Gospel Story Finder

Fourteen days ago, I looked down on the Salt Lake Valley from the window of an airplane as it circled around to the international airport. I could pick out familiar spots on the ground: my old high school, my grandma’s neighborhood, a park my family had gone to once or twice. A wave of nostalgia hit me like I’d never felt before, and even the sight of Redwood Road almost brought tears to my eyes. Seeing the Jordan River Temple actually did. At 8:00 that evening, my plane touched down and I stepped onto home soil for the first time in two years.
Like all homecomings, mine was bittersweet. I spent two years as a missionary for the Church in the Scotland/Ireland Mission, speaking Mandarin Chinese. The call was unique, and not a day went by that wasn’t similarly special. My mission took me to soaring heights, but also to lows I never thought I’d experience. It filled my life with a wide range of color and emotion I hadn’t thought possible, things I figured were exclusive for other people, but not for me. It felt like I’d spent my whole life playing a video game, and suddenly I’d been dropped straight into it for real.
The day I arrived in the mission field, I found a question staring me in the face everywhere I looked: Why did you come? Companions, the mission president, and ward members all asked us why we came on a mission. I had a good, general response to it. But, for whatever reason, maybe because I repeated it so much, those words began to sound hollow. So, I began to question, and one day, not too long into my mission, I woke up with the scary realization that I honestly had no idea why I had come.
Serving a mission had always been in my future. It was something I’d planned on and even enthusiastically looked forward to for my entire life. And yet somehow I didn’t understand fully what a mission would entail. I’d have to talk to people? Teach them? Why did something so basic come as such a shock to me? Was I really prepared for this? How did I get here? Why had I come?
It wasn’t until a few months later I was posed a different question, which put everything into perspective.
“Why do you stay?”
That was a more immediate question, so it required a more immediate answer. Rather than looking deep into the past for a reason I wasn’t sure was there, I could look at myself in the here and now and decide. Why did I stay today? Why would I stay tomorrow? Well, for one thing, I couldn’t well give up on something I’d just started. The work was anything but comfortable, but I didn’t feel so out of place as I sometimes had back home. I knew I was accomplishing something, even if I wasn’t sure what it was. But there was something more than that. As I pondered, I realized that throughout all of the ups and downs and lefts and rights, the highs and lows and every shade of color you can imagine, there was one thing underpinning it all. It was the grace of Jesus Christ.
Grace lifts us, fills us, and makes us more than anything we could ever be. It is the love of Jesus Christ taking effect in our lives, and it is always available to us. It is the way spoken of by Nephi when he said, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
That is why Christ promises us, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me” (John 14:6).
Without Christ, we would be left to ourselves, but with Him, we will far exceed what we think is our vast potential. Growth is never easy nor smooth, but even on the nausea-inducing roller-coaster called life, I found the sweet symphony of grace consecrating all of those experiences, the good and the bad, so even amidst the uncertainty I could say I enjoyed the ride.
That is why I went on my mission, and why I stayed; nothing else has taught me so much of the Savior and allowed me so much unfettered access to His divine power and love. Christ is real. He lives, He loves each of us, and He is with us in ways we cannot even imagine. Trust in Him, hold fast to His teachings, live by His words, and even in the darkest of night, life will carry a special glimmer that you cannot find anywhere else. That is so necessary in missionary life, but oh so much more vital in our daily lives.
“Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock, they cannot prevail.” (Doctrine and Covenants 6:34).

“This is going to be the most boring family home evening ever!” groaned Jeremy, slumping in his chair as he pushed his carrots into his potatoes. “Couldn’t we just stay home and make Easter treats? What kind of Easter celebration is this?”
“We’ve already discussed this,” said Dad firmly. “Too many Easters have come and gone with very little thought about its real meaning. It’s time our family made a change. Tonight’s service project is the sort of thing the Savior was doing the last week of his life—helping others.”
“But why her?” moaned Jeremy.
“That’s enough,” said Mom. “Finish your dinner. We don’t have a lot of time before the sun goes down.”
Sullenly Jeremy sat up and started in on the cold potatoes. It wasn’t that he had anything against their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Adams. And it was obvious that an eighty-year-old widow needed help. But why couldn’t they do something for someone like Sister White? Every time anybody did anything for her, she treated them with delicious homemade cookies.
Or what about the Spencers? Jeremy’s Primary class had helped them move in. The very next Sunday Sister Spencer had even cried as she bore her testimony about “those wonderful Blazer boys.”
And the time Jeremy’s Cub Scout den had cleaned up the playground at the park hadn’t been too bad, either. The mayor himself had written them a thank-you note and sent them each a coupon for an ice cream cone.
But it was going to be different with Mrs. Adams. She hardly did any cooking—people brought most of her meals in to her. She didn’t go out in public enough to tell anybody else how wonderful Jeremy’s family was. And she certainly didn’t have enough money to treat everyone to ice cream. Besides that, she was hard of hearing. She would probably sit in her house watching TV and never even notice that they were working in her yard.
Cleaning Mrs. Adams’s yard was about as hard as Jeremy had imagined. It took his whole family nearly two hours to rake up the dead leaves and grass and prune the bushes on the side of her house. It was nearly dark when they finished. And he had been right about Mrs. Adams and the TV. She had it turned up so loud that they could hear it outside. She never knew what was going on only a few feet away, right outside her door. Even so, Jeremy started to smile when he thought about how surprised she would be.
Jeremy’s oldest sister, Kim, was helping him tie up the last bag of dead leaves. “I know how you feel about tonight. I had to cancel plans with my friends!”
Jeremy didn’t know what to say. Kim was in high school and was so busy that he hadn’t really talked to her for a while.
“But this morning in seminary,” Kim went on, “Sister Hansen reminded us that no one has ever done more for other people on this earth than Jesus. When he prayed in Gethsemane and when he died on the cross, nobody said thank you. Anyway, I started thinking that maybe it would be a good way to celebrate Easter, to do something hard without getting thanked.” She smiled. “You’re quite a worker, you know that? And I happen to know that Mom made brownies for us, so cheer up.” She picked up the bag and carried it out to the curb.
But it wasn’t the brownies that Jeremy was thinking about as he watched her go. He was thinking about how strangely peaceful he felt. The last dark pink of the sunset was just fading, and he could barely see the rest of his family as they gathered up the rakes, pruning shears, and other things and headed home. But he knew that his family were there, and he knew that he loved them. He could see Mrs. Adams through her living room window as she stood up with her cane to go into the kitchen. And while Jeremy didn’t understand all of those feelings he was having, he knew for sure that Easter time was never going to be the same again.

When I was a boy, my maternal grandfather had a large cherry orchard. I had the opportunity to work in the orchard, mostly in the summer during the harvest of the cherries. As a very young boy, I found that the extent of my involvement was being handed a bucket and then sent up a tree to pick the cherries.

The harvesting of cherries changed significantly when my grandfather purchased a machine called a cherry shaker. This machine grabs the trunk of the tree and shakes it, causing the cherries to fall out of the tree onto nets that are used to collect the cherries. I noticed that when the shaker would begin to shake the tree, almost all the cherries fell out of the tree within seconds. I also noticed that it didn’t matter if the tree was shaken for 10 seconds or a full minute, some cherries would not fall. They were truly unshakable.

One day I was playing with two friends. One of them was not a member of the Church. He kept saying the Lord’s name in vain. It made me uncomfortable, but I was afraid to tell him to stop. I thought he might just laugh at me. But I kept having a bad feeling, and finally my friend and I told him we couldn’t play with him if he said that word. He promised that he would try not to say it around us.Tanner Peterson, age 11

One of the strongest recollections I have of being a missionary is how close I drew to the Lord through the practice of regular prayer. In my day the Mission Home was located on State Street in Salt Lake City. It was a large house that had been converted to a mission training center. It had large dormitory rooms with perhaps as many as 10 beds in a room. We checked in on Sunday night.
The week before I entered the mission field was an exciting time. There were a lot of parties and farewells. I am afraid that I was not properly rested and prepared for the training I was to receive at the Mission Home. As the evening of our first day in the Mission Home came to a close, I was weary. While waiting for the other missionaries to prepare themselves for bed, I stretched out on my bed and promptly fell asleep. My sleep, however, was interrupted by a feeling that I was surrounded. As the fog of sleep lifted, I heard the words of a prayer being said. I opened my eyes, and much to my surprise I found all the elders in my dormitory room kneeling around my bed, concluding the day with a prayer. I quickly closed my eyes and acted as if I was asleep. I was too embarrassed to get out of bed and join them. Even though my first experience with prayer as a missionary was an embarrassing one, it was the beginning of two wonderful years of frequently calling upon the Lord for guidance.

We weren’t quite sure what to expect when the bishop of our ward in northern Utah, USA, encouraged the youth to attend the largest family history conference in the world—RootsTech, held in Salt Lake City. We followed his counsel, and a group of 30 people from our ward spent the day attending this amazing experience.
We listened to President Russell M. Nelson’s admonition to “do something to actually experience the joy [of family history and temple work] for ourselves.”1 We realized that the dates assigned to our ward by the Brigham City Temple for our youth baptism night and the ward temple night were only two days apart and we decided to follow President Nelson’s counsel.
One month later we held a name-gathering night, a combined Mutual activity for all of the youth and anyone else in the ward who wanted to participate. Everyone brought smart phones, tablets, or computers, and we hooked up to a printer so that we could print out temple-ready names right on the spot.
With the motivation of helping our ancestors (along with a pizza party), we helped each other until we found at least one family name in need of a temple ordinance. “I gained a testimony from the night I looked for names,” said Bryton W., 16. “I was struggling to find even one, but a leader kept pushing me, and I finally succeeded. It made me feel better knowing that I helped someone.”
We learned, worked, acted, taught, and shared. Finding family names to take to the temple touched us and bonded us together.
The following week, we took these names to the temple for our ward’s temple week. The youth did the needed baptisms and confirmations on Wednesday night, and the adults in our ward took it from there, culminating in sealings on Saturday. “It was my first time going to the temple,” said Tili W., 12. “I felt good knowing I was doing temple work for my ancestors. I want to continue doing this work, because I get a good feeling, almost like when I was baptized.”
Because of this experience, our ward has a new standard for participating in family history and temple work, and we are excited to continue finding names and taking them to the temple together.

One day I was talking to an LDS young woman I knew, and I asked her about her plans for the weekend. She really surprised me when she said, “I’m going to be speaking at my church on Sunday, so I’ll spend some of the weekend preparing my talk.”
You can’t imagine how surprised I was that a 15-year-old could speak at church! I only attended church twice a year, and members of our congregation were never asked to participate. I learned from my friend that no one had given her a script; she would be writing down her own thoughts, and then she would practice delivering them.
To me, nothing could be more frightening than speaking in public, but my friend didn’t seem nervous. It was part of that quiet confidence that the Mormons radiated. In fact, when I was chosen to speak at high-school graduation a year later, I really longed for some of that “Mormon confidence.” Little did I know that over 40 years later, I would be speaking at general conference!
I was so impressed with my member friends that when high school ended, I thought to myself: “Someday I want to find out more about the Mormon faith.”
As I attended college and then medical school, I was continually drawn to Latter-day Saints. I watched them closely, and they rarely disappointed me. Finally, after several years, I decided that I was going to learn for myself what made them so different. I went to the public library and checked out every book I could find about the Mormons.
I found a copy of the Book of Mormon and began to read it. As soon as I read just a few chapters, I had the feeling that this was something special. After about six months of reading and studying, I realized that I needed to make some changes in my life. A voice inside me whispered that real faith requires action. If I wanted to experience what my LDS friends had, I knew I would have to act.
So I decided to be baptized. As soon as I made the decision, I felt the assurance of the Spirit. It was the best decision I ever made!
After I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I finally understood the source of that “Mormon confidence.” It comes from the companionship of the Holy Ghost.
As I watched my LDS friends in high school, I noticed how they took an interest in other people. They were always kind and helpful. Now I realize that their interest in others was inspired by the Holy Ghost.
My friends were not aware of the impact their example had on me. They were very surprised to hear that I joined the Church five years after our high-school graduation.
Because of my own experience, I want to encourage you, the youth of the Church, to be aware that you are being watched. Others are making mental notes and storing them away. So be an example of the believers—in word, in thought, and in action (see 1 Timothy 4:12). You never know the impact you may have.

In more recent times, Joseph Smith was coming of age in a time of religious revival. He wanted to find God’s word and join his Church. He read the Bible, listened to sermons, talked with family and others. And yet despite all that, he found no answer to his question of which church to join. Joseph recalls:

"In the midst of this war of words and tumult of opinions, I often said to myself: What is to be done? Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together? If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?" (Joseph Smith History 1: 10)

He found a partial answer reading the Bible:

"... I was one day reading the Epistle of James, first chapter and fifth verse, which reads: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.
Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it, again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did; for how to act I did not know, and unless I could get more wisdom than I then had, I would never know…"(Joseph Smith - History 1: 11-12)

Joseph acted on the small answer he received. He went in faith and asked God. In response, God the Father and Jesus Christ appeared to him. He asked them his question, and the answer was not one he expected: He must join none of them. Joseph’s journey of not knowing was concluded in the most wondrous way possible: knowledge gained directly from God. He used the phrase afterwards, “I have learned for myself…” His faith had been rewarded and his lack of knowledge was corrected.

In January 1962, when I was six years old, missionaries arrived at my father’s jewelry store looking to replace a tie clip one of them had lost. While there, they heard someone playing the guitar. When they asked about it, my father invited them to come in and meet his friend.
During their conversation, my father and his friend asked the missionaries if they played guitar. One elder said he played a little. My father’s friend passed his guitar to him and asked him to play. He began to play some songs while his companion sang.
The missionaries’ simple search for a tie clip led to my family’s introduction to the gospel of Jesus Christ. We became good friends with the missionaries and began listening to the lessons. The gospel seed was planted, and it began to grow, first in my mother, Elsa, and my sisters, Ana and Stella, and then in me.
Since that day, a love for missionary work has grown in my family. I served a mission, my sons have served missions, and now our grandchildren are beginning to prepare for and serve missions, creating a third generation of missionaries.

Joseph F. Smith was called to serve a mission to Hawaii in 1854 when he was 15 years old. Although young, he had already lived a lifetime of experiences. The last time he saw his father Hyrum and his uncle, the Prophet Joseph, was as they were riding on horseback out of Nauvoo when he was a five year old. He led a wagon team to Salt Lake at seven with his mother and sister. His mother passed away when he was 13 of an illness, leaving Joseph and his sister orphans. He was watched over by Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball. And then at 15 he left school after stopping his teacher from whipping his sister. President Young felt it was time for a special experience for Joseph and he was sent as a missionary to Hawaii. He served three missions: Hawaii, England and he later returned to Hawaii. When the Church’s storehouse burned down in 1856 he lost his clothing, family photographs, personal papers, and copies of the scriptures that had belonged to his father Hyrum.

After his first mission he returned to Utah by way of Los Angeles. That year Johnston’s Army was on the move for Utah, and there was much excitement and bitterness concerning the “Mormons.” Just after the little train of wagons had traveled only a short distance and made their camp, several anti-mormon toughs rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening what they would do to the “Mormons.” Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire, but he saw that the few members of his own party had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. When he saw that, the thought came into his mind, “Shall I run from these fellows? Why should I fear them?” With that he marched up with his arm full of wood to the campfire where one of the ruffians, still with his pistol in his hand, shouting and cursing about the “Mormons,” in a loud voice said to Joseph F., “Are you a Mormon?” And the answer came straight, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.” At that, the ruffian grasped him by the hand and said, “Well you are the (blanket-blank) pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow. I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions” (Gospel Doctrine 518). Joseph F. had learned how to lead.

Not long ago, my wife and I decided that we should more fully experience the beauty of an area close to our home in northwest Montana. We determined to take our bicycles to the Hiawatha Trail, a converted rail line that crosses the beautiful Rocky Mountains between Montana and Idaho. We anticipated a fun day with good friends, enjoying the natural beauty of the area.
We knew our ride along the magnificent 15-mile (24 km) trail would include trestles stretching over deep canyons and long tunnels penetrating rugged mountains. So we prepared ourselves with lights strapped to our helmets and bicycles.
Those who had gone before warned us that the tunnels were dark and that we needed really strong lights. As we gathered in front of the massive stone opening of the Taft Tunnel, a caretaker explained some of the dangers of the trail, including deep ditches along the edges, rough walls, and complete darkness. Impatiently, we pushed forward into the tunnel. After we had ridden only a few minutes, the predicted darkness engulfed us. The lights I brought proved inadequate, and the darkness soon overwhelmed them. Suddenly, I began to feel anxious, confused, and disoriented.
I was embarrassed to admit my anxieties to my friends and family. Although an experienced cyclist, I now felt as though I had never ridden a bicycle. I struggled to stay upright as my confusion increased. Finally, after I did express my discomfort to those around me, I was able to draw closer to the more powerful light of a friend. In fact, everyone in the group began to form a tight circle around him. By staying close to him and relying for a time on his light and the collective light of the group, we pushed deeper into the darkness of the tunnel.
After what seemed like hours, I saw a pinpoint of light. Almost immediately, I began to feel reassured that all would be well. I continued to press forward, relying on both the light of my friends and the growing pinpoint of light. My confidence gradually returned as the light grew in size and intensity. Long before reaching the end of the tunnel, I no longer needed the assistance of my friends. All anxiety disappeared as we pedaled quickly toward the light. I felt calm and reassured even before we rode into the morning full of warmth and splendor.

A recent example might give you an additional glimpse of what I am observing. Just a few months ago I had the opportunity of representing President Bateman in greeting Ambassador Fahmy, Egypt’s ambassador to the United States, and his wife when they visited BYU. We were joined by Dil Parkinson, professor of Arabic and chair of the Department of Asian and Near Eastern Languages, and Erlend Peterson, dean of Admissions and Records and diplomat par excellence for the university and the one who had invited the ambassador to visit. We were pleasantly surprised by the ambassador and his wife’s enthusiasm about the Church’s Humanitarian Services and the similarities they saw between our religion and theirs. But we weren’t prepared for Mr. Fahmy’s statement midway through our visit. He said that he had just come from the dinner President Bateman and Elder Neal A. Maxwell had hosted in Washington, D.C., to show the Islamic community the most recent contributions to our Islamic translation series. He was deeply impressed with the work of Dan Peterson and others at BYU to translate classic Islamic texts into English, thus making them available to the Western world. Furthermore, he had discovered that the Church was seeking formal recognition in Egypt, and he offered his services to help accomplish that goal. He provided a candid assessment of the political and religious situation in Egypt and gave specific advice about the process we should follow.

Erlend Peterson was able to make last-minute arrangements that put our Jim Toronto in the car that took the ambassador to the airport at the conclusion of his visit. Jim is a professor of Arabic and comparative religion who has been working closely with Elder Jeffrey R. Holland on obtaining recognition of the Church in the Middle East. He and the ambassador made specific plans together, and the process for obtaining official recognition of the Church is underway.

We didn’t find out until a few days later the rest of the story. Following the dinner for the Islamic translation series, Mr. Fahmy had called the Egypt desk in Washington to get additional information on the Church and BYU. The person who was on call was a BYU graduate and a member of the Church. He just happened to know a good deal about both institutions and was able to suggest that the Church would be very interested in obtaining formal recognition.

I know that the Lord is guiding Jim Toronto, Dan Peterson, and Erlend Peterson in their efforts to perform this service. I know that the Lord is inspiring President Bateman and Elder Maxwell and Elder Holland and others to pursue this work. I also know that the Lord is micromanaging. He is inspiring our students and putting them in places of influence and respect.

After my mission I struggled to find work. Eventually I received an interview. The position would be a great opportunity, but I worried I was not skilled enough. My turn for the interview came, and I sat nervously in front of the manager. As I glanced at his table, I saw a paper with the questions he was asking applicants. My heart pounded. The questions used difficult terminology.
The manager found my résumé and started asking about my work experience. When he read “full-time missionary,” he asked if I could tell him what I taught on my mission.
I talked with him about prophets, the plan of salvation, and eternal families. He smiled and said, “I want you to come and meet my family.”
He again grabbed the paper with the interview questions. My nervous feelings returned. He asked, “Do you have a place to stay here in Manila?” He didn’t wait for my response and said, “Well, you need to look for one. You’ll start tomorrow.”
It was a miracle. I’ll never forget how serving a mission helped me in my job interview.

I was not prepared for my brother’s phone call. “Mom just passed away,” he said. “She fell and hit her head.”
I was shocked. My mom was gone at age 60, and I had just talked with her the night before. I kept asking myself why this had happened. I couldn’t understand why she had to leave me. I was angry! I dwelled on my anger for several weeks.
Eventually, I decided who was to blame. It was God’s fault. He took her away from me too soon. My mom missed many milestones in my life, and I thought it was because of Him. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I was a devout Christian. Instead of relying on God for strength, I turned away from Him and shut Him out of my life.
I missed my mom so much. As I was growing up, my home with my parents was a safe place. No matter where I was or what I was doing, every time I talked with my mom or spent time with her, I felt at home. Now that “at home” feeling I loved was gone.
Years went by, and I lost my faith almost entirely. I tried to understand why my mom had to die, but nothing brought me peace. Then, for about one week, the following thought repeatedly came to my mind: I needed to look heavenward for understanding. I told this to my dear friend who was a member of the Church. She asked if I would like to learn more about her faith.
I didn’t realize it right away, but the Spirit woke up my soul from a sound sleep. The more I learned about the gospel, the more I felt I had found a safe place again. The feeling of being “at home” returned.
I was baptized in May 2013. I am grateful that my faith returned. I no longer turn my back on God. Instead, I embrace Him. I am still saddened by my mom’s sudden passing, but because of my faith in God, I know that I will one day be “at home” with my mom and my family forever.

When I was fresh out of college with an accounting degree under my belt, I did what I thought I was supposed to and took a job as a junior accountant at a company in downtown Honolulu. I still lived in an apartment at the point. This meant that my commute on the bus started at 4:00 in the morning and I did not get home until late at night. I quickly realized that not only did I not enjoy the long bus commute, I did not enjoy the very thing that I had studied for the past four years—at least not all day, every day. Within a couple of months, it became apparent that I could not continue to go down this life path, but once again, I felt I did not know what to do. At this uncertain time in my life, I turned to God in the best way I knew how: through regular prayer and fasting.

As I turned to Him, I felt prompted to reach out to a construction company that I had met as an accounting student at BYU–Hawaii. When this thought came to mind, I at first dismissed it because I knew they were not in a good position to take on any new hires. But the prompting was clear that I needed to reach out to them. Trusting in God, but not understanding why He would want me to do this, I decided to leave my job in Honolulu and take on employment at this construction company. When I made this change, I thought I had made a mistake. Some weeks, I would work and there would be no paycheck waiting for me. I was newly married, and my wife’s job supported our first two years of marriage. She supported me during this time because she understood that if God wanted me to work at this job despite the challenges, it was for a good reason.

Now that I am looking back more than twenty-five years later, I can see that God was once again preparing me for a future greater than I had envisioned for myself. During the years that I worked at this construction company, I learned the skills necessary to become a successful contractor. Because of these experiences, I am able to provide for my family and have the ability to serve God and His people with the things that He has blessed me with.

It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.

Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened his beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.

The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.

God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth, I humbly pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.Elder Howard W. HunterOf the Council of the Twelve

I learned a great lesson the night before my father was released as a bishop. It was the first time I had really ever seen my father shed tears. He called the family together to announce that his term of service as a bishop was over. Then, with tears streaming down his face, he told us how he would miss the calling, even though it had been a burden at times and had occupied a great deal of time. He taught us a real-life lesson of the true joy of Church service. It was not until then that I fully appreciated the blessings we had had in our home as a family, by having the mantle of a bishop rest on the shoulders of our father.

The letters written and the money earned by Arnold and the other men in Pueblo, Colorado, were carried to their families by another of my great-grandfathers, Thomas Woolsey.
Thomas was a courier for Company E. He went with the women and children and the sick battalion members to Pueblo in the first and second detachment groups. After reaching Pueblo the second time, he was asked, along with John Tippets, to carry messages and money from the battalion to Winter Quarters, Nebraska. They left Pueblo in December and traveled alone, making their own trail as they went.
On their 600-mile (965-km), 52-day journey, Thomas and John nearly froze and starved to death while being lost most of the time. At one point they were captured and almost killed and scalped by a group of Pawnee Indians, but thanks to the timely mercy of Chief Setchmalin, they were released unharmed. They finally arrived at Winter Quarters exhausted on the night of February 15, 1847.
Thomas’s adventures carrying mail and escorting people for the battalion served him well as a member of Brigham Young’s 1847 pioneer company. At Fort Laramie, President Young sent him to Pueblo to help the remaining Saints travel to the Salt Lake Valley. He remained devoted to the gospel for the rest of his life. He showed me that commitment takes courage, but when we give our all to God, He’ll protect us and use us to help others on their way.

Since 1964, when missionaries first arrived in Bolivia, the Church has been helping Bolivian people make the transition from old ways to new. Carmen and Luis Molina were among the first to join the Church in Bolivia. “Two missionaries stopped at my door and invited me to Relief Society, which was held in a home,” explains Sister Molina. “I felt happy at the meeting. I went home and told my husband about it.” Luis was cautious at first, but the family joined the Church in 1965, and he became the first man to be ordained an elder in Bolivia.

“One of my earliest memories is of our family preparing for church,” recalls their son Rolando Molina, who today serves as president of the El Alto Bolivia Satélite Stake. “I loved Saturdays. We ironed; we prepared. And on Sunday we went to church. We walked slowly so all the children could keep up. It took an hour each way. I have fond memories of those walks together.”

“It’s Saturday! Everybody up!” Dad calls from the hall.
I open my eyes. Mommy kisses me and opens my curtains to welcome the morning sun.
“How would you like to go for a drive today?” Daddy asks with a smile.
“Yes, yes,” I say as I quickly jump out of bed. After Mommy helps me get dressed, we go downstairs for breakfast. Pancakes with sweet maple syrup! “Yum!” I say.
After breakfast we get in the car for a drive to Hood River. It is autumn, and the leaves on the trees are many different colors. I draw leaves that are yellow, red, and orange on the big pad of paper with the crayons that Mommy brought.
Finally we stop at Mr. Draper’s farm. Mr. Draper is a big man with a tall hat. We walk over to see his turkeys and chickens. “Would you like to feed them?” he asks, handing me a cob of corn.
“Yes, thank you,” I reply. Mr. Draper shows me how to hold the corn so the turkeys will peck at it and not my finger.
“How about a hay ride?” Mr. Draper calls as he drives his tractor from the barn. Behind the tractor is a flatbed trailer with bales of hay to sit on. Many of the other visitors want to come on the hayride, too. We wait until everyone is seated; then we start to move. The ride is bumpy and makes me laugh!
Mr. Draper tells us how the farm has belonged to his family for many generations. He shows us different kinds of apples and pears as we ride under the trees. Daddy points to some horses nearby.
Mr. Draper stops his tractor, puts a bale of hay on the ground, and helps us all step down. He shows us a big patch of strawberries and raspberries near the horses, and tells us we may pick some. Daddy picks me up so I can reach some raspberries, then Mommy takes me over to pet the horses.
Mommy takes a picture of Daddy and me on the trailer before it is time to go. “Smile,” Mommy says. I smile as big as I can. Then everyone climbs back on the trailer for the trip back.
The tractor starts to move again. Mr. Draper drives us by his bee boxes, where the bees make honey for him. Then we drive under his plum trees. He tells us we can reach up and pick one. Daddy helps me grab a plum. “Mmm—it is so juicy!” I say.
As we come to the pond, many ducks fly into the air. They quack very loudly. Almost as loud as the tractor engine. We drive by the house where Mr. Draper lives and see his big sunflowers and vegetable garden. As we come back to the front of the farm, the tractor slows down and then stops.
Mr. Draper helps us all down. Mommy buys some of his shiny apples and pears, and Daddy gives me an apple to eat on the way home. I take a big bite, and the sweet juice runs down my chin.
“Good-bye Farmer Draper, I hope I see you again!” I call as I get into the car. Mr. Draper waves back.
Autumn is my favorite time of year!