Gospel Story Finder

Later in my life I was called to be an early-morning seminary teacher, and that year the course of study was the Doctrine and Covenants and Church history. All of our children were in school during the day, and I found myself sitting at our dining room table each day with every book about Church history I could lay my hands on. I sat for hours every day immersed in reading everything I could about the life of Joseph Smith, the early accounts of Church history, and the revelations received. I couldn’t get enough. I was riveted.

It is interesting that as controversial questions have arisen in more recent times about Joseph Smith and some aspects of Church history, I feel grateful for that time in my life. I read all of those things years ago as I studied the life of Joseph Smith and the history of the early days of the Church. I am already familiar with many of the slanderous reports made by the Prophet’s detractors in his time, so when they begin to resurface as “new information,” my response is, “Really? This old stuff again?” Accurate knowledge together with faith is the best defense against skepticism.

“Fire! Fire!” Frantic pleas for help broke the stillness of the quiet afternoon in Nauvoo. But it wasn’t a barn or a shed that was in flames that February 9, 1846.
Eleven-year-old Aurelia Spencer was nearby and could see men on top of the temple, swinging their hats and calling for assistance. Many members of the Church were busy preparing to leave Illinois for Utah, but when the alarm sounded everyone left whatever they were doing to help save the temple.
Willard Richards, a leader in the community, was on the temple grounds when the fire started and he immediately took charge. He shouted for everyone, including women and children, to rush to the closest wells to fill buckets with water. Two rows of men were formed on the stairs leading up to the attic roof of the temple where the fire had started. They passed full buckets of water up one row of fire fighters and returned them empty down another. Aurelia ran back and forth carrying pails of water to the men in the bucket brigade. But the wells were soon emptied, and teams of horses were driven to the river to obtain water.
There were a few moments of confusion when another alarm called some of the Saints to help rescue the victims of an accident nearby involving two riverboats. But in spite of this interruption, the temple fire was put out after about half an hour.
Hosea Stout, one of the fire fighters, said that a hole about twelve feet square had been burned in the roof. Later it was found that the temple fire had been caused by a red-hot stovepipe that ignited some clothes drying in an attic room.
When the fire was completely extinguished, Aurelia joined with the Saints as they rejoiced with loud shouts of Hosannah. Brigham Young, President of the Council of the Twelve, had seen the smoke from some distance and arrived just as the crowd began to celebrate. The Nauvoo band then climbed to the top of the roof and began to play for those gathered below.
Aurelia felt privileged to be able to help put out the fire that could easily have destroyed the Saints’ beloved temple. She later wrote, “Child as I was, I could not help noticing the order that prevailed and the calmness of the men that superintended the work.”
Aurelia grew up to become the president of the first Primary organized in the Church. This took place nearly one hundred years ago on August 25, 1878, in Farmington, Utah.

The members of the Asunafo Branch Relief Society presidency said they dedicated each Thursday to speaking to each other only in English. “It made some conversations longer that day because we could not think of the right words to say to each other,” said Evelyn Agyeiwaa, Relief Society president. “But we soon began translating for each other, finding the right words to say. Because we were learning together, none of us were embarrassed or afraid to say the wrong words. We simply helped each other.”

There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly. She also knew how to have fun but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.
There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.
These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.
Upon graduating from the university, they married. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.
A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.
I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed.
The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant working and struggling. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way. Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

The Poole England Stake had the opportunity to host an event during National Interfaith Week in November 2023.
Stake members have been building a friendship with a Dorset-based charity named Unity in Vision, by hosting English Connect classes with refugees, and having international lunches monthly at Bournemouth chapel. Since the event was celebrating the charity’s chairperson, Rita El Gazi, it was the ideal venue.
Unity in Vision first launched through a female migrant group in Bournemouth in 2020. Now a social enterprise, and in partnership with Westbourne Rotary Club, the group helped feed people during the COVID-19 pandemic. One of their current projects is training people seeking asylum or refuge to prepare and serve meals, orchestrated through the vehicle of the international lunches, and named Unity International Catering.
Five days into a weeklong visit to Sudan in April 2023 to visit her ailing father, Rita found herself suddenly caught up in the armed conflict. The evening’s speakers revealed the depth of their friendship with Rita, heralded her achievements and reflected on her strength and faith. They also shared how their own faith gave them hope and guidance as they tried to do what they could, despite the distance, to get Rita and her family back to the UK. Rita showed photos and footage of her experiences, discussing the journey that she and a small group of family took to safety, and the miracles that they encountered along the way.
The mayor of Bournemouth, Councillor Anne Filer, ended the evening. Each of the three Abrahamic religions was represented at the event alongside multiple other friends. The Unity International Catering Project afterwards provided the refreshments.

On a warm Northern California summer afternoon several years ago, my wife and I were on our way to speak at a youth conference when we had a most interesting experience. With the day being warm and the drive being long we decided to stop for gas and something to drink. Walking in to the convenience store to pay for our purchases we noticed two well-dressed women talking to the store clerk. They were clearly upset and were asking for driving directions – something a man, of course, would never do! We learned they were late for a wedding, and at this point, had no idea how to get to their desired location. They had a map and they were showing it to the clerk. He clearly did not know how to help them, and the women were obviously frustrated at not getting the information they were looking for. I decided to offer my help. I took one look at their map and immediately knew what the problem was. The map had been drawn upside down, with “south” at the top and “north” at the bottom. Let me describe just how lost they were…I will use cities you might be a bit more familiar with. Assume they had left from Rexburg, with Pocatello as their desired destination. They finally stopped to ask for directions when they saw a sign that read, “Welcome to the City of West Yellowstone.” After turning the map right-side-up, pointing them in the correct direction and getting them back on the freeway, our hope has continued to be that they finally got to the wedding. We have also wondered how many other people, using the same map, are still driving around the freeways of Northern California looking for the same wedding!

I have reflected on this experience many times and the predicament these women found themselves in. They followed the directions they had been given with exactness. I assume they had observed posted speed limits. They carefully avoided accidents, and anxiously read the exit signs desperately hoping to find something familiar. But in the end they were hopelessly lost and had they not stopped to get true and correct directions, they never would have arrived at their intended destination.

During World War II, a friend of mine was serving in the South Pacific when his plane was shot down over the ocean. He and the other crew members successfully parachuted from the burning plane, inflated their life rafts, and clung to those rafts for three days.

On the third day they spotted what they knew to be a rescue vessel. It passed them by. The next morning it passed them by again. They began to despair as they realized that this was the last day the rescue vessel would be in the area.

Then the Holy Spirit spoke to my friend: “You have the priesthood. Command the rescuers to pick you up.”

He did as prompted: “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, turn about and pick us up.”

Within a few minutes the vessel was beside them, helping them on deck. A faithful and worthy bearer of the priesthood, in his extremity, had exercised that priesthood, blessing his life and the lives of others.

In the April 2003 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson shared a story that occurred while he was still working as a heart surgeon. Please note that he was not a member of the Twelve Apostles at the time of this incident; he was simply a faithful member of the Church who had made and kept his covenants. The event happened in the pioneering days of heart surgery, and a man came with hope that Dr. Nelson could repair his heart and save his live.

President Nelson said, "Extensive evaluation revealed that he had two faulty valves. While one could be helped surgically, the other could not. Thus, an operation was not advised. He received this news with deep disappointment."

This faithful man then said, "Dr. Nelson, I have prayed for help and have been directed to you. The Lord will not reveal to me how to repair that second valve, but He can reveal it to you. Your mind is so prepared. If you will operate upon me, the Lord will make it known to you what to do. Please perform the operation that I need, and pray for the help that you need."

Dr. Nelson finally agreed to do the operation and said:

"In preparing for that fateful day, I prayed over and over again, but still did not know what to do for his leaking tricuspid valve. Even as the operation commenced, my assistant asked, 'What are you going to do for that?

"I said, 'I do not know.'"

President Nelson continued:

"We began the operation. After relieving the obstruction of the first valve, we exposed the second valve. We found it to be intact but so badly dilated that it could no longer function as it should. While examining this valve, a message was distinctly impressed upon my mind: Reduce the circumference of the ring. I announced that message to my assistant. 'The valve tissue will be sufficient if we can effectively reduce the ring toward its normal size.'

"But how? We could not apply a belt as one would use to tighten the waist of oversized trousers. We could not squeeze with a strap as one would cinch a saddle on a horse. Then a picture came vividly to my mind, showing how stitches could be placed--to make a pleat here and a tuck there--to accomplish the desired objective. I still remember that mental image--complete with dotted lines where sutures should be placed. The repair was completed as diagrammed in my mind. We tested the valve and found the leak to be reduced remarkably. My assistant said, 'It's a miracle.'

"I responded, 'It's an answer to prayer.'"[12]

I glanced out my window one summer day and saw her—my enemy—coming up the street. I dreaded approaching her, but here was my opportunity. It was now or never. My stomach churned, my heart pounded, and I shook all over as I raced out the front door.
Our animosity had started out innocently enough as a motherly instinct to protect our children. My son had fought with her son, and she came to my house to talk to me. But I felt she was telling me how I should be raising my son. While the boys soon made up their differences, their mothers did not.
Then, in the following weeks, I began to hear from our neighbors that she was making critical comments about me. I was deeply hurt, and soon I, too, was criticizing her behind her back. We went to great lengths to avoid each other, including walking on opposite sides of the street. The contention continued for two long years.
One day as I knelt in prayer, I was struck by the thought that if I continued harboring ill feelings toward my neighbor, the Spirit could not abide with me. I realized I had let hate grow in my heart, and the hate was eating away at my soul.
I desperately needed my Heavenly Father and his Spirit to be with me, and I sorely needed to repent. I fasted and prayed for help in mending the breach between us. I needed an opportunity to make things right.
Now it seemed my prayers had been answered. Gathering my courage, I ran out the door and grabbed her by her shoulders. She stared at me in shock. Quickly I blurted out, “Will you please, please forgive me? I do not know if we can ever be friends, and I do not know what you will do in the future, but I vow never to speak ill of you again. I will no longer consider you my enemy.”
What happened next is hard to express. The sweet Spirit of the Lord enveloped both of us. As we embraced, the bitterness melted away. We cried and hugged and laughed.
Love, joy, and peace are such sweet companions that I wondered why I had chosen to carry around the heavy burdens of anger and ill will that had weighed down my soul and sapped my spiritual strength for so long. I am pleased to say I kept my vow, and we did become friends. I have since moved away from that neighborhood, but I have not forgotten the lessons of forgiveness and love I learned that precious summer day.

Let me share a more positive story. We have a good friend who lives with his family in a modest suburb of Idaho Falls. He and his wife had decided to put their house up for sale and purchase a larger and nicer home up in the foothills. However, he attended the October 1998 general priesthood meeting, and listened carefully to President Hinckley's address when he said:
There is a portent of stormy weather ahead to which we had better give heed... I urge you, brethren, to look to the condition of your finances. I urge you to be modest in your expenditures; discipline yourselves in your purchases to avoid debt to the extent possible. Pay off debt as quickly as you can, and free yourselves from bondage.
This is a part of the temporal gospel in which we believe. May the Lord bless you, my beloved brethren, to set your houses in order. If you have paid your debts, if you have a reserve, even though it be small, then should storms howl about your head, you will have shelter for your wives and children and peace in your hearts. That's all I have to say about it, but I wish to say it with all the emphasis of which I am capable.[6]
At that point in time in 1998, the US economy was booming, prosperity appeared to abound, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Despite that, however, my friend returned home after that priesthood meeting, and before entering his house he removed the "For Sale" sign from their front yard. He conferred with his wife, and together they decided that they weren't moving, but instead were going to stay put and work hard to get out of debt.

It was almost exactly ten years later, in October 2008, when the US housing market "bubble" burst and the US and world economy entered a severe recession. While he and his family were able to weather that storm, many of their friends in the foothills ended up losing their homes. It was obviously a huge blessing for our friends to be able to keep their home, but I suspect the greater blessings will come from their decision to heed the guidance of the prophet.

I was amazed at how proud I still felt of our new chapel as I attended seminary that morning. It was so beautiful!
I heard the voices of my fellow brothers and sisters, my best friends, and Sister Payne, our seminary teacher. They all greeted me with smiles and good mornings. My heart was full, and I knew that was where I should be.
After a song and a prayer, we began our lesson. Soon I was thinking about my friend who had recently stopped attending Sunday meetings. I was feeling guilty because we had had a disagreement that now seemed senseless. And I was thinking that my friend’s inactivity was a result of our disagreement.
My thoughts were interrupted by Sister Payne reading Doctrine and Covenants 64:9–10 [D&C 64:9–10]:
“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.”
Then I realized that I had been too proud to even apologize to my friend.
At that moment, I knew what to do about my friend. I would go to her and apologize. And I knew that once again, through the scriptures and a teacher, Heavenly Father had given me the strength to do what I knew in my heart was right.

To get ready for the Primary program, I learned the songs and memorized my part. But when it was my turn to speak into the microphone, I was scared by all of the people watching me. My Primary teachers tried to help me, but I was still too scared to say anything. Then my dad came up and held my hand. I didn’t feel scared anymore, and I said my part just right. That must be like how Heavenly Father helps all of us.

My father had a horse and buggy when I was a boy. Then one summer day in 1916, he came home in a shining black Model T Ford. It was a wonderful machine, but by today’s standards it was crude and temperamental. For instance, it did not have a self-starter. It had to be cranked. You had to crank it correctly or you could break your hand. But you could prepare it for safe cranking by retarding the spark. The car was also hard to start if the motor got wet. But a little canvas properly placed would keep it dry.
I learned that making preparations can save trouble.

When he was twenty-one he married Maria Theresa, a beautifully slim, black-haired young lady from a wealthy Creole family. The happy young couple immediately left Madrid to establish a home in the beautiful Aragua Valley where Simón had spent his early childhood. Their happiness lasted for only a few months, however. Maria became ill with fever and died after five days of agonizing delirium. “I shall never marry again,” Simón declared, and left San Mateo to go to France in an effort to forget his beautiful Maria. There he was courted and entertained, spent much money foolishly, and became known as “Prince Bolívar” to his admiring friends.

Another faithful family is that of Edwina Swartzberg, first counselor in the Sandton South Africa Stake Relief Society, a third-generation Latter-day Saint. Her explanations about Church temples to her future husband, Isaac, who was reared in an Orthodox Jewish home, assisted in his conversion. He had puzzled why the Lord, who, scripturally, always spoke to his people in temples, no longer had one on Earth. He recognized, too, prophecies of Christ in the Old Testament, especially in Psalm 22, and things fell into place for him. The Swartzbergs were later sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. They live in Pretoria where Brother Swartzberg is Church legal advisor and area director of Church public communications.

Johanna was only eight when war came to her village in Holland and everything changed. When Johanna was ten, conditions were so bad that her only chance for life was to escape with an older sister and hide in a farmhouse many miles away from their home.
The two girls live with the Oosterveld family, who keep them hidden in an upstairs room—hidden from prying neighbors and from German soldiers who set up an office in the room just below them. Johanna and Sini spend days quietly in bed, bored and lonely and longing for exercise and fresh air. They spend years hidden away from the world.
This unforgettable book touches the heart and holds the reader breathless with excitement, wondering what will happen next. It was named a Newbery honor book for 1973.

With a sincere prayer in my heart and my 14-year-old companion at my side, I knocked on Andy’s door. This was our first visit to his home as his new home teachers. We had recently accepted the responsibility to visit him despite his reputation for being difficult. The door opened, and there he stood, dressed in a Japanese kimono.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Irvin, and this is my companion. We are your home teachers and would like to visit with you.”
His wife was sitting at a table behind him, dressed in the same fashion. They were having a Japanese-style dinner.
“I think you can see that we’re having dinner and don’t have time for you,” he said.
“Perhaps we could come back some other time?” I asked.
“Why?”
“So we can get to know you,” I responded.
“Why do you want to get to know me?” he asked. “I don’t want to get to know you!”
I suppose we could have resigned as their home teachers right then, but we didn’t. When we returned the next month, Andy actually let us in. We sat facing a wall lined with empty beer bottles that were arranged in the shape of antique cars. Our meeting with Andy was short, but we learned that he was a retired air force colonel. Our subsequent visits were also short and yielded little results.
One night as I was leaving a Church meeting, I heard a voice within me telling me to visit Andy. “No, thank you,” I thought. “Not tonight.”
When I stopped at a red light, the prompting to visit Andy came again. I thought, “Please, I’m in no mood for Andy tonight.”
As I made my last turn for home, however, the same prompting came a third time, leaving me sure of what I needed to do.
I drove to his home and parked, praying for guidance. Then I approached his door and knocked. When Andy let me in, I saw a Book of Mormon and a book of genealogy on the table. I felt a different spirit in his home; something was different about Andy too. He spoke softly of his love for his mother and his sister, who had compiled the genealogy.
For the first time, he talked openly with me. He told me about pain he’d been feeling in his back, adding that he was going to the March Air Force Base hospital in nearby Riverside, California, the next day. I asked him if he would like a priesthood blessing. Without hesitation he answered in a quiet voice, “I’ll take it.” I called our elders quorum president, who came to help give the blessing.
The next day doctors told Andy he had inoperable lung cancer. After receiving the news, he went to see the bishop. Within a few months, he was confined to his bed.
One evening when I arrived at his home for another visit, his wife ushered me to his room, where he lay in a frail condition. I knelt beside his bed and cradled him in my arms. I whispered, “I love you, Andy.” With all of his strength, he put his arm on my shoulder and, with great effort, told me that he loved me too. Two days later he died.
His wife invited me to the funeral. Besides the four members of his family, I was the only one in attendance.
I’m so grateful I listened to the Spirit’s promptings to visit Andy.

“Don’t you just love running?” Olivia asked Ivy as the girls sat tying the laces of their shoes.
Ivy focused on her shoelaces and didn’t answer. All the fifth graders were training for the school’s mile race that would take place in a few weeks.
“Let’s go!” Olivia jumped to her feet and ran to the starting line.
Ivy watched Olivia’s athletic body glide across the lawn. Ivy stretched her legs out in front of her and reached to touch her toes, but her fingertips barely passed her knees. She sighed. “Why does running come so easily to everyone but me?” Ivy thought.
Ivy was tall for her age and broader than the other girls. Whenever she complained about her body, her parents would say, “You’re strong and healthy, and that’s what matters.” Still, Ivy always felt awkward when she participated in sports.
“Are you coming, Ivy?” her teacher, Mrs. Barrett, called. Mrs. Barrett was always encouraging.
“Yes, I’m coming.” Ivy walked to the starting line.
The race began. Ivy tried to push herself so she wouldn’t be the last one to the finish line. But then she had to stop and walk to catch her breath. When she crossed the finish line last again, Mrs. Barrett told her she had done a good job. Ivy didn’t think coming in last was a good job.
Breathing heavily, Ivy plopped down on the lawn. She thought about how embarrassing it would be to finish last in front of the whole school. If only she could finish before just one person. But then she realized that even if she beat one person, someone else would feel as bad as she had. Maybe she needed a different goal. Ivy decided that what she really wanted was to run the whole race without stopping to walk. Even if she finished last, she wanted to finish the race running.
Each day at practice Ivy tried not to think about the kids ahead of her. She focused on finding a pace she could keep up for the whole race. It felt good to work toward a goal that wasn’t measured against anyone else. As the weeks passed, Ivy walked less and less until one day she didn’t walk at all. She ran across the finish line. She was last, but that didn’t matter.
“Good job, Ivy!” Mrs. Barrett said, like always. Then she added, “I saw that you ran the whole way today.”
Ivy grinned. “Yes! That was my goal!”
The day of the official race came. Running at her own pace, Ivy crossed the finish line in last place. Afterward, medals were given to the top finishers. Ivy cheered for her classmates, happy for them and satisfied with her own accomplishment.
Then Mrs. Barrett held up a trophy with a star on it. “I have watched Ivy for several weeks during training,” Mrs. Barrett said. “She is not a fast runner. But Ivy set a goal for herself and worked consistently to achieve it. I’ve appreciated her determination as she worked to win a race that was only with herself, and for that I would like to present to her this trophy—the Spirit Award.”
Mrs. Barrett handed Ivy the trophy. The audience cheered.
Ivy could hardly believe it. She had been so worried about finishing last in front of everyone, but now they were cheering for her! She realized that by setting a worthy goal and working to achieve it, she could finish last and still win.

Alison Numkena and Jandi Hernandez want to set the record straight.
The girls, both Laurels in the Pinetop-Lakeside Arizona Stake, speak perfect English (in fact, it’s really the only language they speak). They watch television, go to regular high school, and when they attend stake dances, they don’t ride horseback to get there.
“It’s funny what people think about us sometimes,” says Jandi. “Since we’re Native Americans and we live on the reservation, people sometimes get funny ideas about what we’re like. But I think we’re pretty much like everybody else.”
And just like many young women in the Church, Alison, Jandi, and the rest of the girls on the Fort Apache Reservation look forward to girls’ camp in the summer.
However, for a long time, these girls had to wait two years between camp experiences. The stake hosts girls’ camp every other summer, and in the alternating summers, girls attend camp with their own wards and branches. But with just a small handful of active LDS girls, the reservation branches never had enough people for individual camps. Until this year, that is. By combining the girls from all three branches on the reservation, there was a large enough group for a small camp. So the girls and their leaders made it happen.
At the age of 18, Olivia Nez has been around the longest of any of the girls in the Young Women program on the reservation. She has played a large part in helping to plan this first girls’ camp, working closely with the leaders to make sure that all the girls had the equipment and skills necessary to have a great time. Even though her senior year was chock-full of activities, including being the student body president, Olivia made time to act as the youth camp director.
“Since I just graduated [from high school], this is my first and last camp with our branches,” she says. “The girls in my branch and the other branches face a lot of challenges, and this is a good opportunity to learn more about the gospel and recommit ourselves.”
Jandi and Alison, who are also Laurels, wanted to make a meaningful contribution to camp too. Jandi’s mom, Glenda, is the camp director, so she had plenty of things they could do to help out, including setting up camp and helping organize and execute a fund-raiser. They also put together binders for each girl containing information about each day’s activities, words to campfire songs, and camp certification information. Even with a relatively small group coming to camp, it was a big job.
“We worked right up to the last minute,” says Jandi. “The day camp started, we were still putting some of them together. We finished just in time!”
Many of the most important aspects of camp are the same for the girls on the Fort Apache Reservation as for young women anywhere else. Like any girls’ camp, there is a mixture of learning camping and hiking skills and learning about the gospel. There were afternoon workshops—many taught by the girls themselves—on the common challenges of keeping the Word of Wisdom, chastity, and church activity. Many of the other activities and campfire speakers also focused on these topics.
“Sometimes you get intimidated by an older person telling you what you need to do,” says Jandi. “Learning it from a friend is different; it’s easier to hear.”
There are differences, too, things that make this camp unlike any other. These girls are proud of their Native American heritage and have found ways to incorporate it into their camp experience. Most evenings there is something to eat that is unique to this camp—fry bread and Navajo tacos, for example, or a special cornbread that requires all the girls to help mash several ears of fresh corn and then take turns cooking the pancake-like bread over the fire.
But it’s not just the food that’s unique. One night’s campfire features several of the older leaders telling stories of their younger days on the reservation and of their conversion to the gospel. There is an emphasis on feeling good about being LDS and being a Native American and finding ways to make the two work together.
“Prayer is an important part of our culture, both as members of the Church and as members of the Apache tribe,” says Jandi. “It’s in our blood to pray morning, noon, and night. Heavenly Father and Jesus are important in our culture. Our tribal chairman and our tribal council often ask us to pray. You hear it in the Church and out.”
When camp ends, there are the usual comments about being eager to get home and have a hot shower, eat twig-free food, and sleep with something other than a rock for a pillow. As the girls take down tents and roll up sleeping bags, they talk about what was great about camp (seeing a baby elk from a distance of just a few feet) and what could be improved next time (more blankets for the near-freezing nighttime temperatures). But mostly they talk about how grateful they are that they were able to come to camp at all.
“We’ve gotten closer at this camp than we’ve ever been,” says Taren Webster, a Beehive. “Camp gives us time together away from home. I think that’s really important.”
Next year the girls from the reservation will join the other girls in their stake for camp. And the year after that? This group is still small, but they pulled it off once, so the next time should be a little easier. They’ll build on traditions they started this year, and maybe even come up with a few new ones. Just like this year, they’ll have a great time getting to know each other, becoming better campers, and learning about the gospel.
And that makes them pretty much like young women everywhere.
Are you heading off to girls’ camp soon? If so, you probably already know what to bring, and the activities are probably planned. Here are a few last-minute tips from the girls in Fort Apache for making a good camp great:
Be ready to share your talents, your ideas, and your testimony. Most camp activities require lots of group participation. Remember you’re among friends, so don’t be shy.
Maintain a cheerful attitude. Some parts of camp probably won’t be as much fun as others (being on dish-washing duty, for example), but putting a smile on your face and being a good sport make the time go quickly.
Look for opportunities to be kind. Does your tent mate need help with a certification skill? Is there a first-year camper who is homesick and could use a shoulder to cry on? Find people who need help and help them.
Remember what you’ve learned. At camp you often draw closer to the Lord, as well as to the other members of your Young Women group. Instead of letting those good feelings fade, build on them throughout the year.

Like many people, Pedro sets goals for himself. Unlike a lot of people, Pedro consistently reaches those goals. “If he sets a goal,” his father said, “he doesn’t rest until he has reached it. He fights hard to reach it, and he always gains it. For example, we were talking about what he wanted to do professionally. He said that he wanted to be a lawyer. I made a promise to him that if he worked hard enough to get accepted into Harvard Law School, I would somehow find a way to support him financially.” Pedro knows that fulfilling his dream means getting good grades and learning to speak English well. He is working hard at both.