Gospel Story Finder

My schoolteacher has a special shelf where she keeps books that she doesn’t want anyone to take home. I saw a book there that I wanted to take home and read that night. I knew I could finish it and bring it back the next day before she missed it.
I read the book that night and put it on my dresser. Later, my sister spilled a glass of water on the book and didn’t tell me. By the time I found out, my teacher’s book was wet and puffy. I was so scared that I started to cry! I was afraid my teacher would be really mad at me. I prayed that she wouldn’t be mad and that she would still trust me. I decided I should pay for the book, and my sister agreed to help pay, too. We put our money in an envelope.
The next morning I wished that I didn’t have to go to school. All morning I practiced in my head how I would apologize to my teacher. Finally I took the book and money to her and explained what had happened. She didn’t get mad at me, and she even gave back the money.
I know that Heavenly Father forgives us and loves us, but it would have been better if I had chosen the right in the first place. I learned a good lesson, but I’m glad that it’s over. Now I am trying to choose the right every day, even when it’s hard.

Delphine, a convert from Paris, France, has a difficult family situation, so when the missionaries taught her that families can live together in the celestial kingdom, she wasn’t sure she wanted that. As the missionaries continued to teach her about the three degrees of glory, however, she was comforted. She learned that she will get to be with those she loves who chose to follow the gospel. With a better understanding of the plan of salvation, she said, “I found it much more just, and that reassured me.”

In the meantime another great general, Simon Bolivar, was successfully leading an army that was fighting for the freedom of Spanish colonies in the north. José felt that the armies should join together and arranged a meeting of the two leaders. He offered to give up his command and serve under Bolivar. Both men were sincere patriots, but they had very different ideas. San Martín’s only desire was to free the people; Bolivar had ambitions to rule after the military victories were won. José decided he must avoid any possible conflict that might hurt the cause of freedom. During a party given in honor of the two generals, he slipped quietly away. As soon as he could, he resigned from all command and invited Bolivar to carry on his work.

Harriet stared at the picture of Papa on the wall. It had been eight months since he died. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She missed him so much.
Knock, knock, knock.
Harriet opened the door of their little apartment. Two young men stood outside.
“Guten Tag! Hello! We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’d love to talk to your family about Jesus Christ.”
Harriet smiled. Something about what they said made her feel good inside. “I’ll ask Mutti (Mom).”
Harriet found Mutti. “Missionaries are at the door,” she said. “They want to talk to us about Jesus.”
Mutti frowned. “Tell them we don’t have time.”
“But they seem so nice,” Harriet said. “It won’t take long.”
Mutti glanced at the clock. “All right. For a few minutes.”
The missionaries came in and talked to Mutti, Harriet, and Harriet‘s sister, Carmen. They told them about Jesus and a book called das Buch Mormon, the Book of Mormon. Then they gave Harriet’s family a copy to read.
“I guess we can read a few pages,” Mutti said, opening the book. Over the next few days, Mutti kept reading and reading. She read parts out loud to Harriet and Carmen.
I wish Papa could read this. He would love it, Harriet thought.
When the missionaries came back, they taught about God’s plan. “We lived with God before we were born. We came to earth to learn and become like Him. When we die, we can be with Him again.”
What about Papa? Harriet wondered.
The missionary looked at Harriet. “Because Jesus died and lived again, we can be with our families forever. Even with loved ones who have died.”
Harriet felt a rush of hope. She could be with Papa again! Mutti had a big smile too—the first in a long time.
Harriet, Mutti, and Carmen kept learning from the missionaries. They went to church. Harriet became friends with a nice boy named Dieter.
Now Harriet’s apartment felt like there was sunshine in every room. Soon Harriet and her family decided to be baptized.
The night before their baptism, Harriet knelt with Mutti and Carmen to pray. “Heavenly Father,” Harriet said, “we are so grateful for the missionaries, the gospel, and our family. We can’t wait to be baptized.”
When Harriet opened her eyes, she looked at the picture of Papa and smiled. She couldn’t wait to see him again someday.
When Harriet grew up, she married the nice boy named Dieter.
Dieter is now one of the Apostles—Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf!
Elder Uchtdorf says Harriet is “the sunshine of [his] life.”

When the Benson Institute begins a project in any country, it looks first at the overall situation, giving special attention to underlying problems. “It isn’t enough to teach people how to feed themselves better if their water supply is contaminated,” observes Ted Fairchild of the BYU Food Science and Nutrition Department who helped develop an evaluation system for the Benson Institute. Using the system, the institute does a thorough evaluation of the current quality of life: What is the general level of health of the people? How many are malnourished? Is the local diet well balanced? Is drinking water clean and plentiful? What are the sanitation problems? Is parasite infestation a problem?
It was this evaluation process that helped reduce infant mortality in Retalhuleu, Guatemala. When nutritionists discovered that open stoves sitting on the ground were not cooking at temperatures high enough to kill bacteria in food, they taught the people to build higher stoves. Within months, infant mortality caused by dysentery had decreased significantly.

The year 2024 is something of a milestone year for me. It marks 75 years since I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Zwickau, Germany.
When I think about my personal journey of discipleship, my mind often goes back to an old villa in Zwickau, where I have cherished memories of attending sacrament meetings of the Church of Jesus Christ as a child. It is there where the seedling of my testimony received its earliest nourishing.
This chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. I sometimes had the great privilege of assisting in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. From the bellows operator seat, I had a great view of some stunning stained-glass windows, one depicting the Savior Jesus Christ and another portraying Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
I can still remember the sacred feelings I had as I looked at those sunlit windows while listening to the testimonies of the Saints and singing the hymns of Zion.
In that holy place, the Spirit of God bore witness to my mind and heart that it was true: Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. This is His Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices.
Earlier this year, while on assignment in Europe, I had the opportunity to return to Zwickau. Sadly, that beloved old chapel isn’t there anymore. It was torn down many years ago to make room for a large apartment building.
I admit that it’s sad to know that this beloved building from my childhood is now just a memory. It was a sacred building to me. But it was just a building.
By contrast, the spiritual witness I gained from the Holy Ghost those many years ago has not passed away. In fact, it has grown stronger. The things I learned in my youth about the fundamental principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ have been my firm foundation throughout my life. The covenant connection I forged with my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son has stayed with me—long after the Zwickau chapel was dismantled and the stained-glass windows were lost.

Brother Cox’s cultural understanding has been an essential part of his ethnobotanical research. When his mother died of cancer in 1984, he decided to study how plants can be used to cure diseases. Later that year, he moved to Western Samoa to study the traditional medicine of Samoan healers. Brother Cox believed that by listening to the healers, who use plants to treat all types of illnesses, he could be guided to plants with medicinal value. He wanted to preserve the healers’ knowledge before the profession died out and the rain forest plants were all destroyed.
Many of the plant species Brother Cox has identified have been proven to fight diseases. One is a tree bark Samoan healers have been using for centuries to treat viruses. From it, researchers have extracted prostatin—which the National Cancer Institute has found slows the growth of the HIV virus in healthy cells. The tree from which prostatin is extracted grows only in an isolated area of Samoa—an area that was nearly logged.
If prostatin is marketed, Samoan people will receive half of the profits. This agreement to protect the rights and property of an indigenous people is the first of its kind.

Elder Goaslind enjoyed all sports but became most proficient in snow skiing. “I started skiing at the age of five and recall going up the mountain by holding on to a rope tow. The friends I skied with were neighbors, and I was glad for their patience with me as I learned. I loved the sport, and as a young man,” he related, “I was a possible candidate for the 1948 United States Olympic ski team. In those days, if you were chosen for that team, you made a four-year commitment with them. However, I would become of age to go on a mission in 1949, so it was a very hard decision for me. I remember my father encouraging me to fast and pray about it. After praying, I decided to go on a mission rather than to compete for a place on the ski team. I believe that if there is any decision that I have made with wisdom in my life, it was that one.
“Several years ago I went up to Canada, where I had served my mission, and saw my mission president for the first time in thirty years. We greeted each other with a warm embrace. And after visiting with him, I thought of how much I owed him. The influence of a mission and a good mission president is invaluable.”

They’re known in their stake as the “Singing LeGault Sisters.” Just mention their name to Church members in Montreal, Canada, and you’ll find yourself surrounded by smiling faces. There’s a lot of sweet harmony reflected in those smiles, happy memories of the LeGault sisters sharing their musical talents.
The sisters sing together, and they sing individually, at home, at church, at school, in competitions. Chantal, 16, and Nathalie, 18, love the closeness they feel when they are singing together—and they feel like it’s a way of sharing their love for the gospel, too.
People in the stake are still talking about a show the LeGault sisters put on for their stake three years ago. It came about when Chantal was asked at age 12 to join a new band made up of LDS youth. “We did a show for the ward, and Nathalie thought it sounded great, so she joined the group, too. We practiced all summer, five hours a day, and did a three-hour show for the stake. People really enjoyed it,” says Chantal.
Nathalie has liked music for a long time, too. When she was ten years old she wanted to learn to lead the singing, so she asked the music director in her ward to teach her how. When Nathalie turned 11, she was called to lead the music in Primary. She’s now the choir president for her ward, as well as Young Women camp director and secretary of the Sunday School. Chantal directs the music for the Young Women, sings in the ward choir, and is president of her Young Women class.
They both sing for fun, but Chantal would like to sing professionally. “I like music, but Chantal really loves it,” says Nathalie.
Last year Chantal auditioned for a prestigious gala presentation that the media attend to report on the best new talent in Montreal. Chantal passed the audition and was scheduled to perform, but when she found out the concert was to be held on a Sunday, she withdrew.
“I fasted about it. Even though I really wanted to sing at the gala, if the Spirit says don’t go, you don’t go. So I didn’t. The important thing is always to follow what Heavenly Father wants us to do. But I know that because I listened to the Spirit, other opportunities have come my way,” says Chantal.
She recently found herself singing for a seminary film produced by the Church. Last year both sisters were asked to help with French translations for the film. Chantal told the producer she liked to sing and was asked to record several songs for the project. She went to the studio, put on the earphones, and surprised everybody when she did an outstanding job in record time. A technician told her she had professional talent, which was encouraging.
“If I sing professionally, my commitment to God will always take first priority,” she says. “I look at my singing as missionary work.”
She also likes to write music—she’s written more than 30 songs. “Music is a good way for me to express myself,” she says. “When I feel sad or happy, I put it into music and words. If I have a good relationship with somebody, or a good friendship, or when I see someone alone, I write a song about it.”
Besides music, the LeGault sisters have other interests, too.
“We both love music, but our personalities are very different. I love bright colors, modern things, almost flashy things,” says Chantal.
“I guess I’m more traditional,” says Nathalie. “I love subdued colors, antiques, nature, the woods.”
Chantal loves arts; Nathalie likes sciences. Chantal likes individual competition; Nathalie likes team sports. Chantal prefers the city; Nathalie prefers the country. Chantal dresses in up-to-date fashions; Nathalie goes for the more classic look.
But outward differences aside, the girls are like two peas in a pod on things that are dear to them—their French Canadian heritage and their love of the gospel.
“Most of us in Quebec have ancestors from the farm,” says Nathalie. “That makes us warm, hospitable people, whether we live in the city or the country. We’ve inherited it. Family is important to us as a people, and we value happiness, not things.”
“It’s easy for us in Quebec to care about people. It comes naturally,” adds Chantal. “We’re also very frank and direct and very independent. Probably one reason we’re independent is that we live in the only French-speaking province in Canada, and sometimes that’s tough. We’re somewhat isolated because of that.”
Some of the younger people don’t have much interest in the cultural traditions of Quebec, the sisters say. But the LeGault sisters are in harmony with their heritage. “We think it’s good to learn about our ancestors and the way they lived,” says Nathalie.
Going to school in Montreal offers special challenges to the two young women because they’re Latter-day Saints.
“We’re the only Mormons in a high school of 1,500 students, and it’s hard sometimes,” says Chantal. “The tough part is that the people can’t understand our principles. Sometimes when our friends find out our religion, their parents tell them not to see us anymore. That makes it hard to do missionary work here, but we’ve found that our example is the best missionary work we can do.”
Nathalie agrees. “Example is very important here. Everybody watches us because of our religion. When we take the subway to church, people notice us walking in dresses and know that we’re not like other young people. There’s something different about us.
“Last year I asked my math teacher to write something in my yearbook. My teacher said, ‘A year ago I saw you in the corridor and didn’t know you, but wanted you in my class this year because I saw how nice you were with people.’ To me, that’s missionary work.”
Chantal has had similar experiences. “A boy in my school I didn’t even know came up to me and asked my name and asked if I was active in a certain church he named. I said, ‘No, I’m a Mormon.’ He told me that he could see from my eyes that I was different, that I had principles.”
Both the sisters are proud of the gospel principles they’ve learned. Converts to the Church, their family was tracted out when they lived in the little country town of Gatineau, north of Montreal.
“The missionaries came to the door one day and said they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” says Chantal. “When my mother heard the words ‘Jesus Christ,’ she knew she wanted to hear from them, because she had been searching for truth.”
Their father worked in Montreal and came home on the weekends. When he heard that the missionaries had come, he told his family he wasn’t interested, but the missionaries could come when he wasn’t there.
“I loved my sins and didn’t want to give them up,” he says half-jokingly.
The missionaries started teaching the family, and one Friday afternoon Papa LeGault came home early from work, when the missionaries were there. He asked them to stay, and the missionaries invited him and his wife to a Valentine’s Day dance at the meetinghouse. The people at the dance were friendly and nice, and Brother LeGault knew there was something special about them, something good.
“My father wanted proof about these people, though,” says Chantal. “A week later Elder Neal Maxwell was speaking at stake conference in Montreal, and my father put on a tie and said, ‘I’ll go.’ Once there, he saw that the people in Montreal were good too. He listened, and he received a testimony of the Church and saw that it was true.
“The next weekend, he told the missionaries he wanted to be baptized. They protested that he hadn’t had the lessons, and my father said he didn’t care. He wanted to be baptized. My mother wanted baptism, too. So our family joined the Church, and a year and a half later, my father was branch president.”
Nathalie was eight years old when the missionaries came, and she searched to find out for herself if the Church was true. “I was nine years old when I knew it was true. My relatives said, ‘The girls are joining because their parents joined.’ But I said ‘No, I know that it’s true.’ It was my decision to join. I always tell young people that you have to have your own testimony, not the testimony of your friends or family.”
The gospel has meant a lot to the LeGault girls. They contrast their life today with their life when they didn’t have the gospel. “Sometimes when people are born in the Church, they don’t realize what they have because they don’t know what life is like without it,” says Nathalie. “I remember what it was like, and I know that the Spirit of the Lord is in our home now. The gospel has really changed our lives. If it weren’t for the gospel, I wouldn’t be what I am today. The Church is my life. Everything I do I pray about. I feel the Spirit of the Lord guiding me. That’s the key, and it’s wonderful.”
One highlight for the LeGault sisters has been taking trips to the Washington D.C. Temple.
“We try to go to the temple to do baptisms as often as we can,” says Nathalie. “We need it, like food. We’re hungry for it. We go each summer for three days. I think about my family when I go and remember when we were sealed together in the temple eight years ago. I remember the sealing room and my mother looking so beautiful. It was something marvelous, fantastic.
“When I’m baptized for the dead in the temple, I’ve felt very close to the people I’ve been baptized for, and I feel that they’ve accepted the gospel. I know that I’m not just being baptized for a name, but for someone who really exists. Those people want the gospel just like we do.”
Chantal agrees. “The last time I went to do baptisms in the temple, I felt the Spirit so strongly I cried and cried. I felt like I wanted to be in the temple all my life, so I could feel that Spirit all the time.”
The LeGault family makes it a practice to try to live close to the Spirit. Brother LeGault helps set the pace. Shortly after he prayed for help in finding someone to share the gospel with, he was prompted to turn off the main highway to stop at a gas station, even though he didn’t need gas. A young man riding a motorcycle had stopped there because he was tired of traveling, and Brother LeGault offered to put the motorcycle in his van and give the young man a lift to Montreal.
The young man was impressed by the kindness he received and wanted to know more about the LeGault family and what made them so loving. He took the missionary lessons. The LeGault family prayed that the young man would gain a testimony. A few weeks later, he was baptized into the Church.
“When something like that happens, we make it a family activity,” says Chantal. “We all prayed for the young man to listen to the truth. We work together to share the gospel.”
“We try to say to our Heavenly Father, ‘I’ll do what you want. Make me what you want,’” says Nathalie. “When we let him do that, he does wonderful things.”

Illustrated by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
When Wilford Woodruff became the prophet, many Church members did not have enough money. Wilford especially worried about some of the farmers.
President Woodruff: What can the Church do to help the people?
After hearing a report on sugar, President Woodruff felt the Church should begin growing sugar beets. He appointed a committee to learn more.
President Woodruff: The Church needs to know if sugar beets would be a good business.
Committee member: We will find out for you, President.
When the committee decided that growing sugar would not be a good idea, President Woodruff asked a second group to look into it again.
Committee member: This group agrees with the first. We do not think sugar beet manufacturing would be a good business for the Church.
President Woodruff: Never mind this report. I feel inspired to start the sugar beet industry.
Just as the new company began planning to build a factory, Utah began to have serious money trouble. It was not a good time to begin a business.
Committee member: President Woodruff, it is just as we feared. The Utah Sugar Company will never survive!
Committee member: We recommend that you get out of the business while you still can.
President Woodruff would not agree.
President Woodruff: The Lord has inspired me to have us work with sugar beets, and we will. Every time I think of abandoning it, there is darkness; and every time I think of building it, there is light.We will build the factory even if it busts the Church!
As the prophet, President Woodruff always tried to lead the Church through the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. The sugar company eventually helped many struggling farmers.

Some point the accusing finger at the sinner or the unfortunate and in derision say, “He has brought his condition upon himself.” Others exclaim, “Oh, he will never change. He has always been a bad one.” A few see beyond the outward appearance and recognize the true worth of a human soul. When they do, miracles occur. The downtrodden, the discouraged, the helpless become “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (Eph. 2:19.) True love can alter human lives and change human nature.
This truth was stated so beautifully on the stage in My Fair Lady. Eliza Doolittle, the flower girl, spoke to one for whom she cared and who later was to lift her from such mediocre status: “You see, really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way of speaking, and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she’s treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me as a lady, and always will.” (Adapted from Pygmalion, in The Complete Plays of Bernard Shaw, p. 260.)
Eliza Doolittle was but expressing the profound truth: When we treat people merely as they are, they will remain as they are. When we treat them as if they were what they should be, they will become what they should be. (Adapted from a quotation by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.)
In reality, it was the Redeemer who best taught this principle. Jesus changed men. He changed their habits and opinions and ambitions. He changed their tempers, dispositions, and natures. He changed their hearts. He lifted! He loved! He forgave! He redeemed! Do we have the will to follow?
Prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder has related this experience: A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.
To make it easy for them, however, he had written them to put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled west.
As the train neared his home town, the suspense became so great he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle, indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion changed places with him and said he would. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”
Came the reply: “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There must be a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”
In that instant he stood cleansed by Christ.
His friend said, “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle.”
Indeed, he had witnessed a miracle appropriately described by the third verse of a favorite Christmas carol, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
“How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of his heaven.
“No ear may hear his coming; But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still, The dear Christ enters in.”

I recall the day when all the banks closed and remember vividly walking up Main Street of this city and seeing crowds of people blocking the sidewalk and street in front of Zion’s Bank. Anthony W. Ivins, counselor to President Grant, was standing on the steps of the bank. He said to the people, “There’s money here in the bank if you want it. There is no need to cause a run on the bank. There’s money here for your deposits.” And the people started to drift away because Brother Ivins was a symbol of integrity and confidence.

What was I thinking? Me? Run a half-marathon? No way! But there I was for the fourth week in a row, training to run a 13-mile race. Why was I pushing myself so hard to do something I had never been good at? Because I had to prove to myself that I could achieve a personal victory, symbolic of all the spiritual and temporal changes that had taken place in my life.
Before I found the gospel, I had always taken the easy road when it came to making choices. I never pushed myself. I never tried to become a better person, spiritually or physically. But things changed when I received the missionary lessons. Suddenly I was introduced to a whole new world of people striving to better themselves, working hard at self-mastery and education.
I was intrigued. My old friends were interested in parties and fun. My new friends were interested in experiencing joy by overcoming the “natural man”—a concept I didn’t quite understand. But I was awed by my new friends’ lifestyle. They worked hard in school, dressed modestly, didn’t drink or smoke, and they read scriptures every night!
At first I didn’t understand why they chose this righteous pattern of living. “Why would anyone want such a boring life?” I thought. I didn’t understand how regular scripture study and prayer could be better than watching a good movie.
Then I learned the meaning of the “natural man” when an institute teacher explained the concept in detail. From the scriptures he read, “The natural man is an enemy to God … and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord” (Mosiah 3:19).
True happiness, my teacher explained, comes only when our spirits learn to control our bodies, training them to be governed by the laws of God. When we live by the natural man’s principles, which is to do only what is easy and fun, we may feel good for the moment, but we will never find lasting peace or joy.
The words of my teacher struck me, and I decided that I should experiment. I would start working hard at being more like Christ would have me be. I would join in the marathon of righteous living, training daily by reading the scriptures and praying. Then I would decide if doing so could really bring me lasting happiness.
I began to read the scriptures. At first it was painfully boring. I didn’t understand a thing I read. But the institute teacher had planted a seed of faith in me, so I kept reading. And then, little by little, I started to understand the scriptures. Not only did I understand, but I also felt a real, lasting joy—different from the temporary joy I experienced when I watched a movie or bought a new sweater. In training for this marathon of righteous living, I realized how badly I needed to drink the “living waters,” which represent the Atonement of Christ. I found answers to my deepest problems and anxieties.
The institute teacher was right. Now that I have tasted of the true joy that comes from living the laws of God, I will never be satisfied with the easy life and fleeting, feel-good moments. I no longer see myself as living in a body that is a slave to its desires. Instead, I see myself as a spirit daughter of Heavenly Father, able to make the right choices. I’ll always remember that there is a bigger marathon to run in life. I know if I endure to the end, having faith in Christ and keeping His commandments, I can attain the prize—eternal joy.

Many years ago, when I was a young boy during the decade of the 1960s, I would attend church with my family each Sunday. At that time, we would attend Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the late afternoon. I remember attending junior Sunday School and sitting in the Primary room with other children as we sang Primary songs such as, “Jesus Once Was a Little Child,” “When He Comes Again,” and “I Am a Child of God.” One particular Sunday morning, as I sang with the other children, I felt a warmth fill my heart. It went from my heart to my chest, and then it filled my whole body. It was a warmth that brought peace to my soul. In that moment, I felt my first experience with the Holy Ghost witnessing to me that God the Father lived, and that He knew me. It was a simple experience, but it was sweet to me and one that I remember vividly over fifty years later.

When our children were young, we moved into a small house with a beautiful yard. On either side of the front door were two empty flowerbeds, and though my gardening experience was limited, I was excited to plant flowers there. I bought a gardening book and ordered plant and seed catalogs and studied them carefully.
Over the next few months I planned my garden, prepared the soil, and planted more than 200 bulbs. I knew it would be a few more months before I would see any results, but still I checked the garden often for growth. In early spring my flowers started to bloom, beginning with tiny purple irises and then daffodils. By the middle of spring my flower boxes were filled with a splendid display of tulips. I loved my garden, and I often sat on the front steps just to look at the flowers.
One afternoon our four-year-old daughter, Emily, had a friend over to play. Just before her friend’s mother came to pick her up, the girls struggled in through the kitchen door, their arms filled with heaps of tulips. “Look what we’ve brought you,” they said happily. They had picked nearly every bloom.
Tulips bloom only once a year. I was heartbroken—all that work, all that waiting. We filled my vases with flowers and sent the rest home with Emily’s friend. Later, as I complained to my mother about the disaster, she said, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re raising children and not flowers.”
I realized that I needed to change my perspective. I remembered the Primary song I had sung with my girls about gathering flowers:
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
O mother, I give you my love with each flower.1
I saw the ruin of my garden, but two four-year-old girls saw a gesture of love.
Planting a flower garden had required patience, and stepping back and looking at this incident through my child’s eyes required even more patience. But learning patience as a mother draws me closer to the Lord.

Joseph must have recalled some of the dangers through which he had passed—like the winter night when a mob broke into his home and with curses and profanity tore him from the bedside of his wife and sick children and carried him outside, strangling him until he was unconscious. When he regained consciousness, they stripped him of his clothing and covered his naked body from head to foot with a coat of tar and feathers, forcing open his mouth to fill it with the same substance, then left him on the frozen ground to die of cold and exposure.

Riding to Carthage, he might have recalled the time in Missouri when he and some of his brethren had been betrayed into the hands of their enemies. The leader of the mob convened a court; Joseph and his associates were placed on trial for their lives. They were convicted and all sentenced to be shot the next morning at eight o’clock in the public square in Far West. A dispute among the mob saved them.

They were taken from place to place and exhibited to jeering crowds, while the Saints were told they would never see their leaders again. But Joseph cheered his fellow prisoners by announcing that none of them would suffer death.

“Be of good cheer, brethren,” he said; “the word of the Lord came to me last night that our lives should be given us. … Not one of our lives should be taken” (quoted in Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, 164; emphasis in original).

As Joseph contemplated those dreary months of imprisonment in Missouri, he must have recalled the night when, confined in a dungeon, he rebuked the guards. He and his brethren were trying to get a little sleep but were kept awake by the awful blasphemies and obscene jests of their jailers, who were recounting the dreadful deeds of robbery and murder they had committed among the Mormons. These were no idle boasts, for these awful atrocities had actually been committed. Suddenly, Joseph rose to his feet and, in a voice that seemed to shake the very building, cried out: “SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit! In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and bear such language. Cease such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!” (quoted in Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, 180; emphasis in original).

The effect must have been electric in its suddenness. Some begged his pardon, while others slunk into the dark corners of the jail to hide their shame.

The power of Jesus Christ, whose name he had invoked in his rebuke, was upon him. His hands and feet were in chains, but these the guards did not see. They saw only the righteous anger in his shining face and felt the divine power in his voice as he rebuked them.

But if Joseph’s voice was terrible as the roaring lion in his rebuke of the wicked, it was soothing as a mother’s voice in comfort to the righteous. In that same name and by the same authority with which he silenced the blasphemies of the guards, he had blessed little children, baptized repentant sinners, conferred the Holy Ghost, healed the sick, and spoken words of comfort and consolation to thousands.

It was midnight when the journey from Nauvoo ended. Joseph and his brethren entered Carthage, and his fate was sealed. His enemies had awaited their coming with great anxiety. The governor, who was present, persuaded the mob to disperse that night by promising them that they should have full satisfaction.

The next day, after a hearing, Joseph was released on bail but rearrested on a trumped-up charge of treason. Bail was refused, and Joseph and Hyrum were placed in Carthage Jail.

The last night of Joseph’s life on earth he bore a powerful testimony to the guards and others who assembled at the door of the jail of the divinity of the Book of Mormon, also declaring that the gospel had been restored and the kingdom of God established on the earth. It was for this reason that he was incarcerated in prison, not for violating any law of God or man.

It was late at night when the prisoners tried to get some rest. At first Joseph and Hyrum occupied the only bed in the jail room, but a gunshot during the night and a disturbance led Joseph’s friends to insist that he take a place between the two of them on the floor. They would protect him with their own bodies. Joseph asked John S. Fullmer to use his arm for a pillow while they conversed; then he turned to Dan Jones, on the other side, and whispered, “Are you afraid to die?” And this staunch friend answered, “Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.”

Joseph replied, “You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die” (History of the Church, 6:601).

The next day, the fateful 27th of June 1844, all but two of Joseph’s friends were made to leave the prison, so that now only four brethren remained—Joseph and Hyrum and two of the Apostles, both of whom during the day offered to die for him. The day was spent in writing letters to their wives, conversing on principles of the gospel, and singing. Between three and four o’clock in the afternoon the Prophet requested Elder John Taylor to sing the words of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.”

This comforting song breathes in every line the very spirit and message of Christ. Only a person who loved his Savior and his fellowmen would have requested to hear these words at such a time.

When Elder Taylor had finished the song, the Prophet’s eyes were wet with tears, and he said, “Sing that song again, will you, John?” (quoted in Claire Noall, Intimate Disciple: A Portrait of Willard Richards, Apostle to Joseph Smith—Cousin of Brigham Young [1957], 440).

John “replied that he did not feel like singing. He was oppressed with a sense of coming disaster” (George Q. Cannon, Life of Joseph Smith the Prophet [1986], 524).

“You’ll feel better once you begin, and so will I,” replied Joseph (quoted in Noall, Intimate Disciple, 440).

Hyrum also pleaded with him to repeat the song. And Elder Taylor did.

This time his voice was even sadder and more tender than at first, and when he concluded, all were hushed, but four hearts beat faster, for they had carefully listened to the fateful words:

My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die.
The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill,
But my free spirit cried, “I will!”
(Hymns, number 29)

The other three heard Joseph murmur as an echo to the song, “I will!”

The love of Christ was in the song; the love of man was there in that room in the Carthage Jail.

While this spirit of love and service for men expressed in song and prayer filled the hearts of all within the jail, the mob was gathering. The final details you know.

When the news of the awful crime reached Nauvoo, the citizens were overcome with grief and horror. Such sorrow had not been known in Nauvoo before. The warm summer sun left them cold and chill. Their prophet and their patriarch were dead. What else mattered?

When the wagons carrying the bodies were still a long way off, the entire population of Nauvoo went out to meet them. No greater tribute could be paid than was paid that day to Joseph and Hyrum Smith. Such universal love from those who knew them best could never have been won by selfish and designing men. Only love begets love. Once when Joseph had been asked how he had acquired so many followers and retained them, he replied, “It is because I possess the principle of love. All I can offer the world is a good heart and a good hand” (History of the Church, 5:498).

Sariah Workman, an early immigrant, wrote, “I always felt a divine influence whenever I was in his presence” (in “Joseph Smith, the Prophet,” Young Woman’s Journal, December 1906, 542).

John Taylor, who was wounded at Carthage and later became prophet, said of him: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it. In the short space of twenty years, he has brought forth the Book of Mormon, which he translated by the gift and power of God, and has been the means of publishing it on two continents; has sent the fulness of the everlasting gospel, which it contained, to the four quarters of the earth; has brought forth the revelations and commandments which compose this book of Doctrine and Covenants, and many other wise documents and instructions for the benefit of the children of men; gathered many thousands of the Latter-day Saints, founded a great city, and left a fame and name that cannot be slain. He lived great, and he died great in the eyes of God and his people; and like most of the Lord’s anointed in ancient times, has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood” (D&C 135:3).

Gary and I met at the corner of Walnut and Grove. There was nothing to do, so we just nodded at each other and kept walking along Walnut. At Ace’s Bike Shop a really neat racing bike was parked out front. I swung my leg over the seat and wiggled the handle bars back and forth a couple times.
Mr. Smith came outside. “Nice bike, Skip—it’s on sale this month too.”
I hopped off. “We’re just looking.”
Gary and I started walking away.
“Stop back any time,” Mr. Smith called. “Ask for me.”
I waved. “OK.”
At Wallace’s Used Books, we rummaged through the racks for a while, then went back outside.
“Which way?” Gary asked.
I nodded toward the alley. “Let’s go that way. It should take us to the park.”
Gary shrugged, and we walked along Reed Alley and watched the little kids playing. When we got to Nelson Street, I realized we’d taken the wrong alley to get to the park, so we sat on the low concrete wall that surrounds the fire station parking lot and watched firefighters wash their truck.
“Some summer this is going to be!” Gary said with a sigh. “This is boring, Skip! Plus, it’s hot!”
I frowned. “At least we’re not sitting in a classroom, so quit complaining!” I swung my legs back and forth, but inside I had to admit that Gary was right. It was boring. Then I saw an elderly woman across the street a half a block away from where we sat. Her front yard was tiny, but she must have had a hundred rose bushes. In front of her yard was a low stone wall that separated her yard from the sidewalk. The yard was so small and tight that she could barely turn around—at least with a lawn mower, and that’s what she was trying to do. Her lawn mower had to be one of the first ones ever made, and she looked like a good breeze would blow her away. She needed help!
“Let’s go give her a hand,” I suggested.
Gary frowned. “Who?” Then he saw her. “She’ll just tell us to mind our own business,” he muttered.
I shook my head and stood. “Naw. We’ll just tell her we want to help.” I started toward her. She struggled on. First she’d push the lawn mower six inches ahead, then drag it back and push again.
“What if we scare her and she has a heart attack?” Gary asked. “A lot of old people don’t like to be bothered. What if she thinks we want to rob her?”
I chuckled. “Get serious! Do we look like the criminal type?”
As we neared, she must have thought we did, because she eyed us suspiciously. When I stopped at her front steps, she looked really scared. I gave her my friendliest smile. “Want some help?” I offered.
She stared at me as if I had just dropped in from another planet. “I can manage,” she replied in a timid voice.
“Honestly,” I said as I touched the handle of the mower. “My buddy and I don’t have anything to do, and we need the exercise.”
She looked at me doubtfully but stepped aside. I mowed forward toward a rose trellis, then wriggled the mower to one side and took a long swipe at the yard. After I’d made about ten passes around the bushes and stopped just short of the stone wall, Gary pushed me aside.
“Here,” he grumbled, “I’ll cut some too.”
I wiped my sleeve across my face and stepped back. The old woman was still watching, still suspicious.
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
“I live on Duff Road,” I replied. “I’m Skip Geer. My buddy’s name is Gary Staley. He lives on Colfax.”
“Do you know the Markhams?” she asked hopefully. “They live on Duff.”
I shook my head. “No, but the Barnharts are my neighbors.” I blew upward at my face. “This is hot work,” I added.
“My nephew usually cuts it,” she said. “But he’s away this month, and I can’t afford to pay anyone to do it.”
I shrugged. “We don’t expect to be paid.”
“Can I give you some lemonade?”
I nodded. “Thanks. That’d be good.”
When she came back outside with a tray, Gary was still cutting, but she motioned to him to come and join me for lemonade. While we drank it, she stood near her front door, like she was still on guard.
“I don’t own much,” she said. “And I’m not in good health. My nephew wants me to get an operation the doctor says I should have, but I won’t do it. Once you get to be my age and they put you into a hospital, you end up in a nursing home or something! They won’t get me to give up my home,” she insisted. “Edmond, my husband, and I came here seventy-two years ago. He’s gone now, but as long as I can, I’m holding on to my home!”
Boy! I thought, She must be ninety, atleast! I finished my lemonade. Gary was still huffing, so I went back to the mower. By the time we pulled all the weeds from around the bushes, the woman was sitting on her front steps. She seemed more relaxed.
“I’ll get a trash bag,” she called as she struggled to her feet.
“Let’s pull the tall grass away from the front of her wall, too,” I suggested.
Gary frowned, but gave me a hand. When we were finally done, the woman acted like she wanted to keep talking, so we drank some more lemonade.
“All these houses weren’t here then,” she said, almost to herself. “Our yard went clear out to the middle of the road. Then they came along and paved the street. That’s when we had the wall and sidewalk put in.”
Gary and I listened. Sometimes we smiled or nodded. Finally she slowed down, and I could see her eyes beginning to droop in the heat, so I stood. “Where does the lawn mower go?” I asked.
“It goes in a little shed in back,” she replied. “But I’ll take care of that.”
“That’s OK,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
Finally Gary and I stood on the sidewalk, ready to leave.
“Here, boys,” she said as she dug a pair of scissors out of the pocket of her dress. “You’ve helped to make my day, and I want to give you each a rose.”
Gary and I walked away holding our roses. I knew Mom would like mine for the middle of the table. At the corner we looked back and waved.
“I’m glad we came up the wrong alley,” Gary said. “But I told you she’d think we were going to rob her. Did you see those scissors? She was ready to fight us off.”
I chuckled. “Maybe. It’s gotta be hard to get old. But she isn’t giving up! She’s going to hang on to her house. Good for her! Besides, I think we did come up the right alley, after all—she said we made her day.”
“But cutting her grass won’t help her keep her house,” Gary argued.
“I know, but like she said, it helped her get through today. And who knows, maybe that’s all the help any of us needs.”

In November 2001 my younger sister was diagnosed with a serious form of cancer. She was 45 years old and the mother of four sons, one serving a mission in Portugal. Immediately, her ward and stake in Arizona, as well as her family, began to fast and pray in her behalf. But before the end of May, the cancer had won the battle, and she fell into a coma. After we received priesthood blessings and prayed fervently, we decided to remove her from life support. The doctors assured us that her passing would be quick. But eight days later her status had remained the same, making each day long and grievous.
The previous few months had been a time of reflection for our family. We loved my sister, and although we understood the plan of salvation, it was difficult at times to have faith in the Lord that all would be well. Somehow we felt that if we had enough faith, my sister would be cured. So we questioned the power of that faith. We knew that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers, but we were devastated by His answer and unable to feel at peace.
Our stake conference in Utah was scheduled for June 2, with a visit from an Area Seventy. Because of the number of members in the stake, stake conference was divided into two sessions. Our three sons who were attending a singles ward in the stake were assigned to the morning session. The rest of the family was to attend the afternoon session. My husband and I decided that attending the morning session as a family would be best. Shortly after we made that decision, however, my husband and I were invited to offer the prayers for the afternoon session. So we changed our plans.
During the Saturday evening session of conference, we noted a change. Elder L. Whitney Clayton of the Seventy had been assigned to our conference at the last minute, replacing the Area Seventy.
On Sunday afternoon Elder Clayton began by saying he felt impressed to completely change his talk. The Spirit told him he needed to speak to a family present that day. I immediately sensed that he would be speaking to our family. He told of a stake president whose wife was diagnosed with cancer. After much prayer and fasting by family members, friends, and members of her stake, she had fully recovered.
Elder Clayton then talked about another stake president, one whose wife had died of cancer during his service as stake president. She left several small children in his care. Many people had also fasted and prayed for her recovery. This story was particularly touching to Elder Clayton because this woman was his wife’s only sister.
Elder Clayton went on to explain that no matter how much faith is exercised at times like these, sometimes the answer is no. Then he read what has become one of our family’s favorite scriptures, Daniel 3:17–18:
“If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.
“But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up” (emphasis added).
Elder Clayton did not speak of any doctrine that was new to us that afternoon. But a miracle happened that left us in awe. The Lord made sure we would be in attendance during the afternoon session by inspiring someone to ask us to pray. He also arranged for one of His servants, one who had had an experience similar to ours, to speak to us. And finally, He gave us someone wise and obedient who had lived his life in such a way that he could hear the Spirit and respond accordingly. Our spirits were touched in indescribable ways by that experience.
The next day we received the call telling us my sister had passed away. Although we were saddened, a sweet spirit of comfort was in our home as we prayed for her family—this time with full confidence that the Lord’s will had been done—and thanked Him for His precious answer to our prayers.

“Are these all yours?”
It’s a question I hear often, so it didn’t surprise me when I heard it from the lady behind me in line at the grocery store. I looked at my six-year-old and five-year-old daughters standing on either side of my full cart, my toddler happily swinging her legs from the seat in front, and my four-month-old baby strapped to my chest.
“Yes, they are all mine,” I said, smiling.
From the time my husband and I started our family, our choices about how many children to have and when to have them have often come into public question. The decision to have our first child was not a logical one, at least not according to the standards of the world. We were still in our early 20s. Having just recently graduated from college, my husband was searching for a “real job.” We had a meager income and no insurance. Still, the impression was undeniable that spirits eagerly waited to come to our family, so we proceeded with faith.
We were blessed with a healthy pregnancy, a beautiful baby girl, and a stable job with a career track. I was grateful to be able to stay at home with my daughter and the three children who followed. All were brought into our family after strong divine impressions that the time was right, but that didn’t make it easy to explain to others why we would have so many children so close together.
The many inquiries I unfailingly receive often question my judgment: “Why so many?” “Do you not realize how much it costs to raise a child to age 18?” “Can you really give each child the attention and opportunity he or she needs?” And, of course, “Are you done yet?”
I hope we’re not done, even though the years of parenting small children are intense and extremely challenging physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. There are days when children need to be fed, diapers need to be changed, babies need to be soothed, and noses need to be wiped—all at the same time. At such times I question my sanity and wonder if I know what I am doing. On those days the voice of the world seems to laugh in derision, as if to say, “Told you so!”
But how grateful I am during those moments for the teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the value it places on families. Every day I rely on gospel principles taught by prophets past and present to know that my work as a mother—and it is work—is the most important thing I could be doing in my life and is worth every effort. In answer to fervent prayer, I receive divine assistance daily to do what I am asked to do in my home. Through His tender mercies, a loving Father in Heaven allows those days of absolute exhaustion to come punctuated with moments of incandescent joy.
So to the woman at the grocery store and to others who wonder why I would devote my heart and soul to raising children, I proudly reply, “Yes, they are all mine—gratefully, whole-heartedly, and without hesitation!”

Harlow Ward members in the St Albans Stake enjoyed a wonderful morning of outdoor service at a meadow nature reserve in Harlow town in October. Members of all ages, including teenagers and full-time missionaries, helped to rake, clear and dispose of grass cuttings. Their work allowed for the growth of a wild-flower meadow in the spring, which will add to the beauty of the area and improve its ecology.
Ward community outreach specialist, Edith Cells, who organised the activity, was delighted to receive feedback from Volunteer Conservation Coordinator, Andrew Tomlins, who said; “Your efforts have made it possible to mow almost the entire meadow – it is looking a lot more like it should at this time of year. If it was just our small group we would have done only a fraction of what was achieved.”
Andrew hopes the Church members will return in the spring to do more work. This is the second time the Harlow Ward has worked with Andrew on local conservation projects, and the members and missionaries are becoming known to Harlow Council’s parks department as a force for good in the town.