let’s go look at the new calf.”
They leaned their elbows on the rough boards of the calf pen and watched the wobbly black and white calf. From time to time Gerald took Knob from his pocket and stroked its little ears. Elizabeth could see how much he was starting to love the rabbit. She remembered the soft cocker puppy her father had brought her for her birthday, and she knew how Gerald felt. But she was worried about the baby rabbit, afraid that it needed its mother.
After lunch, she and Gerald sat on the sloping grass behind the house and ate cookies. “Gerald, that rabbit is probably hungry.”
He looked at her quickly, surprised. “That’s right!” he said, and broke a tiny crumb off his cookie and tried to poke it into the animal’s mouth. But it would not take it.
“It needs milk from a mother rabbit,” Elizabeth said.
“Do you think one of your mother rabbits would feed him?” Gerald asked.
“One of them has babies about that size. We could try.”
They ran down the dirt lane to the barn where the rabbit pens stood against the north side, out of the sun. Elizabeth opened the door to a pen containing a wooden nesting box that was open on one side. A doe was nursing her babies inside. “Just put it with the others. Maybe she won’t notice.”
Gerald took the kit gently from his pocket, looked into its eyes, and then placed it carefully in the box. The little rabbit sat still, blinking. Gerald pushed it up closer to the doe. The mother rabbit gave it a quick kick with her hind leg, and the kit tumbled into the corner of the box. Gerald put it up to her again, and again she kicked it away.
“It’s no use,” Elizabeth said. “If they won’t, they won’t.”
Gerald slowly picked up the rabbit and cupped it in his hands again, gazing fondly at it. He turned to Elizabeth, his eyes sad and helpless. “What will I do?”
“We’d better take it back to the woodpile.”
“No!” Gerald said, quickly tucking the rabbit into his pocket.
He and Elizabeth sat on a log in the shade beside the barn, both trying to think what to do. “Why wouldn’t she take him?” Gerald asked. “He looks just like her own.”
“But it’s not her own, and that’s why. She can tell by the smell.”
Gerald looked at Elizabeth closely and thoughtfully. “When my aunt and uncle come and get me, will they feel like that? That I’m not their own?”
Elizabeth wanted very much to say something to make Gerald feel better. She leaned over and sniffed his sleeve. “You smell OK, Gerald. They won’t notice.”
Gerald smiled the smallest possible smile. “They might notice. And when I do things wrong, they might say, ‘Well he’s not our own. We don’t have to put up with that.’”
Elizabeth thought for a few minutes. “I wish you were my big brother, Gerald.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I really mean it. We could explore in the foothills and ride the horses all over and get on the school bus together. It would be a good feeling to have someone who belonged to you, who’d always be around, even if you fought sometimes.”
“Well, I wish I could stay, too, but I can’t.” Gerald stroked his shirt pocket with his finger. “It was nice of your dad to let me stay here, your mom too.”
They were both silent for a few minutes. Finally Elizabeth said, “People are different from animals. When the bunnies get big, the doe just pushes them away. And she really doesn’t care about them anymore. If Dad butchers them and puts them in the freezer, she still doesn’t care. People aren’t like that.”
“I guess not.” Gerald dug around in the dirt with a small stick.
“Folks can love someone besides their own kids, and if they do, they keep on loving them no matter what they do.”
“I hope so.” Gerald smiled a little bigger smile. Then his face lit up. “Once my mama fed a baby kitten with an eyedropper. You got one of those?”
“I think so. We could try it. Come on!”
Later, on the front lawn with a cup of warm milk and the eyedropper, Gerald took the rabbit from his pocket. Its eyelids were a little droopy. Elizabeth handed Gerald the eyedropper full of milk. He pushed it into the corner of the rabbit’s mouth and squeezed some milk in. The rabbit sputtered and coughed as the milk ran out of its mouth.
Gerald looked at her despairingly. “If Knob won’t eat, he’ll die,” he said. Neither of them said anything for some time. Gerald stroked Knob’s soft fur from its pink nose to its powder puff tail with his finger. He rubbed it gently against his cheek. Finally he looked up at Elizabeth. “Come on,” he said, “let’s take it to the woodpile.”
Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “OK,” she agreed happily.
At the woodpile, both of them carefully lifted off the boards and laid them aside. Peering down, Gerald saw some white fur way down on the ground. “She’s still in there,” he whispered. His face was sad but relieved. They removed a few more boards until they could see the rabbit better. Several little furry balls lay along its stomach nursing.
Gerald knelt down and took Knob from his pocket, looked at him for a minute, and then carefully put his hands through the boards and laid the little rabbit against its mother. It lay for a moment and then nosed into the mother’s fur and began to suck. Gerald half smiled at Elizabeth.
“He’ll be OK now,” she said. They carefully put the boards back and walked toward the house.
“Your aunt and uncle will be here tomorrow, I guess.”
“Yeh.” Gerald kicked a small rock through the dust. “I hope they’ll like having me.”
“If they like you as much as I do, you’ll be all right,” Elizabeth said. She smiled at Gerald, and he smiled back—a big smile this time.