Gospel Story Finder

It was a beautiful, sunshiny, October morning, and everybody had a Saturday chore to do. Everyone except Annie. She was too short to help Jennifer clean the tub, too young to help Mother rinse the breakfast dishes, too little to help Dallin bring in the garbage cans.
Annie wanted to help too. Sadly she kicked a crackly red leaf off the porch just as Daddy came through the gate.
“You’re just who I was looking for,” he said, picking up the lawn rake and taking Annie’s hand. “I’m trying to find the Leaf Queen, and you’re just the right size to help me.”
They walked through the gate into the backyard, a wonderland of red, gold, brown, and purple leaves. Daddy showed Annie how to use the rake to make small piles of leaves.
“What does the Leaf Queen look like?” Annie asked.
“Oh, you’ll know her when you see her,” Daddy said.
Annie raked and cleared, pulled and piled. She peeked and poked and searched and searched, but there was no Leaf Queen to be seen. Before long, the lawn was green again, except where the leaves were heaped together in one high pile.
“Maybe we accidentally raked the Leaf Queen into the pile,” said Daddy, gathering Annie up into his arms. “You’d better look.” And with that he tossed her gently into the middle of a big, soft mountain of leaves.
Annie squealed and tumbled, scattering leaves all around. Then she stood up and laughed, “There’s nobody in here but me!”
“Who said that?” Daddy turned and stared. There stood Annie, colorful autumn leaves sticking to her from her hair to her toes, like the branches of the maple tree. “Why, if it isn’t the Leaf Queen herself!”
“I’m the Leaf Queen!” She giggled amid a flutter of leaves.
“And,” said Daddy, lifting her out of the leaves with a crunchy hug, “you’re a pretty good helper too.”

Pioneers in the Martin Handcart Company were caught by an early winter blizzard in eastern Wyoming and suffered significantly. Several years later a teacher in a Church class criticized the decision to allow the Saints to leave that late in the season with limited supplies. A man who had been in the Company was in attendance and after listening for a while rose to his feet and asked them to stop.

You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. .... We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.

I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it. I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.

Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay...[25]
It is often through our trials that we more fully recognize our dependence on the Lord and draw near to Him.

A remnant of that pioneer hardiness endures today, if the LDS Boy Scouts from five stakes in the Potomac and Capitol regions of the Church are any indication. When their leaders sent the call for them to gather in a wilderness area 30 miles south of Washington, D.C., they came, almost 300 of them, 400 including adults. And they brought with them handcarts they had built themselves.
“We wanted participants to learn what it was really like to be a pioneer,” explained Kevin Rees, 17, the youth director of the encampment. “So we combined elements from the experiences of the first pioneer company with the experiences later faced by the handcart companies. Then we added in some training on Scouting skills and physical fitness, because we felt pioneers needed to have skills like that, too.”
The entire activity, called the Mormon Encampment, was directed by Kevin and his committee of teenage Scout leaders. Adults were nearby as advisors, but Kevin and crew organized and conducted the events mostly on their own.
The 400-plus member group was divided into two companies, Camp Zion and Camp Cumorah. From the beginning there had been rumors of mobs, and sure enough, that night as campfires were just being built, messengers ran through the camp carrying an urgent letter.
“Should it be necessary to flee for safety, each family should be prepared to do so at a moment’s notice,” it said. “Take with you all that you will need, but only that which you will need. You may have no time to prepare later, so do so now.”
Within minutes, the warning became a reality, as a mob (actually it was adult leaders and youth leaders) formed and started toward the camp areas. The soon-to-be pioneers took flight.
On the road they faced the perils of Indian attacks, mudholes, broken wheels and axles, chasms and “cliffs” to cross, and heat and fatigue. But through cooperation and teamwork, every handcart finally arrived at the mouth of “Emigration Canyon” to be personally greeted by Regional Representative Julian C. Low. Dressed as Brigham Young, Brother Low delivered a lecture about the colonization efforts of the Saints and the growth of Salt Lake City.
At stops along the route, the Scouts had received instruction in rope making, knot tying, first aid, handcart repair, and pioneer-style cooking. They had also crossed a monkey bridge, slid on a block and tackle, plotted a course through dense underbrush using a compass, and devised a rope system for ferrying carts across ravines. They had also earned awards for “best handcart” and “best company banner,” although no prizes were given for speed.
“We didn’t want the trek to turn into a race,” 17-year-old Brian Meacham, the encampment’s youth commissioner, said. “There was no winning or losing, except that everyone who finished won. Just like the pioneers, the object was to get everyone to the valley.”
“I had ancestors who came across the states in a handcart company,” said Travis Taysom, 13, of the Suitland Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. “Here we got to go through the same things they went through. It taught me just how much work it was.
“It showed us about teamwork, too. If you don’t have everyone pulling together on the rope to get up that hill, you just won’t make it. On some Scout camps you can relax and let somebody else do all the work. But here you knew that if you didn’t help, it wouldn’t get done.”
Danny Sulzen, 14, of the Falls Church Ward, Oakton Virginia Stake, said, “This is work, but it was only five miles. I think it would have been a lot tougher if we had been with the real pioneers. We only did this for one day, not for more than 100 days in a row like the pioneers did.”
In fact, talk about pioneers was common. It seemed almost natural when someone along the trail struck up a chorus of “Come, Come Ye Saints,” or when, encouraging Scouts to find their own solutions to challenges, a troop leader would say, “Well, what would the pioneers have done?”
Perhaps one of the most poignant comments came from Paul Orchard, 13, of the Hampstead Ward, Baltimore Maryland Stake, when someone asked him if he would have given up on the real pioneer trail. “I’m sure there would have been times when you felt like throwing in the towel,” he said. “But the prophet would have told me to keep on going, so I would have kept on going.”

It’s not unusual for Young Men and Young Women to paint a house as part of a ward service project, but the teachers quorum and Mia Maid class from the Boise 19th Ward, Boise Idaho North Stake, did it as part of a community-wide “Paint the Town Day.” They combined with 154 other teams made up of 4,200 volunteers to paint houses all over the community, with materials donated by local merchants. When they were through, they all met in a local park for a community party.
They had such a good time, in fact, that the rest of the youth from the ward decided to do a painting project the very next Saturday.
This one involved being ferried across a reservoir to camp, then painting the log picnic shelters and tables the next day. “This is a pretty place, and I like being part of keeping it nice,” said Melissa West, surveying her ward’s work. The event resulted in some sore muscles and sunburned noses, but everyone agreed they were worth the friendship and sense of service they came away with.

It’s Sunday morning, and 45 sisters of the Bugambilias Ward in Guadalajara, Mexico, sit in council. After the opening hymn, Relief Society president Yara Ramirez invites some of them to share experiences from their lesson the week before.
After the sisters share their experiences for a few minutes, Sister Ramirez writes a single word on the board before taking her seat back in the circle.
“Unity,” it says.
Under Sister Ramirez’s direction, they turn to Mosiah 18:21 and read, “… having their hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another.”
“What can we as a Relief Society do to put this scripture into practice?” she asks.
The sisters think for a few moments. “Well, the youth can’t go to the temple,” one sister shares. “There aren’t enough adult sisters to go with them.”
“I had no idea,” says another, looking surprised. “If you don’t know there’s a need,” she asks, “how can you help?”
“That is why we’re here,” answers Sister Ramirez. “There are needs like this that I learn about during ward council that we can all help with.”
“Why don’t we make a calendar?” someone suggests. The group now becomes more interested. “I think the youth have a scheduled time at the temple one Thursday a month.”
“I’m having trouble going to the temple myself,” admits a young mother in the group. “I haven’t been there in a long time, and I’ve been feeling a bit self-absorbed. I would love to go and serve,” she says.
Several others nod in agreement. They too find it difficult to attend as often as they want.
Another young mother suggests that they trade babysitting with each other and take turns going to the temple.
Then the sisters start asking each other where they live and who lives by which youth. They discuss how they could take turns helping the youth get to their activities.
“Well, we’ll need to get to know one another too,” someone says. “We should have activities!”
Sisters continue to comment, offering suggestions and asking questions.
At the end of the council, Sister Ramirez asks her secretary to summarize the minutes. “How did you all feel during the council?” she asks.
They respond that they felt more aware of everyone’s needs, that their service was needed, and that they were among friends.
“Based on what we’ve experienced today, what specific actions do we want to focus on this month as a Relief Society?” she asks.
As a group, they decide to have a potluck meal that Sunday after church, start playing volleyball on Thursday nights, make a calendar for attending the temple, and plan how to help youth get to activities.
“We’ve experienced unity today,” Sister Ramirez concludes, inviting each sister to think of ways she could serve during the week. “The Holy Ghost will continue to give us promptings as we act individually and as a Relief Society. I invite you to be ready to share your experiences next Sunday.”

—Ted Parsons has been named as a new cadet squadron commander, leader of 105 men and women. Normally that’s quite an honor for any cadet, but for Ted it’s especially noteworthy. Ted is the first Latter-day Saint to successfully re-enter the academy after having resigned to serve as a full-time missionary. (Others have resigned from the academy to serve missions, but Ted was the first to be readmitted.)
“There was never any doubt for me that I would go on a mission,” Ted said. “When I got back, I called the admissions officer and told him I would like to return. Maybe it was because I was on the varsity basketball team when I left or because I was number ten overall in my class when I left, but after he checked my file, he got excited. The registrar sent me a packet of material, which I completed and returned. My congressman agreed to renominate me (all cadets must be nominated by a member of Congress, who is allowed to have only 10 nominees at the academy at any given time). I came back and they welcomed me.”
Captain Ray Longi, Ted’s A.O.C. (air officer commanding, a career officer in charge of a squadron of cadets), met Ted on his first day back at the academy and was so impressed with him that he assigned him to the top leadership position for a junior in his squadron.
“That caused some hard feelings at first,” Ted said. “Camaraderie and unity in each class are intense, and none of the other cadets even knew who I was. But I’ve tried to overcome it by working with people.” Ted, who is a pre-med student and hopes to become a doctor, is now one of the most popular cadets in Colorado Springs. “I’d rank Ted, and I mean this in all sincerity, as one of the top ten in his class of 1,000,” Captain Longi said.
Ted wears the superintendent’s pin, which means he has maintained a 3.0 or better average in both scholastic and military training (Ted’s grade point average is actually about 3.8—not bad at an institution where the mean I.Q. is 130—and his military performance average, comprised of evaluations by his A.O.C., his classmates, and his instructors, is usually about 3.6).
It used to be just about impossible for someone who resigned to return to the academy, but Ted’s example set a precedent. Officials began to realize that LDS cadets who resigned to go on missions did so out of conviction, not because they were no longer interested in the academy. While Ted was on his mission in the Arequipa Peru Mission, another cadet, Cody Carr, left the academy for the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He came back this year and is also excelling in his studies and training. Mike McDonald, another LDS cadet, is currently an elder in the New York City New York Spanish Speaking Mission and hopes to return to the academy. Todd and Jay Esplin plan to leave at the end of the summer on missions to Osorno, Chile, and Lima, Peru, then return to the academy. Guy Neddo will soon leave for the Hong Kong Mission but hopes to return to the academy after two years.
Chris Henderson took a different approach. For him, attending the academy had been a lifelong dream, but he decided to go on a mission first (see “A Question of Service,” New Era, April 1979). Barely meeting a deadline that requires cadets to be able to graduate before they turn 26, Chris was able to gain a renomination after his mission and is now completing his first year at the academy.
“The overall dream I have,” Ted said, “is that within a few years it will be the accepted norm for cadets to come here, be actively involved, go on a mission for two years, come back, and get right back into it again. My mission was an icebreaker that way.”

I am Brother Bassa N’Da Germain Eby, from Cote d’Ivoire, Anonkoua Stake, Avocatier Ward. I served in the Liberia Monrovia Mission, and returned home in March of this year. Before going on my mission, I graduated from the university in accounting and finance. I had worked in a company for eight months. Life after my mission was like a puzzle as I did not know what to do.
I met with my bishop and explained my circumstances to him. He counseled me to meet with the WSRS manager. My encounter with him was a new dawn in my life. He introduced me to the WSRS tools. Following that, I participated in an orientation for returned missionaries. That was an eye-opener, because I was able to set goals and to identify resources that I could use to achieve them. I also attended an accelerated job search training. I regularly received one-on-one coaching from the WSRS manager. He helped me to develop a very good resume.
My job search effort yielded results when a company I contacted, Perfect Communication, gave me an offer as a trainee. I devoted myself to the training so much that after a month I was given a full-time appointment. Just about the same time, I got a better offer from another company including opportunities for career growth. I chose the latter. I have been working with Olam International, a rubber factory, since July.
It is indeed a blessing to secure a job in these difficult times when companies are downsizing because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I am grateful to the Lord for His providence. I owe the WSRS manager loads of gratitude for his support. I am still learning from life’s experiences and I know I have embarked on the journey to become self-reliant. I encourage every returned missionary to participate in the WSRS group meetings. They will open the door of opportunity to them.
I know that God lives. He loves us. We are His children. He cares for our growth, so He always prepares the way for us to obtain every needful thing to be happy.

I read with great pleasure the excellent article “Attack!” by Kathleen Lubeck in the October New Era. It was very timely and well done. One expression in the last paragraph of the first column reminded me of an incident I would like to relate to you. One day I was telling my former bishop how lucky I had been in some circumstance that I cannot now remember. I will never forget what happened next. He looked me straight in the eye and said very soberly, “No, Sister Knecht, you have been blessed.” Just a few simple words, but they had such an effect upon me that I have never since felt any way but blessed when good things have happened to me or when I have been spared some ill fortune that might have befallen me.
It has made a drastic change in my attitude toward my Father in Heaven It has made me much more aware of the good things that come from him and which cause my heart to swell with gratitude. When I am with other people, a silent prayer goes heavenward. I have told this experience to many people. Whenever I hear anyone say “I am lucky,” I just quietly say, “You are blessed.” The response has been universally the same as mine was. And many of these people have thanked me since for the “lesson I taught them,” as if they needed reminding who really taught them the lesson.
I am grateful to my bishop for these inspired words and to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings. I am a great-grandmother, but I thoroughly enjoy reading the New Era and find many inspiring articles therein.
Ora Lee KnechtLogan, Utah

Let me give you an example of avoiding a dead-end. My oldest daughter chose to study accounting in college—not because she liked accounting, but because it offered many options, especially, for someone who wanted to be a stay-at-home mother. She worked full-time, then switched to working part-time from home when she had her first child, and finally returning to working full-time years later. Now she has a great many options open to her.
While each of our other seven children made different choices, they made choices that gave them options and opportunities.

Several years ago another one of my students accepted my invitation to come and meet with the missionaries. The missionaries, during the second discussion, just did a marvelous job. And at the end of the discussion they bore their testimonies to Sunil, and then I bore mine and my wife Christine bore her testimony, and then I called on one of the missionaries to give the closing prayer, and our 11 year old son Spencer had been sitting over on the piano bench listening to the discussion. He raised his hand and stood up and he said, Dad, could you wait a minute? I have something to say. And I still remember that beautiful clear look in Spencer’s eyes as he looked at Sunil and he said, Sunil, “I am only an 11-year-old boy, but I want you to know that I know that the things that the missionaries taught you today are true. I know that God lives and that you are His son.” And he closed his testimony in the name of Jesus Christ. As Spence bore that testimony, that beautiful spirit came into the room again, and I started to cry, right there in front of my student. The next day Sunil sent me an email and he thanked me for arranging the missionaries to teach and he complimented them on how clear the lessons were, and he said, “But you know, when your son Spencer stood up and said those things, I felt something come into the room. Is that what you mean when you say the Spirit of God?” I thought to myself, ‘I’d pay a million dollars to give my son an experience half that good.’ It really has been a wonderful decision we made to be missionaries.

In my own immediate neighborhood we have had our share of heart-wrenching tragedies. In October 1998, 19-year-old Zac Newton, who lived only three houses east of us, was killed in a tragic automobile accident.
Less than two years later, in July, 19-year-old Andrea Richards, who lived directly across from the Newtons, was killed in an automobile accident.
One Saturday afternoon in July 2006, Travis Bastian, a 28-year-old returned missionary, and his 15-year-old sister, Desiree, who lived across the street and two houses north of us, were killed in a terrible automobile accident.
One month later, in August 2006, 32-year-old Eric Gold, who grew up in the house next door to us, suffered a premature death. And others in this neighborhood have also suffered heart-wrenching experiences privately endured and known only to themselves and God.
With the loss of five young people, one might assume that this is an unusual number of trials for one small neighborhood. I choose to think the number only seems large because of a close, caring ward, whose members know when there is a pressing need. It is a ward with members who are following the admonition of Alma and the Savior—members who care and love and bear one another’s burdens, members who are willing to mourn with those that mourn, members who are willing to comfort those in need of comfort, members who endure together.
In each of these instances we saw an outpouring of love, service, and compassion that was inspirational to all. Bishops arrived, home and visiting teachers went into action, and Melchizedek and Aaronic Priesthood quorums and Relief Societies organized to take care of both spiritual and temporal needs. Refrigerators were stocked, houses cleaned, lawns mowed, shrubs trimmed, fences painted, blessings given, and soft shoulders were available for crying on. Members were everywhere.
In every one of these instances, the families who lost a loved one expressed increased faith, increased love for the Savior, increased gratitude for the Atonement, and heartfelt thankfulness for an organization that responds to the deepest emotional and spiritual needs of its members. These families now speak about how they got to know the Lord through their adversity. They relate many sweet experiences that grew out of their pain. They testify that blessings can emerge from heartbreak. They give praise to the Lord and would echo the words of Job: “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).

This was not the only time Emma protected priceless scripture. On the couple’s journey to Pennsylvania, she helped hide the plates in a barrel of beans. During the translation process, Emma gave Joseph a linen cloth to cover the plates as they sat on a kitchen table during the day and bought a red leather box for the written paper manuscripts. She also asked her brother-in-law for a box, which she and Joseph kept under their bed and where the plates were locked each night.

Now consider if you had looked on FamilySearch for the ancestor you didn’t know and saw some pictures of him. Perhaps he looked very much like your grandfather. Perhaps there was a story that talked of how during one rainy season, there was a big flood in his village. His home washed away, one of his children died in the flood, and his fields were ruined. He didn’t have anything left to support his family, so after praying, he migrated with his family to the city, where he struggled but eventually found work to support and feed his family.

Members and missionaries in Japan put their heads together to develop an exciting way to present the gospel. After three months of planning they presented the first annual Matsumoto-Salt Lake City Sister City Night.
The missionaries got the idea when they saw a film entitled Mormon and Girl Violinist, featuring a young female violinist and officials of Matsumoto, Japan, when they made a trip to Salt Lake City. Matsumoto and Salt Lake are “Sister Cities,” a concept developed by the International Friendship Association to promote international goodwill.
The elders asked the president of the association in Japan if he would promote a Sister City Night. The president then persuaded other members of the association to support the program. The name of the Church was on all advertising for the event, and a questionnaire about the Church was included in the program.
The International Friendship Association helped the missionaries by providing advertising, programs, money, the building, and talent for the night.
More than 200 residents of Matsumoto watched a slide presentation on Salt Lake City and the Church along with talent numbers and a skit by the missionaries.

I want to share a family experience concerning the three Nephites. One night my wife’s parents woke up with three men banging on their bedroom window. Their home was on fire. One of the men came into their house and helped them out. They joined the men outside and watched their home burn to the ground as the fire department was delayed by the need to turn off the electricity. The three men stayed until they were safe and then left. No one knew them or had seen them before. Several weeks later my father- in-law was approached by a man in a hardware store and asked how he and his wife were doing. He responded that they were okay and the man left. He did not know the man, but his memory returned to the night of the fire. He immediately looked for the man and he was nowhere in sight. No one in the store knew the man or had seen him before. My father-in-law has always been convinced that the men were the three Nephites.

I have asked that serious question of myself: “Where would I be without the gospel?”
It was that gospel testimony that persuaded me to say no to my Navy friends when our first “liberty” came to leave boot camp training in Farragut, Idaho, in early 1944. On the train from Farragut to Spokane, Washington, the invitations were presented in a most appealing way to go with them to get a “manly” tattoo and then be off to find the real pleasures that men seek.
I was the only Mormon in that group, and, yes, I felt a little lonely as I broke off to go by myself to the USO facility and then to a movie. The following day I found church services and church friends who strengthened and reinforced a lonely Mormon boy from Provo, Utah.
To have come home from the service in World War II with virtue intact has held for me eternal rewards.

Little Evaline Burdick sat on the floor of her family’s small log cabin in Kirtland, Ohio. It was wash day, and there were clothes and bedding hanging outside on the line and drying on the lawn. She played happily while her mother tended to the washing.
Evaline saw a tall, handsome man with sandy hair walk up the steps of their front porch and enter the open door of their cabin. He greeted her mother and then picked Evaline up. He held her in his left arm and crossed the room to a large mirror. They both looked in the mirror and smiled at each other. Gently he set her back on the floor and asked where her father was.
When the kind man left the room, Evaline’s mother called her over and told her that the man was Joseph Smith, a true prophet of the Lord. What a good man he was! Evaline would never forget that experience.

In August 2005, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) issued a challenge to read or reread the Book of Mormon before the end of the year.4 Because I was reading from the Book of Mormon daily anyway, I was already in Ether or Moroni. Consequently, upon finishing a week or two later, I concluded that I had completed President Hinckley’s challenge.
But then a faithful home teacher came to visit our family. He asked how I was doing with President Hinckley’s invitation.
I told him that I had the good fortune of having started the Book of Mormon before President Hinckley’s challenge. Then, with some self-righteousness, I announced that I had completed the task.
Fortunately, my home teacher saw things differently. As he gently corrected me, the Spirit whispered to me that my home teacher was right.
Now I had to read two chapters a day to finish again by the end of the year. As I increased how much I read in the Book of Mormon, I noticed that even more power came into my life. I had more joy. I saw things more clearly. I repented even more frequently. I wanted to minister to and rescue others. I was less susceptible to Satan’s deceptions and temptations. I loved the Savior more.
That November I was called to be the bishop of our ward. Completing President Hinckley’s challenge prepared me for that calling. Since then, I have noticed that the busier I become either at work or at church, the more I need to study the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon.

Meanwhile, in the summer of 1989, a wonderful opportunity was made available to me. I was invited to accompany the BYU International Folk Dance Ensemble on their tour to Russia, Poland, and England. As the plane touched down at the Sheremetyevo International Airport in Moscow, I remember thinking, “We could just as well be landing somewhere on the Canadian prairies. It looks exactly the same.” No wonder so many Slavic people settled in western Canada at the beginning of the 20th century. They must have felt a measure of security in the midst of geographically familiar surroundings, in spite of the many hardships they had to face.

My mother’s father had always wanted to return to Russia for a visit before he died, but unfortunately that never happened. For me, going to Russia with the folk dancers was going back for him. I thought about him continually the entire time I was there. I loved being surrounded by the Russian people and their culture. And I got to practice the language! But something told me that the real purpose for my learning Russian had not yet been fulfilled.

In my excitement to experience Russia, I had completely underplayed my pending opportunity to experience the people and culture of Poland—until I remembered that my father’s parents had been born in what today is Poland. I wondered if the folk dancers would be performing anywhere near where these grandparents grew up. As I looked at the map, I remember the following rapidly developing chain of thoughts: (1) Hmmm, interesting, not too far; (2) I wonder if there would be any way I could work it out to get to their villages; (3) No, I HAVE to find a way to get there; (4) No matter what, I WILL find a way!

The plane landed in Warsaw. We boarded a bus that had been reserved to take us to Mr?gowo in the north of Poland. I was sitting in the front seat across from the driver when our tour guide, Danuta, boarded the bus with a clipboard in her hands. As she was looking over the ensemble roster, I heard her say, “Cathy Black.”

Sitting directly in front of her, I responded, “That’s me.”

To which she replied, “I see you are from Canada. I worked in Montreal for two years learning English.”

The two of us bonded immediately.

After just a few hours with the Folk Dance Ensemble, Danuta noticed that there was something special about the group compared to others she had been assigned in the past. She said that the performers and leaders were not self-centered, that they were kind and polite to each other, and that they did not ask for anything unless they really needed it.

One of the things we did ask for was a room—one that we could use for a church meeting the next morning. Danuta procured the room and asked whether guests could attend this church meeting. Of course the answer was yes, and she was warmly encouraged to join us, which she did. It was a beautiful testimony meeting during which Danuta was moved to tears a number of times. Following the meeting I gave her my triple combination, and she immediately began to read about Joseph Smith. The next day we boarded the bus back to Warsaw. At the end of that journey Danuta informed us that we would have a different guide to accompany us to the Carpathian Mountains in southeastern Poland and that she would come the next day to say good-bye to us.

Before she left that day I explained to her my obsession about going to visit my grandparents’ villages and asked her if there would be any way that she might help me do so. Danuta took down the last names of my ancestors and the names of their villages and told me she would see me tomorrow.

As had been the case in Russia, 1989 was also a very difficult time economically for Poland. Shelves were bare of essential merchandise, and having a telephone, let alone a car, was a luxury. When Danuta arrived to meet us at the bus the next day, she had acquired a car, a driver, and two contacts she had called who agreed to meet with me in the Carpathian Mountains. One of these people was a priest and the other a gentleman by the name of Mieczys?aw Herbut, who said that he was sure we were not related because he came from a different part of Poland than my grandparents. Pressing him, Danuta asked if he would be willing to meet with me anyway, in spite of his reservations. He said he would.

We were scheduled to meet at a restaurant in Nowy S?cz. Danuta, our driver, and I arrived first and visited while we waited for Mr. Herbut. As he walked through the door, tears welled up in my eyes. Let me show you two photos—one of Mieczys?aw Herbut and one of my father, Michael Herbut. This is one miracle that nobody could miss! Even more uncanny than the remarkable physical resemblance of these two men was the identical nature of their mannerisms. It was absolutely unbelievable! After receiving the photograph of my father, Mieczys?aw, who learned English during World War II while a German prisoner of war, wrote to my father informing him that he knew he had discovered a twin brother. The two men continued to correspond with each other until Mieczys?aw’s death in the mid-1990s. Although we have not yet been able to verify a genetic relationship between these two men, I am working on it.

In addition to visiting my grandparents’ villages and meeting with people there, Danuta and I searched genealogical records, and I was able to add a generation to my family tree. Since then Danuta has joined the Church, has become proficient in genealogy, and has helped many Americans find their Polish ancestors. By searching Polish records on my behalf, she has helped me access several generations to add to my family tree. In 2005 she was called to codirect the newly created LDS Warsaw Family History Center. I never cease to marvel at the privilege that has been mine to have been part of this amazing series of events.

And there is yet another dimension to this story. On the 1989 trip we discovered that the family names on my father’s side were not in fact Russian names but belonged to a Slavic minority population known as Lemkos, who had identified themselves as Russians at the time my grandparents left for North America. This discovery has resulted in a serious academic research agenda for me, which has included trips back to Poland for the express purpose of studying the dance and rituals of the Lemko people.

The youth of the Dublin (California) Ward and the Pleasanton Second Ward had to move quickly. With just three days’ notice from Children’s Hospital in Oakland, California, they pulled together a group to put on a party for all the cardiology patients and their families.
The youth manned refreshment tables, a popcorn machine, face-painting booths, and the check-in table. They also gave instruction in ’50s style dancing.
“It was so fun to watch the kids learn that dance,” says Jessica Cooper. “Every single one of them was smiling. It really made me feel good.”
“I’m not sure who had more fun,” says Beth Patterson, “us or the kids!”