Gospel Story Finder

In 1867 young Brigham Thomas Higgs lived a block away from the temple on North Temple Street. B.T., as he was known by his family and friends, was nine years old when his father, Thomas, began working on the Tabernacle, which was being built next to the temple. B.T. and neighborhood friends could often be found at the Temple Block, delivering lunches or messages to brothers and fathers who worked on the Tabernacle or the Great Temple.
A few of the young boys even worked part-time with their dads at the Temple Block on the various construction projects there. B. T. used a wheelbarrow to deliver to the other workers the wooden pegs his father made for the Tabernacle rafters. There was always some cleaning up or moving of piles of lumber or tools for the young men to help with.
Henry Moyle, a curious young boy, could be found having lunch with his dad on almost any day at the Knox Carpenter Shop on the Temple Block. Known as the “Lunch-Bucket Brigade,” many of the young boys joined workmen gathered at the shop to discuss the topics of the day as they ate lunch together. Young Henry gladly took his father’s lunch to him and lingered as long as possible to listen to the conversation. Later, the young man helped his father, James Moyle, a stone mason, build the temple itself.
Henry and B. T. spent most of their after-school and after-chore time, however, playing ball or another game with friends on the nearby dusty streets. B.T.’s favorite game was “mumble-peg.”
A favorite game for all the young boys and girls in the neighborhood was hide-and-seek. The Temple Block was a perfect place to play this game because there were many large granite stones there to hide among. You could find B.T., Henry, and their brothers and sisters and friends playing among the huge stones on the warm days throughout the year.
Before the railroad came to Salt Lake City, the temple stones were brought to the Temple Block by ox teams from the quarry twenty-five miles south of the city. Annie Wells recalled seeing the “sight of the great stones one at a time being hauled along the streets by two yoke of oxen.” When the oxen slowly marched through town to the Temple Block with their “sacred load,” Annie, like other children, stood and watched them pass “with a feeling of awe and reverence,” praying for the day the temple would be completed. The children wanted to go into Heavenly Father’s house. They knew that they could be a “forever family” after they went to the temple.
When the railroad came to Utah, the oxen were no longer needed to make the long trip from the quarry to the Temple Block. A train line between Salt Lake City and the quarry brought the heavy stones right to the temple site in just a few hours instead of days, as before. The oxen were still used, however, to haul the granite stones down to the train station at the mouth of the canyon.
During hot summer months many mothers and fathers in the city took their children to the shaded groves and cool streams in the nearby canyons. One of the young boys, Joseph Fielding Smith—later a Church President—recalled watching the men loading stones there to be brought to the city for the temple. He remembered the “ox teams and how they tugged with their heavy loads” and that sometimes, when the loads were too heavy, the “rough-cut blocks skidded from the wagons.”
The Temple Block seemed to change every week or so as new stones were brought to the area. Everyone was always anxious to see what new hiding places could be found. As the stones were put in place, the temple walls reached higher and higher in the sky, and the children knew that the temple would soon be completed.
In order to finish the temple, the prophet Wilford Woodruff asked everyone to make special contributions to the temple fund. Even young children were encouraged to give whatever they could. Many children worked on holidays and gave all their earnings to the temple fund. Other children asked to do extra chores around the house in order to earn some money to give.
During this time, one young Primary boy was trying to earn enough money to buy something for himself. He found work at a neighbor’s farm. After working very hard, he was paid twenty-five cents—a lot of money in those days—for his efforts. He “clutched the coin and ran home” excitedly to show his father how much he had earned. “Pa, look what I have!” he proudly announced. “The next time you go to Provo,” he continued, “I can get a new pair of jeans with this money.”
His father reminded him of the prophet’s request for funds for the temple. “President Wilford Woodruff needs ten cents of this quarter for the Salt Lake Temple. Here, I’ll give you fifteen cents for the coin, and we’ll go together to give the dime to our bishop, who will send it to Salt Lake City.” The boy gladly took the money to the bishop so that he, too, could help build the temple.
It took the workers forty years to complete it. President Woodruff dedicated the temple on April 6, 1893, during the first dedication service. All children eight years and older were invited to attend special dedication sessions held in April. Many of the children felt a special spirit during these meetings in the temple, and several saw angels in the room, just as the children had seen angels at the Kirtland Temple’s dedication in 1836.
On Saturday, April 22, 1893, a special session for children under eight years of age was held so that many more Primary children could attend. Seven-year-old LeGrand Richards, later an Apostle, attended this session with his mother. He was impressed when he saw the prophet in the temple that day. He said later, “I always remembered exactly what President Woodruff looked like and what he wore on that day for the rest of my life.” Unlike his older sister, who saw an angel during an earlier dedication session, LeGrand said, “I looked around for angels, but I didn’t see any!”
Primary children were almost always present during the forty years of construction of the Salt Lake Temple. They all helped in some way to build the Great Temple. And during the dedication services, as many as fifteen thousand of them attended the special meetings—one hundred years ago.

Let me share a few experiences that have resulted from members and missionaries working together. An elder wrote:
“Because we were able to have lunch with an inactive family, they are now back into full activity in the Church. When we ate with them, they recognized the importance of prayer before each meal. A wonderful spirit prevails in their home now. They are not only active again, but we baptized a member of the family and later baptized their neighbors as well—all because they invited us to share their food.”

The heroic accounts of what these pioneer women sacrificed and accomplished as they crossed the plains is a priceless legacy to the Church. I am moved by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, whose husband Aaron died after the last crossing of the Platte River with the Martin handcart company. She wrote:
“I will not attempt to describe my feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such excruciating circumstances. … I believe … that my sufferings for the Gospel’s sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. …
“I [appealed] to the Lord, … He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid.”4
Elizabeth said she was writing the history on behalf of those who passed through like scenes with the hope that posterity would be willing to suffer and sacrifice all things for the kingdom of God.5

One Sunday afternoon when I was a bishop, a very disillusioned woman came to talk with me. She and her large family had recently moved into our ward. She told me that while she was growing up she had been taught many times that if she lived a faithful life and sought spiritual guidance, she would find her “one and only eternal companion,” and that temple marriage and righteous living would guarantee her a successful marriage. She had tried to follow this counsel, but after many years of an apparently happy marriage, her husband abandoned her for another woman, leaving her with many children and no financial foundation.
“What went wrong?” she asked. “Doesn’t God keep his promises?”
After attending to her feelings of pain and confusion, I reassured her of God’s love and suggested that the problem wasn’t with God or with her, but with her former husband—and with people who had led her to believe some things that just aren’t so.

It was much like an old Charlie Chaplin movie. Mother was still in her nightgown with her ski jacket unzipped and her boots unlaced. She was outside floundering around in circles, trying to catch up with our dog, Jenny, always a few feet ahead of her. Once, Jenny stumbled into a deep drift, and I thought the chase was over. Instead, Mother disappeared up to her waist in the same drift just as Jenny struggled to her feet again.
“What are you laughing at, Missy?” Dad asked, coming up behind me and rubbing his eyes and yawning. It was Thanksgiving morning, and all of us had slept late except Mother.
The smooth white snow behind our house was now covered by big squiggles, as though a fox-and-geese track had lost its way.
Mother caught up with Jenny at last. We saw her staggering toward the house with the large furry bundle in her arms.
“She’ll catch her death of cold!” exclaimed Dad. “It’s well below zero out there!” Dad was wide awake now, and he went bounding down the stairs to open the door for Mother. Soon I smelled bacon frying. Dad always cooks breakfast on weekends and holidays, and my brothers and I take turns doing the dishes.
When I went into the kitchen, Jenny was lying in an exhausted heap in the doorway. She didn’t even stir when I patted her and said, “How are you doing, old girl?” Jenny’s a black and white springer spaniel, nearly fifteen years old. She’s blind and almost deaf too.
“That poor dog completely loses her sense of direction in the snow,” Dad said. “I’m afraid it really is time she was put to sleep.” He poured out five glasses of orange juice. “Talking of sleep, you’d better wake Bruce and John. If they’re going skiing, they ought to get moving.”
The boys ate quickly. “We’ll head for home the minute the lift closes,” Bruce promised. “You can have the turkey ready any time after five o’clock.” He and John got up from the table and started to leave.
“Hey! It’s your turn to do the dishes,” I exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, Missy, you and I will do them together,” Dad said. “No squabbling on Thanksgiving Day!”
But Mother shooed us out of the kitchen, saying that she was in a hurry to get the turkey ready for the oven.
“What can I do to help?” I asked.
“You can keep an eye on Jenny for me,” Mother replied. “She’ll probably need to go out again soon, and we don’t want her wandering off a second time.”
“OK, Mom.” I watched Jenny feel her way toward her favorite spot in front of the living room fireplace. Each time she bumped into something, I cringed. Maybe Dad’s right, I thought. Maybe she’s not enjoying her life anymore. But surely we can keep her with us a little longer if we take good care of her.
Seeing that she was about to go to sleep again, I went up to my room to read. I’d just reached an exciting part of the book when I heard Jenny whimpering. Reluctantly, I got off the bed and went down-stairs to let her out.
“Don’t leave her outside long,” Mother warned. “The weather seems to be changing.”
About an hour later I finished the last chapter and looked out the window. It was snowing hard. Suddenly I remembered Jenny. Is she still outside or did someone let her in? I raced downstairs. She wasn’t in the living room or the den. Mother was still working in the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“He went somewhere in the jeep,” Mother replied, switching on the electric mixer.
Quietly I opened the front door, hoping to find Jenny waiting on the step. She wasn’t there.
Slipping quickly into warmer clothes, I went outside. Jenny’s tracks showed up clearly in the fresh snow. I followed them around to the back of the house.
Half an hour later I was still searching for her. I no longer had any idea where she might have gone, for she had evidently wandered in circles, and her tracks had merged with those of other dogs. The snow was coming down thicker now, and the wind was blowing it into my eyes, making it difficult to see. My fingers and my toes were freezing, and my whole face was stiff from the cold. I decided to go back home and get help, even though it meant Mother and Dad would know that I was responsible for Jenny being lost.
Neither of them said a word of reproach. I wanted to start out again at once, but Mother made me drink some hot soup while she telephoned the neighbors. The soup was comforting, but the thought of Jenny lying half-buried in a snowdrift somewhere brought tears to my eyes.
“Don’t worry, Missy.” Dad patted my shoulder. “If none of the neighbors has seen her, I’ll take the jeep out and find her.”
Mother came back into the kitchen. “No one has seen her, but they’ve all promised to keep their eyes open.”
“Come on, Dad, let’s go!” I pleaded.
Dad drove very slowly while we both strained our eyes to catch sight of anything moving in the snow. Every now and then Dad would stop the jeep and we would search on foot. I was terrified that I might stumble upon Jenny’s lifeless body.
I almost cried again. Jenny had been a part of our family since before I was born. I couldn’t imagine life without her.
When we’d been gone about two hours, Dad looked at his watch. “The boys will be home by now,” he said. “I think we’d better go back. She wouldn’t have come this far anyway.”
Neither of us spoke as we climbed stiffly out of the jeep. I was praying desperately that Jenny had somehow found her way home. Instead, Mother said, “Bruce and John came home about an hour ago. They’ve gone to look for Jenny over by that new development. They figure people over there won’t know whose dog it is.”
Granny and Aunt Ruth were in the kitchen with Mother. “She’s wearing her tags, isn’t she?” Aunt Ruth asked.
Sadly I reported, “She’s wearing her rabies tag, but her name-and-address tag came off the last time I brushed her. I forgot to put it back on.”
A spurt of gravel in the driveway signaled Bruce and John’s return. I ran to the door. One look at their faces was enough to tell me they had not found Jenny.
“Perhaps she’ll turn up later,” Mother said, but she didn’t sound very convincing. “Right now there’s nothing more we can do, so let’s try to think of all the things we have to be thankful for. If everyone will wash up, I’ll bring you some hot cider to drink by the fire while I add the finishing touches to dinner.”
How heartless grown-ups are, I thought. Dad and Aunt Ruth were discussing a TV program they had both seen. Grandma was busy winding wool yarn with Bruce’s help.
John and I sat staring at the fire without speaking. I didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but I was sure he wasn’t feeling very friendly toward me. He and Jenny had been born within a few months of each other.
Suddenly I had an idea. “Did you go to the Roberts’s place?”
“No. Why should we have? Mom said she’d called all the neighbors.”
“The Roberts moved, and the new people don’t have a phone yet. One of the kids is in my class, and I heard her complain that they have to wait two more weeks for one.” I was already halfway to the door.
“I’ll come with you,” John offered.
I wanted to say no, because I had lost Jenny and it was up to me to find her, but I realized that John was as miserable as I was.
It was dark outside now. The snow had stopped, and a few stars were appearing.
“Didn’t you come by here this morning?” John asked, as I rang the doorbell.
“Yes. No one was home.”
The door opened and Betsy, the girl in my class, said, “Why, hello, Missy.”
“Hi,” I greeted her. “This is my brother John. We’re looking for our dog.”
“Is she a springer?”
“Yes!” John and I shouted together.
“Come on in. She’s here.”
“Is she all right?” I asked anxiously.
“She is now.” Betsy laughed. “She’s just eaten a huge Thanksgiving dinner!” She led us into a big old-fashioned kitchen. Jenny was lying in front of the warm stove, looking very much at home. She thumped her tail on the brick floor when she heard our voices, but she didn’t get up.
“She’s still tired. When we came home about noon, she was lying in our driveway, and she was covered with snow. She didn’t even lift her head when Dad honked the horn,” Betsy explained.
I fell to my knees beside Jenny and buried my face in her soft fur. Betsy must have brushed her, I realized. Right then and there I silently offered a Thanksgiving prayer.
John thanked Betsy and the rest of her family for their kindness, then turned to me and said teasingly, “Come on, Missy, let’s go! I can’t carry both of you.”
I stammered my thanks to everyone, especially Betsy.
“Think nothing of it,” she said. “I love dogs.”
I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget that Thanksgiving. The dinner might have been a bit overdone, but nobody cared.

Squirrel knew that winter was coming. Owl had said it was, Blue Jay and Deer had told him too. Even Chipmunk, his best friend, had reminded him as she busily gathered food for the winter.
“You’d better hide nuts for winter,” Blue Jay chirped.
“You can’t find food in the snow,” Deer said.
“Listen to your friends, Squirrel,” Chipmunk chattered, flicking her tail. “They’re right, you know.”
But it was only September, and for Squirrel, winter was a long way off. There would be plenty of time to gather food later. He had other things to do. He liked to have fun and to play tricks on his friends. He liked jumping from tree to tree and scaring Blue Jay. And whenever Deer was standing under a tree that Squirrel was playing in, Squirrel dropped nuts on him. When a nut hit him, Deer would bound away in fright—while Squirrel held his sides and chattered with glee!
But what he liked best was stealing a nut from Chipmunk. She would chase him around and around! Up and down the trees they’d go. Finally Squirrel would drop the nut and look for something else to do.
“Squirrel, you are being very foolish,” Owl scolded. “If you don’t store food, you will be very hungry this winter.”
Chipmunk warned him again too. “Store some nuts now,” she said. “Soon they’ll be covered with snow, and you won’t be able to find them.”
Squirrel didn’t like to have Chipmunk mad at him, so he took a few nuts to his pantry, just to please her. But he thought that work was no fun, so before long, he was off playing tricks again.
Time passed quickly. Then one morning when Squirrel poked his head out the door, a blanket of white greeted him. Snow? he thought. Already? The air was crisp and cold. A breeze blew a puff of snow off the branch above his door. Plop! It landed right on his head. “Yipe!” He jumped back inside. He shook his head. “Brrrr!”
Squirrel had to think about this. But thinking always made him hungry. He went to his pantry. Two or three nuts will help me to decide, he thought. Oh, oh! Squirrel stared at the little pile of nuts in the corner. He had always planned to gather food “tomorrow.” But “tomorrow” never seemed to come. “What shall I do?” he muttered.
He ate two of the nuts from the little pile and thought about it. “I’ll go see Chipmunk,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.” So away he went.
Squirrel raced along as fast as he could. At long last he came to Chipmunk’s burrow. He poked his head in. “Good morning,” he chattered. “May I come in?”
Chipmunk looked up from her breakfast. “Wipe your feet first,” she said, after swallowing a mouthful of acorn.
Squirrel wiped his feet, then came in and sat down.
“How do you like the snow, Squirrel?” she asked.
“It’s pretty, but it’s cold,” he answered. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “And it hides the nuts.”
Chipmunk shook her tail reproachfully, “We all tried to warn you that this would happen.”
“I know,” Squirrel said, watching his feet as he shifted from one to the other. “I was very foolish. But I won’t be anymore, I promise.” He looked up. “What can I do now, Chipmunk?” he said in a small voice.
Just then Blue Jay landed on the ground outside Chipmunk’s door. “Good morning, Chipmunk. Good morning, Squirrel,” he said in a cheery voice.
“Good morning, Blue Jay,” Chipmunk and Squirrel said together.
“How do you like this fine, snowy day?” Blue Jay asked, hopping about.
“I think the snow is very pretty,” Chipmunk chattered. “But Squirrel has a problem.”
“He does?” Blue Jay tipped his head and looked at Squirrel with shiny, black eyes.
“I was very foolish. I didn’t gather nuts when I should have,” Squirrel told him quietly. “Now the snow hides them, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Hmm.” Blue Jay ruffled his feathers. “That is a problem.”
“Squirrel has promised not to be foolish anymore,” Chipmunk told Blue Jay. “What can we do to help him?”
Blue Jay hopped about and looked around. He thought and thought. Then he said, “Wait here,” and flew away.
In a little while, he came back. Owl was with him, and so was Deer. Chipmunk and Squirrel came out to join them.
Owl was perched on a limb near Chipmunk’s burrow. The others gathered around him. “Blue Jay told me about your problem, Squirrel,” he said in a deep voice. “We will all try to help you, but first you must promise to never scare Blue Jay or Deer again, and to not tease Chipmunk when she is gathering food.”
“I promise,” Squirrel agreed earnestly. “I also promise that I’ll work hard next year to be ready for winter.”
“Good.” Owl turned to Blue Jay. “You can help Squirrel by knocking the last of the nuts from the highest branches. But”—he turned to look at Squirrel—“you must help Blue Jay get berries from under the bushes when he can no longer reach them.”
Squirrel nodded.
“I’ll help dig nuts out of the snow for you,” Deer offered.
“But when the snow gets too deep for Deer to find food,” Owl told Squirrel, “you must break off tender twigs that are high in the trees for him to eat.”
Squirrel nodded again. “I’ll do that too.”
“Chipmunk can help you carry the nuts to your tree,” Owl said.
“But next fall, Squirrel, you must help me carry nuts to my burrow,” Chipmunk told him.
Squirrel agreed happily.
And that is just what they did.

I learned important lessons about life through playing sports, whether I was shooting hoops with a friend or playing on basketball and football teams. One of the lessons I learned was how to make decisions. For example, I grew up loving to play basketball more than football and played college basketball for two years. When I was given the opportunity to participate in college football, I knew I had to commit to one or the other, and I had questions about what I should do.
My parents taught me that when I needed to make a big decision in my life, I should get out a piece of paper and a pencil, draw a line down the middle of the paper, and then write down the pros on one side and the cons on the other. After that, I was taught to call upon Heavenly Father to help inspire my thoughts. I learned to keep writing the pluses and minuses on both sides of the paper about the decision I was making, and to take my time. I found that as I did this with patience, it was amazing to see how the Lord revealed thoughts that were not originally there to help me with the process. Finally, when I made my decision, I went to the Lord again in prayer and took time to just listen, so I could sense if He agreed with my decision.
We don’t always understand what the Lord is revealing at the time that He’s giving us inspired thoughts. If you had asked me before I sought heaven’s help about my decision, and I had been told to stop playing basketball and to start playing college football, I would have thought, “Are you crazy? Why would I do that?” But that was the prompting the Lord gave me. Even though I didn’t know why, I knew by the confirming feeling in my heart that I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do. I had gone through a process that allowed me to have confidence in my choice. That knowledge helped me through some rough times.

And this is what he told me.
The greatest day of my life, up to that point, was the day I received my mission call. Not even being accepted for the all-state basketball team or even achieving Eagle Scout could compare. Dad and I were home alone, because Mother and the girls were spending two months in Phoenix with Grandma. I had just finished telephoning Mom to tell her the good news.
“Wow, Dad!” I said as I hung up the telephone. “I still am very surprised! Mom thinks it’s great, too. She says to tell you Grandma’s feeling a little better, by the way. Wow! I am very surprised,” and I leaped to catch hold of the top of the door frame, executing a quick little swing.
“How would you like to start your mission right away?” Dad asked quietly.
“You bet! I wish it were tomorrow! I can’t wait to get into the LTM and then take a plane for—”
“No. I mean it, Rich. How would you like to begin your mission now?”
“Now? But Dad, the letter says, ‘You will enter the missionary home in Salt Lake City on the 20th of March.’ I don’t think they let you go in early. I think you have to—”
“I don’t mean start it in the Missionary Home. I mean start it here.” He was still sitting quietly in his big chair, looking at me very steadily. Something in his expression caused me to become thoughtful. I sat on the footstool near the fireplace and just waited.
“I don’t want to make any speeches, Rich. You’re ready for your mission; we all know that. You’ve done all the right things to prepare. By the way, in case I haven’t said it lately, I’m proud of you.”
For some reason, I became emotional and tried to hide my tears by pretending to tie my shoelace.
“But a mission’s hard on the best of young people. That early adjustment brings frustration and problems most kids your age haven’t had to deal with. And I guess a certain amount of frustration is good for the soul. It makes you grow up. But sometimes, if a fellow isn’t able to tolerate those frustrations, it can really interfere with his mission, and mix him up; it can—”
“But Dad, you said I was prepared.”
“In all the big things, yes. You’ve honored your priesthood, worked hard in your quorums, done well at seminary and in the institute this past year.”
“Well then?”
“I’m talking about the little things. Your mother and I have tried to teach you a lot about personal responsibility, and I think you are a mature person—well, most of the time!” he laughed. “But you know your mother likes to spoil you a little—”
“Aw, Dad!”
“Well, she does! And I guess that is her privilege. All I’m saying is this: there are lots of little surprises in store for the missionary. If you and I begin working on them now, then your adjustment should be easier. With the two of us living alone for the rest of the summer, we could operate on the missionary companion basis and see what we can learn.” Now he sat back and waited.
“I don’t quite understand, Dad. You mean, like you’re the senior companion and I’m the junior? Great! But then what? What will we do? Go tracting? I can see us at Sister Bigelow’s door—or Brother Young’s!” I grinned as I thought of the startled looks that would appear on our neighbor’s faces if my father and I donned dark suits and went around knocking on their doors.
“No, no tracting. You’ll see what I have in mind tomorrow. Right now, I think it’s time for us to go to sleep.” He got up and stretched.
“Okay, Dad. Pretty soon. I just want to catch a little bit of the late show, and then I’ll—”
“No late show. It’s time for bed, Elder.” And something about the look he gave me made me wonder about this new senior companion of mine.
“Rise and shine!” The call came loud and clear.
I bounded out of bed, startled. Dad usually tip-toed past my room, especially in the summer. Then I saw the clock. Six A.M.! I sunk back into the bed with a laugh.
“Stop joking, Dad!” I called as I rolled over.
The door banged open.
“Out of the bed, Elder! And make it up as soon as you’ve finished praying. You’re due in the kitchen in 20 minutes.” The door shut again, this time quietly. I stared at it in amazement.
When I finally made it to the kitchen, the table was set, but Dad had done nothing else about breakfast. He sat reading the scriptures in Mom’s rocker by the window, where the sun streamed in through her white curtains and over the African violets.
“You’re on breakfast detail, today,” he said, smiling. And, as I reached into the cupboard for a box of cold cereal, he said, “Sorry, You can’t do a missionary’s work on that. Now listen carefully; I’ll only say this once.” He held up the four fingers of his right hand.
“Basic four. Remember that from health? Every meal. Milk or milk products, meat or protein, fruits and vegetables, cereals and grains. Every meal. Basic four. Now get going.”
As I searched wildly in the refrigerator, glancing back over my shoulder at Dad from time to time, I wondered what had happened to my quiet, easy-going Father.
Without tears, but with plenty of sweat and a drop or two of blood (cut myself on the fruit knife), I managed to put a basic-four breakfast on the table by 7:00 A.M. I felt pretty proud. Dad said nothing, just knelt beside his chair and talked to the Lord as he had every morning of the world since I’d been in it, and before.
Later we cleared the table together and did the dishes. Then Dad said, “Study time Elder. Let’s sit right here.”
“Now I know you’re working mornings at the supermarket. But that gives you the afternoons free. I’ve talked with the bishop, and he was delighted with my plan. He’s changed our home teaching assignments; here’s the new list.”
I took one look at it.
“Good night, Dad! This list must contain every inactive member in the ward!”
“No, not all of them. But they’ll keep us busy. This afternoon I want you to go over the list. Think about the people, the families. Think about what we can do to help them, how we can reach them. Think especially about the Marlins—we’re going there tonight and you’re giving the lesson. Well, Son, time for me to go. See you a little before five. I’ll fix dinner tonight; since you’ll be working on the lesson.” And with that he was gone.
I guess my mind has kind of confused that first meeting with the Marlins. But I know that I did everything wrong. Preached to them instead of talking. Started coughing—not on purpose, I promise—when Brother Marlin lit a cigarette (trying to catch me off guard, I was sure). I asked Linda Marlin how school was, completely forgetting that she’d dropped out.
The next morning, Dad moved into phase two. Instead of getting me up at six, he opened the door at 5:30, dressed in his jogging outfit. Seems he thought I might have gotten out of shape since basketball season.
“Missionaries do a lot of walking—especially where you’re going. Need to be in good shape,” he said as we strode briskly into the foothills north of our house. “Now then—”
Now then? I thought. What could be next? Here we were jogging in the darkness, with not even the sun to keep us company. What could be “now then”?
“Brothers and Sisters,” he began, puffing only slightly between phrases, “Today we’re happy to welcome Elder Richard Ericson, who is new to our branch. We’d like to have Elder Ericson say a few words to us. Perhaps Elder Ericson would like to talk briefly on faith.”
“Elder Ericson,” slightly short of breath, rolled his eyes and began to mumble a pretty standard two-and-a-half minute talk on faith. At the conclusion of this wonderful woodland sermon, Elder Ericson, Senior, said, “Tomorrow, brothers and sisters, Elder Ericson will give us a real talk on faith.”
That evening, one tired junior companion spent the evening hours with a triple combination, concordance, and a copy of Joseph Smith’s, Lectures on Faith. But the next morning, I felt pretty good about the talk.
Soon we were jogging every morning; I was making a basic-four breakfast every other day and a basic four dinner on the days in between; we were making regular evening visits to our home teaching families; and I was spending the evenings memorizing scriptures and preparing for the talks I was “assigned” to give while jogging. I was also doing my own laundry, cleaning my room, and budgeting every cent I earned. I can’t say as I was crazy about the hours we were keeping—up at 5:30 and in bed before 11:00—but I really felt I was building myself into a missionary. So naturally, that was time for me to get humble.

Linda and Robbie came poking down the stairway of the old farmhouse where Grandma and Grandpa lived. They always dawdled when it was time to go home.
“Hurry up!” Mom called out. And Dad’s voice came from outside, urging them to get a move on.
The children hurried a little faster, but not much. They hugged Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and then got into the back of the car. When Dad turned the ignition key, there was a strange whirring noise. When he tried to start the car again—nothing.
“Oh, no!” he cried.
Grandpa walked over to the car. “What is it, Ben?”
Dad shook his head. “The starting motor’s on the hummer.”
“Won’t the car go?” Robbie asked.
“No, it won’t,” Dad replied.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to stay here for Thanksgiving,” Linda said, a note of hope in her voice.
“I have to get home for that business meeting tomorrow,” Dad agonized. “But how can I?”
“Well,” Grandpa suggested, “you could take my car.”
Dad looked surprised. “You mean Lisbeth? That old Model T?”
“Only car I have,” Grandpa replied.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Dad said. “I’ve never driven a Model T. Besides, it—it might break down!”
“It’s easy to drive,” Grandpa persuaded, “and it’s been running for over fifty years. Don’t think it’ll break down now.”
“Oh, let’s!” Linda said. “I love Lisbeth.”
Grandpa and Dad went out to the barn, and Linda and Robbie trailed along behind. Grandpa opened the barn door, and there waited Lisbeth—shiny and black. Her top was folded down for nice weather, and there were side curtains to snap in place when the top was up during bad weather.
There were two little levers on the steering wheel, and Grandpa adjusted them just so, then he went around in front of Lisbeth and took hold of the crank. He turned it a couple of times and Lisbeth started. The children climbed in back, with Grandpa and Dad in front. Grandpa told Dad what to do. Dad drove Lisbeth around the barnyard and between the chicken coops a couple of times to get the feel of it. When he felt confident that he could drive it, he parked the Model T beside his own car. After they had loaded everything and everyone into Lisbeth, Dad released the hand brake, then pushed one of the foot pedals, adjusted the throttle lever, and they were on their way down the lane.
Lisbeth’s engine was noisy. Her body rattled, and the ride was not very smooth. Dad frowned. But Mom hid a grin, while Linda and Robbie squealed and bounced up and down on the back seat. At the end of the lane they pulled up onto a blacktop road. Lisbeth ran more smoothly and rattled less, but she was slow. “It’ll take a week to get home at this rate,” Dad muttered.
“Pull her ears down,” Robbie said, pointing to the little levers on the steering column. “That’s what Grandpa does.”
Dad pulled the little levers all the way down and Lisbeth ran faster, but not much.
Dad pulled into the first service station they came to. The station man looked at the old car and frowned. “That’s Mr. Jackson’s car,” he said. “What are you doing with it?”
“He’s my grandpa,” Linda piped up. “We had to borrow it.”
“I’d like the tank filled,” said Dad, getting out of the car and removing the front seat cushion that covered the gas tank. “And please check the oil and tires too.”
Soon they were on their way again, rolling along a superhighway.
The newer cars whooshed past. Horns honked, and people laughed and waved. Linda and Robbie waved back, and Dad hunched down lower in the seat.
Then Robbie said, “Uh, oh. There’s a police car right behind us with its red light flashing.”
Dad pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. The policeman parked behind their car and came up to them.
“What’s wrong, officer?” Dad inquired.
“See that sign just ahead?” the officer asked, pointing. “It says you have to drive at least forty-five miles an hour on this freeway.”
Dad nodded. “I’d be glad to, officer, but Lisbeth—this car—just can’t quite go forty-five miles an hour.”
“Then you’ll have to leave the freeway at the next off ramp,” the officer said. “Sorry.”
Dad drove down the off ramp to an older, rougher road. “I don’t think we’ll make it home today,” Dad said. “I’m sure Lisbeth doesn’t have very powerful lights. If dark catches us, we’ll have to stop at a motel.”
“Like a vacation!” Linda shouted. “That’ll be fun, huh, Robbie?”
Lisbeth bounced and clattered along, and the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky. Dad turned the lights on, but they weren’t very bright. A little later Dad pulled into a motel, and they rented a big room for the night. The family played games, watched TV, and then went to bed.
Early the next morning Dad got everyone up. Linda and Robbie grumbled, but Dad paid no attention. “I have to get to my business meeting before noon,” he said, “and Mother needs to do some shopping for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
Lisbeth didn’t much want to start, and Dad had to crank and crank, but finally the old engine came to life and the family was on its way. They watched the sun come up, then they saw their town just ahead.
Linda sighed. “We’re almost home. I wish we were just starting. Lisbeth is lots more fun than our car.”
Dad grunted. They started down Main Street but soon came to an intersection where a policeman came toward them, waving his arms.
He gave them a big smile and motioned for them to go right on down Main Street, although he was directing other cars onto a side street. Dad drove on, then had to slow down to keep from running over a clown riding a motorcycle. Another clown rode up behind them, then both clowns began riding their motorcycles round and round Lisbeth.
Linda looked on down the street where there was a band, horses, more clowns, and big floating balloons. She looked back and saw more of the same.
“Whoopie!” Robbie called out suddenly. “We’re in a parade!”
And they were—in a big Thanksgiving parade. At first Dad frowned, then he looked at Linda and Robbie and laughed. “Guess I’ll just have to be a little later for that meeting than I thought,” he said. “But I’ll be thankful if I get to it at all.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I’m glad that you can see how much fun the kids are having.”
Linda took a deep breath and looked back and forth as they drove slowly down the street between the crowds of people.
“I’m thankful for Grandma, Grandpa, and Lisbeth,” she said. “This is the most fun ever.”
Lisbeth chugged along to the end of the parade, then on home. Dad turned off the engine. “Whooee!” he sighed. “We’re all glad that’s over, aren’t we?” he asked with a sly grin.
“Oh, Dad, that was fun,” Linda said. “It isn’t every day we get to ride in a parade!”

On the recent errand to Ethiopia, the Spirit prompted Bishop Pace and me. We knew what to do. We knew what to say. We knew where to go. In many ways, boys, I relived some of my missionary experiences of thirty-four years ago. For example, we needed a permit from the government to travel to Makale to visit the food stations and the distribution centers where tens of thousands of homeless refugees were gathered. When the permit was delayed, desiring to fill our mission, we knelt in prayer and asked the Lord for help. The next morning the permits were issued. Then we needed to get from Addis Ababa to Makale. We again prayed for help and then found passage with a British Royal Air Force mercy flight in a C-130 Hercules transport plane. From Makale, we had no way to travel to Asmara. The Lord knew of our need. Late in the afternoon we hitched a ride with a Swedish Air Force mercy flight. Hitchhiking is not a good idea, and especially not by air, but being on the Lord’s errand, it was all right.
I have deep affection for the goodness of people, many of whom I met in far-off Ethiopia, who are not members of the Church but who are giving unselfish Christian service. Brethren, I was so grateful that the Church made a significant contribution to help meet a desperate need. I believe if we had more missionaries in the world, rendering meaningful Christian service and helping people come to the knowledge of the glorious message of the Restoration, we would find favor with the Lord.
I say to you young men tonight, get ready; every one of you, get ready. This world needs your service. Repent if you need to. Study from the standard works every day. Say your prayers morning and night. Develop in your heart a desire to know the mysteries of God. To lead the Church tomorrow, you must prepare today. Train hard, boys, and I promise you that you will live to be grateful that you made the effort to prepare.

An attitude of faith can convert a doubter to a doer. When Joseph Smith approached the doubting John E. Page with a call to fill a mission to Canada, Brother Page replied, “I cannot go on a mission to Canada, Brother Joseph. I haven’t even a coat to wear.”
The Prophet removed his own coat, handed it to him, and said, “Here, wear this and the Lord will bless you.”
John E. Page had faith in the Prophet’s promise. He labored two years in Canada, walked 5,000 miles, and baptized 600 souls.

Valeri Oswald’s favorite subject in school is gym “because we play basketball and all that sort of stuff.” It’s easy to see why she likes gym when you know that Valeri played T-ball for three years and started taking figure-skating lessons recently. Her skating group put on a performance with a circus theme, and she skated the part of a little brown pony, complete with ears and a tail! Valeri thinks that she might want to teach figure skating when she grows up. And if she doesn’t do that, she might be a pediatrician—“because I like babies,” she said.
Valeri (9) lives in the country near Hannon, Ontario, Canada, twenty minutes from Hamilton and an hour from Niagara Falls. Behind her house are wildflowers and a small woods. Squirrels run up and down the trees and sometimes watch while Valeri and two of her brothers, Chris (11) and Kyle (3), ride their bikes in the driveway. Chris and Valeri gathered a pile of woodchips there, then placed a board on top of it, making a ramp to ride their bikes over.
When it’s too cold to play outside, Valeri likes to watch TV or play computer games. Sometimes some of the younger kids on her street come over to her house to play school. Since Valeri is the oldest, she gets to be the teacher.
In the summertime, Valeri’s mom, Olivia (Libby) Oswald, works in the Little League Park. Chris, Valeri, and Kyle go with her. When Valeri isn’t playing baseball or watching Chris play baseball, she plays with the other children at the park and baby-sits Kyle. Kyle says that she is a good baby-sitter.
Valeri also has two older brothers, Dave (25) and Malcolm (24), and a sister, Marni (21). It’s fun to have older brothers and sisters because sometimes they take her to movies and to eat at a drive-in. And when Dave got married, she got to be a flower girl!
Some of the other things that Valeri gets to do she isn’t as excited about—like vacuuming her room and emptying the dishwasher. But when she’s done, she might get to make cookies, play hide-and-seek, or even ask one of her friends to come and stay all night for a miniature slumber party.

The people who live in the house are Don and Clara Goudy and their seven children—four boys and three girls.
Until recently the Goudys had lived in the East Millcreek 14th Ward of the Salt Lake Mt. Olympus Stake. And as one neighbor, Doris Peterson, said: “They fit right in, and felt at home, and were very loved.”
The people in the ward describe Clara as one of the “bravest, strongest women, we know.” “She has been so diligent in spiritual things.” “A fantastic person.” “We all loved her.”
They remember Don when he first came into the ward. He was a “vital young man, a hard and willing worker.”
Then the ravages of disease began to take their toll on Don and, suddenly, Don and Clara had some hard things to face and some difficult decisions to make.
Don could no longer work hard to provide for those he loved. He became progressively worse, and at length he couldn’t work at all. Don and Clara decided to take their family back to Santaquin where they had been raised. There Clara’s mother had a piece of land on which a home could be built. It seemed the right place to assume the heavier load that was coming to her. And she could be near her 78-year-old mother.
In the hearts of far-sighted Aaronic Priesthood MIA leaders and a wise bishop was the knowledge that in service young people grow. Ideas for service were constantly being discussed. Young men and women were continually involved in the discussions.
Then three young men—candidates for the Eagle Scout Progress Award—had an idea. Could they take a lawn down to the Goudy’s new home? They knew Brother Goudy couldn’t put it in, and maybe Sister Goudy could use their help.
John Benson, the Aaronic Priesthood MIA young men’s president, encouraged the boys.
When first approached, Clara was a little reluctant. She and Don had always taken care of themselves and their own. What they had, they had shared. It had been enough.
But now the prospects for immediate landscaping were slim. Clara thought about that, but mostly she thought about the teachings of the gospel. “Yes,” she thought, “this is the gospel at work.” And then she told them they could come.
So Brother Benson and the three boys, Ted Bullen, Robert Purcell, and Gary Buehner, went down to Santaquin to see their friends, to plan out a yard, and to see what the project would cost.
It was decided that Gary would take care of fencing the property. Ted would see that the lawn was planted, and Robert volunteered to do the shrubbery, trees, and planting of flowers.
They measured the yard. They also had Sister Goudy’s desires in mind. Next they each went to experts to get some first-class help in planning the landscaping.
With the plans completed they proceeded to line up help and materials. Each boy organized his own project and work crew. As they worked the enthusiasm and support mounted.
Others in the ward wanted to help. They donated funds. They dug up shrubs and trees, taking them from their own yards. They went to the state capitol and were given some flats of flowers that were surplus.
As the project grew Bishop Lewis Farr counseled his people to work with the young people on this project as fathers and mothers would work with their own sons and daughters, assisting not only with money but also with physical labor on the planting day.
As Bob Purcell put it: “We had made our plans in detail, and it didn’t take too long when we got down there.”
Most of the materials and hand tools came with them from Salt Lake City, but several yards of top soil were needed. Contact was made with the bishop of the Santaquin Ward, and he saw to it that the top soil was delivered the night before. The Santaquin people also provided a tractor.
Brother Benson and the three boys went down early on the day of the project. He had grown up on a farm and knew how to handle the tractor. So with the boys directing, he spread the top soil, and by 7:30 A.M. they were ready for the work group. Between 50 and 60 people—youths and their parents and leaders—came down to help. A little later in the morning five or six people from the Santaquin Ward brought over their power tools and joined in.
Under Bob’s direction they dug holes and planted the shrubs and the trees. They planted the flowers, and the girls built a little stone path through the grass and edged the flower planting area with rocks Clara had been saving.
Gary and his crew dug post holes and cemented the poles in place for the chain link fence. They also prepared the framework, put up the cedar fence, and stained it.
At the same time Ted and his crews were rolling and planting the lawn, others were covering it with peat moss and wetting it down.
Then suddenly they were through. They had finished everything on their blueprints, and there was an entire yard growing.
As Alice Buehner, Aaronic Priesthood MIA young woman’s president, reported: “Not a whole day and it was accomplished. We just stood around and gazed at it.”
Then Don Goudy, who is now almost bedfast, came out of the house and walked out onto the porch. It was a tender moment as he looked around at what his friends had done for him. He said simply, “Thank you for all you’ve done.”
As Sister Buehner said: “It made me want to cry. I was really deeply moved.”
In addition to helping with the yard, the Wayne Ottleys who live in the ward went into the house and draped it.
Brother Benson summed it up this way: “By 3:00 there was a new yard. It was really an enjoyable day. And very exciting.”
Because of the spirit that was there that day, young and old felt a new commitment to service, and the spirit was catching. Since then the Santaquin Ward itself has turned out to put in lawns for two other families in need within their little town.
On the way back to Salt Lake City the workers stopped for a swim, but nobody seems to recall that. When you ask the young people about the experience, this is what they say:
Susan Horman: “When we left it looked really special. Flowers everywhere and trees … it was a good feeling.”
Steve Farr: “At first I didn’t think it would be so neat to just waste a day down there, but when we finally finished, it was really neat. It sure looked good.”
Karen Horman: “It was fun. I would gladly do another project like that. They were really happy we came, and they were really sorry when we had to leave.”
Sister Buehner evaluates: “Our young people felt very responsible. It was a real growing experience.”
The three boys who planned the whole project and directed its execution were most explicit.
Gary summed it all up this way: “It turned out pretty fun. I’d probably do it again. We knew that they needed the help.”
Ted declared: “The Goudys are some of my best friends. I’ve talked to them several times since. They said how great it was and how thankful they were. It was a testimony builder to work on something like that. It wasn’t just completing an Eagle project, but it was helping someone and feeling good about that.”
Bob reported: “I enjoyed it. I enjoy helping others. I guess that’s what it’s all about really, both Scouts and the Church. It was worth it. I know that much.”
“This was a spiritual experience for our young people,” Brother Benson declared. “In my estimation the only types of experiences that don’t get old are spiritual experiences. Our young people tasted of that at the Goudys, and they are anxious to have that renewed.”
But for the young people Bob summed it up best: “I’m just glad that we did it.”

When I was older, I was on my high school’s football team. Before we played, I didn’t always button the chin strap on my helmet, and sometimes my helmet didn’t stay on. One time when my helmet came off, I got hit so hard that I was knocked unconscious. I was terribly embarrassed when I came to and saw my teammates looking down at me. From that I learned that we always need to keep our physical and spiritual protectors in place. Our spiritual protectors include our obedience to the commandments of God and to the counsel and direction of our parents.

Here at Church headquarters we hold many committee meetings, and early this year in one of those meetings, Elder Neal A. Maxwell was listening attentively to a presentation concerning the development of local leaders. Near the end of the meeting, Elder Maxwell asked, “Is there more that we can do to help bishops bring peace and healing to the Saints?” I was interested in knowing more of his concern, so just prior to his passing and in the privacy of his office, Elder Maxwell expanded on the doctrines associated with obtaining peace and healing. He gave encouragement to my sharing these remarks with Church members.
Elder Maxwell was and remains a wonderful example of selfless love. His concerns for others were bone deep, especially for those with physical and emotional pains. Walking out of his office, one could not help but be more committed to being Christlike. He set a standard for us all. He loved the Savior. He was indeed a true Apostle and disciple. We miss him.

Growing up, I often heard people in church say, “Families are forever,” and I’d think to myself, “Sure. If I lived in so-and-so’s home, that would be easy to say.” But I did not come from an ideal family background.
I was adopted and an only child. My mother was an alcoholic, which contributed to my parents’ divorce when I was five. My father raised me alone from then on.
I joined the Church on my own when I was in fifth grade, which introduced the challenge of being the only member in my family. My father supported my participation in the Church to the extent that it helped him in his efforts to raise a moral, drug-free daughter.
By the time I was in high school, he was gone on business trips the majority of the time. He left every Monday morning and came home every Friday night for all but five weeks one entire year. Several families in our stake opened their homes to me when my father traveled.
However, there was one major problem. The more time I spent in these good, Latter-day Saint homes, the more my own home life seemed to fall short. Great Mormon families doing what seemed to be all the ideal things a family should be doing surrounded me. Inside I was frustrated and even dissatisfied.
About this same time my father began to challenge me about the things I believed. When he started to attack my testimony, I felt I just couldn’t take it anymore, so one day I went to see my bishop. I must have wanted someone to side with me or give me sympathy because (as I saw it then), my dad wasn’t as great as other dads since he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint. My bishop said he’d be happy to meet with me the following week after church, but he wanted me to do one thing before our meeting: to go home and make a list of 20 things I admired or appreciated about my father.
I was sure he hadn’t understood why I’d asked for this meeting. Didn’t he realize that I was having a problem because there was so little to appreciate anymore? But fearing he was half-serious, I made half an effort. After a half hour, I only had five things on my list. I figured that proved my case, and tucked it in my scriptures for my appointment with the bishop.
When I returned to the bishop’s office the following week, he invited me in and immediately asked if I’d completed my assignment. I told him I had started and showed him my short list. He responded by telling me that he’d be happy to discuss anything I wanted, at length, but first I had to complete my assignment. He asked if I would like him to reschedule an appointment for the following week. Anxious for some relief from the many pressures I was dealing with at home, I made another appointment and left.
Saturday night rolled around, and I realized I still hadn’t made the list. I decided I’d better do it if I was going to get anywhere with the bishop. Then I remembered a conversation I’d had with a friend that week. She asked me why I didn’t seem emotionally “messed up” because of my parents’ divorce. I thought back on how much effort my father had made to keep me out of the center of the ugly part of the divorce, and, while talking to my friend, I realized for the first time what a tremendous gift that was. It became the first sincere thing I’d written on my list.
Then I remembered how hard my father had fought to keep me in a time when fathers were rarely granted custody of their children. I thought how different my life would have been if I’d had to grow up with my alcoholic mother. Tears of gratitude streamed down my cheeks. This too was added to my list.
And the list grew on and on. At nearly 1:30 in the morning, I looked down at my list of 69 reasons why I felt so blessed for the wonderful father Heavenly Father had given me.
After church the next day my bishop invited me into his office and asked how my week had been. I told him it had been a good week, and that I wasn’t really sure there was a reason for us to meet any longer. When he inquired as to why—though I hated to admit it—I told him it was because of “the list.” I pulled out my list and shared with him what a wonderful man my father was.
My dear bishop taught me one of the most important lessons I have ever learned in life: no one has the perfect situation. But it is up to us to make the most of that situation and help wherever necessary. With my dad, should I focus on the majority that is good or the minority that could still use a little improvement? My bishop helped me realize that when I am discouraged, I can always think about—or maybe even list—the positive things in my life.

A story of the honesty of one of my ancestors has made a great impact in the lives of thousands of people who knew him—and still echoes in the minds and hearts of our family members after 128 years. My great-grandfather Georg Wolf was the leader of a group of Hungarians who immigrated to Brazil in 1891. Upon arriving at the designated Brazilian port, the mayor of that city gave him two thousand réis (the local currency at that time) and some machetes. With those resources this small group of people expected to open a 60km way through the dense Atlantic forest, where they would find the piece of land granted by the government for them to settle.
The money given by the government did not have to be accounted for, as it was a grant. However, since it was not all used to buy the necessary supplies for the group’s journey and settlement, my great-grandfather decided to go back to the mayor and return the unspent portion. Everyone in the community was quite surprised, as this group was starting a new life from ground zero in a different land and the unused money could bring them much more immediate comfort in their travels. But being honest and having peace of mind was more important to my great-grandfather.
Years later, that settlement became a prosperous region of the country with subsequent great spiritual and temporal blessings that continue in the lives of thousands today—including my own family.
I learned from my great-grandfather’s integrity that there are special temporal and spiritual blessings that can only be obtained as we are honest with men.

Harold B. Lee learned to recognize the Spirit at an early age. One day he started toward some rundown sheds, but a voice called his name and told him not to go there. Harold obeyed. He continued to follow the Spirit throughout his life, such as when he led the Church Welfare Program. He also led the Church department that developed learning materials to help members recognize the Spirit in their own lives.

Trying the Prophet’s Teachings
I was touched by President Nelson’s message in conference that God wants to speak with me and tell me what He wants me to do. Today I thought I would try that out. I prayed that I could be of help to someone today. After lunch I needed to fill my car up with gas. I had the thought that I needed to buy someone gas. Somewhat skeptically, I thought, “We’ll see.” I began pumping my gas. A minivan pulled up next to me, and a lady got out with her son. She got her purse out and fumbled through it.
I was finishing pumping when I heard her say somewhat timidly, “Excuse me.” I turned to see a worried look on her face.
I told her I was supposed to buy someone gas today. “Is that someone you?” Surprised, she began to tear up. “Someone’s watching out for you today,” I said. I walked around the pump and inserted my credit card. Then I got in my car and drove away with the absolute assurance that someone is up there watching out for me too. Thank God for a prophet!”
—Jonathan Benson, story shared on the Liahona Facebook page

With the birth of each of their four children, Richard and Jennifer Fisher have felt an intense responsibility to rear them in righteousness and help them return to their heavenly parents. To see one of those children surrender his life to drugs and alcohol has been almost more than they can bear. The heartache, they say, is indescribable.
“There’s such an overwhelming feeling of failure,” says Sister Fisher. “I review every day from the time he was born and ask myself what happened. What did we do wrong? What did we do differently with him than with the other children? And of course we can’t find any answers.
“I have felt a sense of failure to the Church family, too, not just to my own. At first I felt unworthy to serve in my Church calling and I asked to be released. When something appears in the paper about my son’s problems with the law, I think, how can I be an effective missionary?”
Those words describe the darkest periods of Sister Fisher’s struggle, intervals that recur less often now that her son has largely withdrawn from cocaine and other drugs, though he continues to use alcohol. The intensity of her distress also has diminished as she has learned not to blame herself but to see her son as a child of God with divine agency. He himself has reassured her many times that his choices are his own and that she was, indeed, a good and loving mother.
The Fishers found they could draw on their ward’s love and fellowship without reserve. “I told the ward in testimony meeting that I needed the ward members to join in prayer for my son, and I got a tremendous response. They have written notes and have made extra effort to speak to Jason when he attends church.”
Jason himself says he considered suicide but didn’t proceed with it because he knew of the love that others had for him. He has told his parents that their prayers and those of ward members protected him and that his life was spared because of it.
For Sister Fisher, the fruits of her faith have not yet fully materialized, and she realizes her son may never turn entirely away from his chosen way of living. Still, she refuses to give up.
“I will never cease to have hope. Never.”