Gospel Story Finder

Kerry Smith grew up on a sheep ranch in Idaho and helped her father care for their lambs. She remembers that sometimes they would get their heads caught in the wire fencing or fall on their backs in a ditch. “Sheep are absolutely helpless on their backs. They can’t roll over without some assistance. That’s what makes them easy to handle and to shear, but it can also kill them,” she says. “We watch for any that might be in trouble and run to their rescue.”

Shepherds and leaders watch for those in trouble and help them get back on their feet. Kerry puts it this way: “Because we each have weaknesses Heavenly Father can help us ‘get up off our backs’ and resume our lives. Though we must always do our part, He is our protector. He gave us the perfect example of His Only Begotten Son, who is always watching, always guiding, always our Shepherd.”

Thanks so much for the November New Era. I was inspired so much when I read “God Speaks with Our Voices.” I read this article many times because I was very impressed with the missionary work in Chile. It inspired me to achieve the same kind of success in my own mission. My companion and I (both of us are Indonesian) were finding it difficult to find sincere investigators to teach. But after reading this article, we decided that we must work harder than before, so we prayed humbly to our Father in Heaven that he would show us the pure in heart.
And as we went about our work, I also always remembered in my mind “God speaks with our voices.” Approximately two weeks later we found some investigators who were eager to know the Lord’s way. As we taught them, they were very happy because they could feel the Spirit of God. They asked to be baptized and brought to us their neighbors and friends to be taught the true gospel of Jesus Christ. Some of those friends have been baptized and are active in the Church. We are still busy teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful to the New Era.
Elder Eddy P. JudjionoIndonesia Jakarta Mission

Jake had waited all autumn, winter, and spring for the opening day of fishing season. Fishing was his favorite sport, and he was ready to go. His pole stood by the door, loaded with all the line his reel could hold. He had tied on a brand-new red-and-white lure with a three-pronged hook. He was going to catch the biggest cutthroat trout ever in the creek by his house.
But now—of all times—Mom said he had chores to do.
“Jake, if you want to go fishing, you need to clean your room first,” Mom said.
Jake hung his head, stomped to his room, and threw himself onto his bed.
“I just don’t get what the big deal is about having a clean bedroom,” Jake muttered. “I know where my things are. If I put them back in a drawer, I’ll just have to go to all the trouble of digging them out again. And what’s the sense of making a bed if I’m going to climb back into it again in a few hours anyway?”
Jake picked up two wrinkled shirts off the floor and threw them in his closet. Then he hurriedly pulled the bedspread up over his pillow. Cleaning his bedroom didn’t seem as important as not being late for the opening day of fishing season.
Jake listened for clues about where Mom was in the house. If she was in the kitchen, she might stop him to make sure he had done a good job cleaning. But if she went to the laundry room, he could make a quick getaway. After several long minutes, the washing machine buzzer finally summoned Mom to the laundry room.
Jake rushed for the door, grabbing his fishing pole on the way out. He paused for a moment to close the door as quietly as possible, then ran across the field. He hid in the thick willows that lined the creek. He had escaped without being caught. Maybe Mom wouldn’t even notice his room wasn’t really clean.
Taking a deep breath, Jake whipped the tip of his pole back behind his shoulder and flung it forward, allowing the line to spin off his reel. He listened to the soft splash of the lure as it entered the gentle ripples of the fresh, cold water in his favorite fishing hole. It was just as fun as he remembered. Soon he had no thoughts of his bedroom, Mom, or anything else.
Jake reeled in the line, watching his lure dance across the rocks at the bottom of the creek. He repeated the process several times. Suddenly, he felt the line catch on something, followed by a sharp sting on his shoulder. Two of the prongs on his hook had gone through his shirt and snagged the back of his shoulder.
“Oh no!” Jake thought. “Mom will have to help me get the hook out. What will she say? I’m supposed to still be cleaning my room.”
As Jake headed back to the house, he prepared himself for Mom’s lecture, but it never came.
“Hmm, Jake, it looks like you’ve been caught,” Mom said when she saw the hook.
He knew what she meant. He was not only caught by the fishhook, but he had been caught disobeying. “I know, Mom,” Jake said. “I’m sorry I didn’t obey you.”
Mom took Jake to the doctor. Jake whimpered a bit as the doctor removed the hook, but was quiet during the ride home. He knew what he needed to do. When they got home, Jake went upstairs and cleaned his bedroom.
The next day, Jake did all his chores before asking Mom if he could fish. From now on, the only thing getting caught would be a big cutthroat trout.

Your article on tallness gave me an added friendship—a girl in my Laurel class whom I was never close to but who has now become a great friend. I recently recovered from viral meningitis. While in the hospital for two weeks I found that my copy of the New Era gave me added courage to fight on and endure. The magazine made me feel closer to the General Authorities and closer to members of the Church. The article on war answered many questions and gave me added courage to be obedient to the laws of my country.
Marily WilsonBurbank, California

When I was nine years old, I had a wonderful Primary teacher named Sister Kohler. I was very shy, and she was so gentle that I loved being with her. One day she gave us each a piece of paper. We all wrote down what we wanted to do when we got older. I wrote: “Go to college and get married in the temple.” I taped my paper above my closet door. At night, light from the street lamp shone in through my window. I looked up at my piece of paper. It reminded me that I wanted to go to the temple.
Back then, there were only 12 temples in the world. I wanted to go to every one.
Whenever my mother and father planned a vacation, they always took our family to the temple. We lived in Oregon, USA. The nearest temple was 600 miles (965 km) away in Cardston, Alberta, Canada. Our car didn’t have an air conditioner. My brother and sister and I sat in the back seat. We would hang a wet washcloth outside the car window. Then we put it on our necks to cool off.
It was a thrill when we finally saw the temple. I didn’t know very much about what happened there, but my parents were always happy when they came out. I knew the temple was very important. I knew it was the Lord’s house. (In the photo, that’s me in the white shirt.)
After I turned 12, I got to do temple baptisms in several temples. Then when I met my future husband, I found out that he loved the temple too! We got married in the Manti Utah Temple.
You can prepare for the temple every day. Go to the temple when you can. Touch its walls. When my grandson Jarret was 11 years old, he worked on family history every Sunday with his dad. He found many names of ancestors. Now that he is 12, he is doing baptisms in the temple for these ancestors!
When you are in the temple, you can walk where Jesus walks. It is His house. I hope you will pray every day for Heavenly Father to help you prepare to enter the temple and feel His love.

However, I warn you, a new name, new flexibility, and fewer reports won’t make an ounce of difference in our service unless we see this as an invitation to care for one another in a bold, new, holier way, as President Nelson has just said. As we lift our spiritual eyes toward living the law of love more universally, we pay tribute to the generations who have served that way for years. Let me note a recent example of such devotion in hopes that legions more will grasp the Lord’s commandment to “be with and strengthen” our brothers and sisters.
Last January 14, a Sunday, just a little after 5:00 p.m., my young friends Brett and Kristin Hamblin were chatting at their home in Tempe, Arizona, after Brett’s day serving in the bishopric and Kristin’s busy day caring for their five children.
Suddenly Kristin, a seemingly successful survivor of breast cancer the previous year, fell unresponsive. A call to 911 brought an emergency team trying desperately to revive her. As Brett prayed and pleaded, he quickly placed just two other telephone calls: one to his mother requesting her help with the children, the other to Edwin Potter, his home teacher. The latter conversation in its entirety went as follows:
Edwin, noting caller ID, said, “Hey, Brett, what’s up?”
Brett’s near-shouted response was “I need you here—now!”
In fewer minutes than Brett could count, his priesthood colleague was standing at his side, helping with the children and then driving Brother Hamblin to the hospital behind the ambulance carrying his wife. There, less than 40 minutes after she had first closed her eyes, the physicians pronounced Kristin dead.
As Brett sobbed, Edwin simply held him in his arms and cried with him—for a long, long time. Then, leaving Brett to grieve with other family members who had gathered, Edwin drove to the bishop’s home to tell him what had just transpired. A marvelous bishop started immediately for the hospital while Edwin drove on to the Hamblins’ home. There he and his wife, Charlotte, who had also come running, played with the five now-motherless Hamblin children, ages 12 down to 3. They fed them an evening meal, held an impromptu musical recital, and helped get them ready for bed.
Brett told me later, “The amazing part of this story isn’t that Edwin came when I called. In an emergency, there are always people willing to help. No, the amazing part of this story is that he was the one I thought of. There were other people around. Kristin has a brother and sister less than three miles away. We have a great bishop, the greatest. But the relationship between Edwin and me is such that I felt instinctively to call him when I needed help. The Church provides us a structured way to live the second commandment better—to love, serve, and develop relationships with our brothers and sisters that help us move closer to God.”
Edwin said about the experience, “Elder Holland, the irony in all of this is that Brett has been our family’s home teacher for longer than I have been theirs. Over that time, he has visited us more as a friend than by assignment. He has been a great example, the epitome of what an active and involved priesthood bearer should be. My wife, our boys—we don’t see him as one obligated to bring us a message at the end of each month; we think of him as a friend who lives just down the street and around the corner, who would do anything in this world to bless us. I am glad I could repay just a little bit of the debt I owe him.”

I saw him riding the bus every day on my way home from the university. He always wore the same baggy T-shirt, worn-out tennis shoes, and big smile. And he always sat by himself. He was a special passenger, though, because he was mentally challenged.
Every day the Spirit prompted me to say hello to him. Every day, however, my pride stopped me. I was afraid that someone might see me associating with someone different from everyone else. After all, I had a reputation to keep.
One winter afternoon, when the Spirit was especially strong and my courage was a little greater, I got on the bus, saw him in his usual spot, and sat down next to him—not too close in case I chickened out. When I was almost to my stop, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and turned to him.
“Hi,” I said in an insecure but friendly voice, “I’m Ashley.”
When he smiled at me, my fear and pride immediately melted away.
“I’m Lenny,” he shyly replied.
With those few words, we began a bond of friendship.
The next day I sat next to Lenny again, but it was easier—we were friends. As I sat down, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a handmade Valentine’s Day card. It was addressed to “The pretty girl I see on the bus every day.”
Valentine’s Day was long passed, but Lenny had made this special card for me and had been patiently waiting for the opportunity to give it to me. I couldn’t keep the tears from trickling down my cheeks. How grateful I was that the Spirit hadn’t given up on me and that I had finally put aside my pride and faced my fear of talking to Lenny.
Now he comes to Sunday dinner every week and has become like another member of my family. Every day Lenny helps me remember the blessings that come from forgetting pride and having courage to do what is right. Seeing him every day reminds me of 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.”

George Albert and Lucy Smith had been married for about 40 years when Lucy began a prolonged struggle with frail health. Though he worried about her and tried to comfort her as much as he could, President Smith’s duties as a General Authority often required him to be away from home. One day after President Smith gave a talk at a funeral, someone handed him a note telling him to return home immediately. He later wrote in his journal:
“I left the chapel at once but my Darling wife had breathed her last before I arrived at home. She was passing while I was talking at the funeral. I am of course bereft of a devoted helpmeet and will be lonely without her.”
“While my family are greatly distressed,” he continued, “we are comforted by the assurance of a reunion with [her] if we remain faithful. … The Lord is most kind and has taken away every feeling of death, for which I am exceedingly grateful.”16

No plush seats. No ornate decor. No subdued lighting. No modern sound system. No ushers. Of course not. After all, this isn’t a concert hall; it’s Montréal’s busiest metro station. And yet it is a concert hall—the home of la Chorale de l’Accueil Bonneau. Under the harsh fluorescent glare of this noisy, cavernous station stand 18 men in black pants, white shirts, and a smattering of caps, berets, scarves, and bandannas. The singers range in age from 22 to 69. Their weathered faces glow with a joy that almost masks the lingering evidence of misfortune and rejection. “Oh happy day!” they sing, and you can’t help but believe them.
A subway train rumbles to a stop and releases a host of Saturday shoppers, weary students, and weekend workers. Many pause to listen. A few step forward and drop coins into a hat resting on the floor where you would expect the director to stand.
The performers don’t look much like a choir. In fact, they look as if someone just pulled them off the street. They don’t act like a choir either. They don’t stand up straight, and they don’t stand still. One of the older singers—sporting a long, shaggy beard—wanders through the crowd, presenting roses to women. During one of the more lively numbers, two of the singers find partners among the listeners and start to dance.
The choir’s repertoire is varied—everything from “Nearer My God to Thee,” straight from the Latter-day Saint hymnbook, to the pop song “California Dreamin’.” Although some of the men have good voices, these are not professionally trained musicians. One of the soloists even sings a bit off-key. But their energy more than compensates for any lack of training or natural ability. They sing with their whole hearts, and it is clear they are enjoying themselves. So is the audience, which changes about every three minutes as trains come and go.
By the end of two hours the hat is nearly full, and the concert is over. Only then is it evident this choir has a leader. As the last song ends and the crowd disperses, a slender man with dark hair, glasses, and a radiant smile steps from the ranks. His name is Pierre Anthian, and the choir, he will tell you, is merely an extension of his religious beliefs.
The choir ascends the stairs to street level. A yellow school bus will soon arrive to take them to a Catholic church on the outskirts of Montréal where they will perform later this evening. The afternoon sun is pleasant, and the autumn leaves, though past their prime, still adorn the city with splashes of faded yellow and rusty red. While waiting for the bus, one choir member, Jean-Louis, tells how the choir has saved him from harmful addictions. “Now I get high on music,” he boasts. Others have similar stories.
It is late Saturday evening. It has been a long day for the choir, and you can tell they are tired only because their voices don’t blend as well as they did earlier in the program and they hit a few painfully flat notes. But the more than 200 listeners at the church don’t seem to mind. The singers still exude the same level of energy they did this afternoon in the metro, and several of them patrol the aisles, pulling people at random from the audience to join them onstage.
The listeners have been treated to hymns and popular songs—but now comes the audience’s favorite part of the concert. The melody and words might be unfamiliar to a visitor from outside Québec, but it is obvious this song has special meaning to the locals. Everyone is standing, holding hands, swaying back and forth in time with the music, singing with his or her whole soul. Tears flow freely. The song ends, and for a magical moment there is only silence. Then the audience, sensing that this was the final number yet not wanting the magic to end, breaks into wild applause and calls for an encore. The choir obliges, not once but twice, and finally the audience lets them go.

Julie Loper, the Mia Maid adviser in the Sunnyside Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, shared this story: “My husband and I concentrated one of our family home evenings on what to do in case of an emergency. Since our children were so young, we felt the most important thing to tell them was to get help as fast as they could. We made up several situations, acted them out, and tested our children to see if they understood.
“Little did we know that the following Wednesday our efforts would pay off. Our daughter, Erin, 15 months old, fell into a four-foot-deep irrigation box that had a great deal of water rushing through it. Three-year-old Ryan was just coming out of the house when he heard her cries.
“All Ryan could see was her fingertips holding onto the cement. He did not take time to investigate further, but immediately called me for help as we had discussed the week before in home evening. Those valuable seconds saved made the difference. I was able to reach her before she was forced down into the pipe which carries water onto other farms.
“Had Ryan waited before going for help, Erin’s strength would have gone before help arrived. If he had attempted to pull her up himself, probably both of them would have fallen in. Ryan said, ‘Family night helped me know what to do.’”

Emma Whitney’s life was completely different to what it became as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Twenty years old, living in Scunthorpe, England, Emma describes her life before discovering the Church as full of drink, drugs, partying, toxic friends, no respect for herself, little education, and challenges to her mental health.
Learning and understanding God’s words has always been a desire for Emma. One life-changing experience brought Emma to her knees; pouring her heart out in prayer led to an answer a few weeks later, by accepting a request to participate in a Bible study class with full-time Church missionaries. Understanding the words of the Bible has been a struggle for Emma; on the other hand, she says, “Even though the words are old English words, I understand the Book of Mormon clearly.”
Scripture study and prayer are factors that enable Emma to stay strong and to say no to situations that she deems would be bad for her. Inspiration which led Emma to change her ways and join the Church, was understanding that she could turn over a new leaf and all would be forgiven. Therefore, after five weeks of investigating the Church, Emma was baptised on the fifth of May 2021.
In 2022, clean from drugs and alcohol, surrounded by good friends, a good relationship, good family relationships, and studying the subject of communications using the online BYU-Pathway programme, Emma says she is genuinely happy and strengthened. Dealing with her past has been easier for her as she talks about the importance of looking after her body, “I was just abusing my body in every way you could think of. I’ve come to realise that to take pride in our bodies is a gift from God.”
Follow Emma’s journey at lds.scripturestudy on Instagram.

Because of their service in Tonga, Rebecca, David, and Nattalie had many opportunities to share the gospel. Even before the Downeys left Colorado, people became interested in their journey and, then, the Church. “Our neighbors asked for a Book of Mormon and started to read it. Friends started to take the missionary discussions and asked if they could keep writing their questions about the Church to us by e-mail,” says David.

Rebecca and Nattalie say their own testimonies grew from the experience, as well. Rebecca adds that serving in Tonga helped her realize what was truly of worth. “I have become more humble. The people there were a great example to me. I realize that people are more important than things.” To illustrate, she recounts her family taking some of their used clothing to a family devastated by a typhoon. In gratitude, the Tongan family gave the Downeys a bowl of peanuts that they had salvaged from what was left of their crop after the storm. “That represented about a month’s worth of income for them,” notes Rebecca. “We gave them our leftovers, and they gave us everything they had.”

Now back home in Colorado, the teens are readjusting to a land-locked existence and missing their friends in Tonga. But thanks to their year abroad, they think they might know what it takes to move a mountain: faith, love, and an unquenchable desire to serve. That, and a whole lot of toothbrushes.

Meanwhile, World War I broke out. To help connect women with each other during that challenging time, the Church published its Relief Society Magazine, which became an important resource for the sisters in Melbourne. They discussed its articles, poetry and stories as they gathered to knit socks and prepare parcels for soldiers in Europe and the Middle East.
Elizabeth’s two grandsons had enlisted to serve in the war. Her son Horace also enlisted and was sent to the Middle East as part of Australia’s Light Horse regiments.
Church attendance dwindled as more brethren were called to military duty. Soon, it was up to the women—Elizabeth and her friends—to keep their small branch together. The sisters looked forward to their weekly meetings for spiritual renewal and social and personal upliftment.
By the end of the war, almost every family in their area had lost a brother, a husband, a son or grandson. For Elizabeth, it was her grandson William Wallace Cameron Butler who died in the Battle of Fromelles. The bond amongst the sisters in the branch grew even stronger as they supported each other through the heartbreak. Then they began rebuilding their lives.

Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his newfound knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”

The importance of not mistreating others is highlighted in an anecdote about Hillel the Elder, a Jewish scholar who lived in the first century before Christ. One of Hillel’s students was exasperated by the complexity of the Torah—the five books of Moses with their 613 commandments and associated rabbinic writings. The student challenged Hillel to explain the Torah using only the time that Hillel could stand on one foot. Hillel may not have had great balance but accepted the challenge. He quoted from Leviticus, saying, “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Hillel then concluded: “That which is hateful unto you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole of the Torah; the rest is commentary. Go forth and study.”

“Although I am far past the age of youth, the situation here so touched my heart that I felt duty-bound to reply. Fifteen years ago, when I was 18, I joined the Church. I was at that time and still am the only member of my immediate family who has ever joined.

“Through the years there have been many situations where the easy thing to do would have been to ‘honor my parents’ and do what they said, but I always felt I honored my parents more by strictly adhering to the gospel teachings.

“When I was 21, my husband-to-be, knowing of my family situation, asked where I wanted to be married. I replied that we had been taught to marry in the temple, and although it caused hard feelings at the time, we did just that. My family got over it, and now, 13 years later, when we are trying to teach our children correct principles, we tell them that we were married in the temple and that they should be married there also.

“Over the years we have insisted on being allowed to attend our Church meetings, to pay our tithes and offerings, to fast, and not to party on Sunday, and all of it has had a real effect. Not long ago my mother said to my husband, ‘I think that joining the Church was the best thing Diane ever did.’”

Edward Partridge was the first Presiding Bishop of the Restored Church. Born in 1793, he became dissatisfied with the religions of his day when he was in his twenties. And, in 1830, after investigating the Church, he was baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Prophet said of Edward, “he was a pattern of piety, and one of the Lord’s great men, known by his steadfastness and patient endurance to the end” (“History of Joseph Smith,” Times and Seasons, 15 Sept. 1843, vol. 4, 320).
Edward became the Presiding Bishop of the Church less than two months after his baptism, and he certainly needed the “patient endurance” mentioned by the Prophet Joseph. He and his family were harshly persecuted by the mobs in Missouri and then in Nauvoo. On one occasion he was dragged from his home and tarred and feathered by a mob of more than 200 men. But Bishop Partridge’s faith carried him through his trials.
The bishop died when he became very ill in Nauvoo. He was only 46. Of Edward Partridge, the Lord said, “his heart is pure before me, for he is like unto Nathanael of old, in whom there is no guile” (D&C 41:11). And in the Doctrine and Covenants we learn that the Lord received Edward Partridge unto himself (see D&C 124:19).

When I was 18 I was the first in my family to find the restored gospel. After my baptism I began to really understand how the gospel could help my family.
As a result of these feelings I started to do family history, and my love for my ancestors grew as I worked and exercised my faith to find them. My desire to find them was so strong that on several occasions I traveled to my ancestors’ places of origin. Each trip brought new experiences, and my heart was turned to my ancestors (see Mal. 4:5–6).

A third thought that needs to be thought about is this: If you do not respond properly to a challenge, maybe no one will. I remember a young lady at my high school who had a number of problems. She was very poor. She could not dress like the other students, and she was insecure and frightened. But a young man who knew her would take time to greet her when he saw her. One day they were to take a test in history, and he said to her, “Let’s sit down and study together.” They did; she could tell that he knew she had value as a fellow human being.

The weeks came and went. One day she told that young man that he had saved her life. “What do you mean, I’ve save your life?” he asked.

“Do you remember the day we had that history test?”

“Yes.”

“I was going to take my life that day. I knew no one cared, that no one loved me. People ridiculed the way I dressed, the things I said, and the way I looked. But you cared, and because of that I’m still alive.” She is now a nurse, ministering to the needs of others.

Martin’s Cove holds special meaning for Jashley Simpson of Afton, Wyoming. To her, this spot is marked by sorrow for the trials of the people who died here. But it is also a place of joy, for it was here in the Sweetwater River that Jashley was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Not very many people are baptized in rivers anymore, and Jashley probably wouldn’t have been, either, if the baptismal font in her stake center had not been under repair. As her eighth birthday neared, she and her parents, Evan and Beverly Simpson, realized that they had to find an alternative place for her baptism.
About a month before Jashley’s birthday, on May 12, 1997, her mother was reading an article in the Church News about the new visitors’ center at Martin’s Cove. Suddenly, the idea came to her that Jashley should be baptized there. At first, it seemed like an impossible thought, but as her mother lay awake at night, pondering the idea, it felt more and more like it was what Heavenly Father wanted them to do. She shared the idea with Jashley’s father, bishop of the Afton Third Ward, Afton Wyoming Stake, and he thought it was a great idea.
They made many phone calls but were unable to reach Brother Carvel Jackson, director of the center, to make arrangements in time for Jashley’s birthday. So the Simpsons just decided to take the eight-hour drive and visit the center on that day, hoping that things would work out when they got there. If nothing else, they would go on the short handcart trek organized by the visitors’ center.
Jashley’s five sisters—Bethany (16), Amory (14), Emily (11), Kelsey (5), and Courtney (3)—as well as both sets of grandparents came to spend this special day with the birthday girl. Jashley was particularly excited that her mother’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Gibson, were able to come. They were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and Jashley looked forward to sharing part of its history with them.
Upon the family’s arrival at the center, they were finally able to speak with Brother Jackson, who gladly helped them find an ideal spot for the baptism. But first they took the handcart trek! Grandma Simpson and Grandma Gibson waited at the visitors’ center as the rest of the family loaded up handcarts and set out on the two-mile hike to the actual Cove.
As they climbed the trail, the wind blew fiercely around them. It was a hard trek but fun, even when Jashley fell on a cactus! Everyone enjoyed reading the plaques that described the journey of the handcart companies. They pushed the handcarts up one mile to the opening of the cove area. There they had to abandon their carts and hike up one more mile to the cove itself. Then they hiked the mile back to their handcarts, and completed the remaining two and a half miles of the loop trail back to the visitors’ center.
After the trek, the family prepared for the baptism. The place Brother Jackson had suggested was a beautiful spot on the Sweetwater River with Devil’s Gate in the background. However, everyone worried that the strong wind would affect the baptismal service. When no one was watching, Jashley bowed her head and closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to Heavenly Father that the wind would stop blowing just long enough for her to be baptized. Heavenly Father answered her prayer. The wind was completely still.
Jashley and her father were also surprised at how warm the water was. She had been concerned that the water would be icy cold from the melting snow in the mountains. In every prayer she had made for the last month, she had asked Heavenly Father to make the water “sort of warm.” Her prayers were answered once again, and the water temperature was just right.
The baptismal service was beautiful. Jashley’s father baptized her while her Grandpa Simpson and Elder Erickson, a missionary from Star Valley, acted as the witnesses. Afterward she saved some of the water from the river in a special old-fashioned glass jar with a clamp and rubber seal. She said that being baptized was wonderful; it made her feel “really clean.” She wrote in her journal all the way home about the exciting events of the day.
This day was definitely one to remember for Jashley and her family. Martin’s Cove had a special spirit that touched them all. Even Grandma and Grandpa Gibson were very impressed.
Whenever Jashley thinks of her baptism day, she remembers the faith and courage of those men and women. She will honor them and try to be like them, for she has truly experienced their story “in her bones.”