Gospel Story Finder

Brigham Young began to develop rapidly toward his own foreordained role as a prophet the night in October 1832 when he first met Joseph and began to “subject [himself] to his counsel.” He and Heber C. Kimball were invited to stay for supper and for a regular, informal gathering of the Church leaders in Kirtland. There they “conversed together upon the things of the kingdom.” Brigham was asked to give the closing prayer, during which he was moved to speak in tongues. This was a spiritual gift the Prophet had not witnessed before; in fact, he had strongly warned against certain over-enthusiastic and unedifying cases of such expression at frontier camp meetings he had heard about, and the brethren thought he would condemn this manifestation. But when they asked him about it after Brigham left, he said, “No, it is of God, and the time will come when Brigham Young will preside over this Church.”8

Several years ago I attended a BYU football game with some of our young children. We lost the game. I really hate it when that happens. We listened to the coaches’ show on the ride back to our home in Bountiful. When it was over, my children had no alternative but to listen to my own postgame show. Just as I had completed my final analysis of what went wrong in the game, my seven-year-old daughter asked, “Dad, when you see the temple, do you get a good feeling inside?” I wondered, Where in the world did that come from? As I was trying to figure out what that comment had to do with the football game, I glanced over at her and could see she was looking out the window at the Salt Lake Temple. For some reason the game no longer mattered.
My whole life has been enriched by experiences of the temple. Our parents would take us to Temple Square in Salt Lake City on a regular basis. They would point to the temple and tell us that they were married there and because of that we would always be together as a family. What comfort that brought to a little boy whose biggest fear was that his parents might die. Now what comfort it brings to a grown man whose parents have passed on to the other side.
When I was 10 years old, in the shadows of the Salt Lake Temple I first read the Joseph Smith story and received a powerful testimony of the truthfulness of the Restoration.
I remember with thanksgiving going to the temple with my parents and receiving my endowments prior to departing for my mission.
My wife and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple about three years later. In subsequent years I have had the honor of performing the temple marriages of each of our six children.
We know many members of the Church have not had the luxury I have had of growing up around temples. Because of this knowledge we were all thrilled with the announcement made by President Hinckley in October of 1997 when he said, “We are determined … to take the temples to the people and afford them every opportunity for the very precious blessings that come of temple worship” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1997, 69; or Ensign, Nov. 1997, 50).
Since that time we have rejoiced and marveled as we have heard announcements of numerous temples and subsequently read of their open houses and dedications. We are witnessing a modern-day miracle and fulfillment of prophecy. What a wonderful time to be alive!
Our excitement over the building of temples is not shared by all. The adversary in particular is having a major temper tantrum as he sees his power threatened.
Over the last two years I have witnessed his wrath firsthand in West Africa. He has been very active, trying to prevent the building of a temple in that part of the world. Two years ago President Hinckley announced that there would be a temple in West Africa located in Accra, Ghana. Since then the adversary has been relentless in trying to prevent that from happening. Why is Lucifer so concerned?
We have 85,000 members in West Africa, and the Church is growing very rapidly. Sacrament meeting attendance is over 50 percent, but currently only 400 members have been endowed because of the prohibitive expense of traveling thousands of miles to Johannesburg or London. We have over 700 full-time African missionaries serving in the mission field, and very few of them have been endowed.
The African people have waited for centuries to receive the fulness of the gospel and have been through much pain and suffering. Now, at last, they can receive every blessing available to God’s children. Worthy members can receive the temple endowment and be able to have their families sealed together for time and for all eternity.
Faithfulness to temple covenants brings an acceleration of spiritual progress. As Elder John A. Widtsoe explained, “They will attain more readily to their place in the presence of the Lord; they will increase more rapidly in every divine power; they will approach more nearly to the likeness of God; they will more completely realize their divine destiny” (Evidences and Reconciliations [1960], 300).
That is why Lucifer is so concerned. In addition, he is aware of the large number of Africans who have accepted the gospel on the other side of the veil and are anxiously awaiting their proxy baptism and temple endowment as well as being sealed to their families. When a temple is dedicated, the dam in the spirit world will break and there will be a flood of humanity who have lived on the African continent flow into the temple of the Lord as their descendants do their work for them. We should not be surprised that Lucifer is using every means at his disposal to keep a temple from these people.
Through centuries of suffering, the people in general have not become bitter. They are humble, teachable, and God-fearing. They know the scriptures, and they recognize the Shepherd’s voice.
I have faith in their faith. I know the Savior loves the African people. Therefore, to paraphrase verse 33 of the 121st section of the Doctrine and Covenants, “As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the [Congo] river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from [building a temple for the African Latter-day Saints].”
As the Savior has said, “I will not suffer that [the enemy] shall destroy my work; yea, I will show unto them that my wisdom is greater than the cunning of the devil” (D&C 10:43).
It has been inspiring to see the Lord’s hand in bringing the forces together which will lead to an inevitable victory. There will be a temple in West Africa.
Last week we were driving from Provo to Bountiful again. As we left Provo we could see the temple up on the hill. Before it was out of sight, the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple came into view, and then the Jordan River Utah Temple appeared, followed by the Salt Lake Temple. And immediately thereafter we could see the Bountiful Utah Temple standing like a jewel above that city.
I thought back to my daughter’s question, “Dad, when you see the temple, do you get a good feeling inside?” I realized the overwhelming answer is, “Yes, when I see a temple I have a wonderful feeling inside.” However, my heart aches for our African brothers and sisters who have never seen a temple in their whole life.
It is my hope and prayer that we will never take temple blessings for granted. I also have a prayer in my heart for West Africa and any other place in the world where outside influences are preventing the Saints from enjoying the blessings of a temple.
I testify to the divinity of this work. Jesus is the Christ. He stands at the head of this Church, and He is orchestrating the building of His kingdom here on earth. We are witnessing miracles, and therefore I can testify they have not ceased. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Growing up, I didn’t believe there was a God. My life was full of turmoil, and in my darkest days I was depressed enough that I wanted to end my life. That was when the missionaries came knocking on my door. The gospel was exactly what I needed; I was drawn to it like a magnet.
My trials didn’t end after I joined the Church, but I was in a better position to resist the influence of the adversary. For the first time, I knew what happiness felt like.
However, depression didn’t loosen its grip easily. At one point I wanted to give up again. At that moment Sister Ting, the bishop’s wife, called. She told me she had a feeling she needed to call me. She asked how I was doing. I bore my soul to her. To me, she was an angel sent by God.
That incident empowered me. My faith was strengthened. I felt like I could conquer death. I felt delivered, like it says in Alma 36:2–3:
“They were in bondage, and none could deliver them except … God … .
“… Whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.”
I still have trials, but I will not be easily beaten again. God has supported me through all my trials and worries. He has saved me from spiritual prison and bondage, even death. He is my Savior.

When I was about 18, I took a sewing class. One day three girls a few feet away from me started using offensive language. I didn’t know if I should ignore them to avoid a conflict or if I should stand up for my standards and ask them to stop. Eventually, I said as nicely as possible, “Excuse me, but could you please watch your language?”
The biggest of the girls glared at me and said, “We’ll talk however we want.”
I said, “But do you really have to swear? It really offends me.”
She said, “Then just don’t listen.”
I was starting to get upset and said, “It’s hard not to listen when you’re talking so loudly.”
She said, “Get over it.”
I gave up. I was frustrated with the girls, but even more frustrated with myself. I couldn’t believe I’d let my tone get confrontational. The girls were still swearing, and now we were all angry.
After I’d calmed down, I saw that the girls were having trouble with their sewing machine. I knew what was wrong because I’d had the same problem earlier. So I showed them how to fix it. I saw the expression change on the biggest girl’s face. “Hey,” she said, “we’re sorry.” I couldn’t believe it—she was apologizing. “I’m sorry too,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry like that.”
I went back to my sewing machine and didn’t hear another swear word. That experience taught me that our words might not change others’ attitudes, but kindness and service often can.
Katie Pike, Utah, USA

When we served in Texas, we knew two missionaries that lived in the same circumstances … but had different attitudes. They were assigned to the same place, one right after the other. The first Elder was particularly unhappy. My wife called to check on him and asked how he was doing in his area. “Oh, Sister Lyons, it’s difficult up here. My apartment is awful, my companion is difficult and the members aren’t helpful at all.” Soon after, this Elder was transferred to another area in the mission. Concerned about the general conditions in the apartment and area, Sister Lyons called the missionary that replaced him to see how he was getting along. “Sister Lyons, I love this area. My apartment is super, my companion is great and the members are so anxious to help. Things couldn’t be better.”
What changed? Which of these missionaries are we more like? Do we see the sun coming up? Today? Tomorrow? Or are we waiting for someone else to show us the sunrise?

One-hundred-and-fifty youth from the New Orleans and Baton Rouge stakes in Louisiana volunteered for three days at a youth program for a national spina bifida conference in New Orleans. While their parents were in classes, the children and teens with spina bifida were entertained by the Louisiana youth. They played games, read, did puppet shows, danced, and just chatted. Spending one-on-one time with the children and teenagers was challenging for the LDS youth at first, but by the end of their youth conference the youth realized that although they were setting a good example by serving, those they served were the real shining examples.

On the night of September 21, 1989, Hurricane Hugo passed with all its fury over the beautiful city of Charleston, South Carolina. My good friend Alvie Evans lived in a low-lying area near the water, where the maximum strength of the storm was headed. He gathered his family together and moved to higher ground, to the home of his mother.
Late in the night, 150-mile-per-hour winds raged around them, uprooting trees and ripping away parts of the house. The storm became so severe they began to fear they would experience physical harm. Alvie, with his wife and children, his mother, and his brothers and sister and their families, knelt together in the entrance hall of the home and prayed humbly to the Lord, asking for protection and for safety.
The next morning they viewed the devastation. Of the fifty or more large, strong oak trees that had been growing in his mother’s yard, only eight remained standing. There was damage to the house, the cars, the entire city, but the family was safe. The Lord had heard their prayers and had protected them through the storm. Alvie said, “I didn’t know then if we would have a house to return to, but I knew we would always have a home, because our family was intact and secure.”

Let me tell you of a young man who really understood these scriptures. He lives in Seoul, Korea. One day, when this young man was 15, his father received a call from a close friend who asked him if he were having financial difficulty. Being in affluent circumstances, he indicated “No, everything is fine.” He then wanted to know why his friend would ask such a question.
The man replied that he had seen his son selling newspapers on a street corner in Seoul.
The father couldn’t believe it because his son received quite a liberal allowance and would have no need to work for additional money. When asked if there couldn’t have been a mistake, the friend said, “No, I stopped and talked with him on the corner.”
When the son returned from school that evening his father asked him about the incident. The son said, “Yes, I was selling newspapers.”
“Isn’t your allowance sufficient to take care of your needs?” the father wanted to know.
“Yes,” he said, “but we had a lesson in seminary on the Good Samaritan, and I wanted to experience what it meant to be a Good Samaritan, not just learn about it. So I have taken my allowance and bought newspapers and asked some of my friends to join with me in selling them. We want to raise enough money to help one of our classmates, who is very poor, remain in school. Without the help, he would have to drop out.”
In addition to this, sometime earlier, this young man had asked his mother to double his lunch. She had done so without questioning him, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He told his father that this other student would have to go hungry each day if he did not share half of his lunch with him.
This is what the Lord means when he encourages us to be doers of the word and to show our faith by our works. There are many experiences that would take on greater meaning if we made these scriptures a part of our lives.

The impact of a Christlike teacher can be everlasting. I know because my life was changed by a teacher who taught in the Savior’s way.
When I was a Mia Maid, my adviser, Sister Chambers, was one of the most Christlike people I’d ever known. She truly understood the importance of loving those you teach. She was always so genuine and kind to everyone. I always looked forward to her lessons because it was clear that she truly cared about the young women. I always felt the Spirit when she taught, and I always felt inspired to do better.
I still remember specific lessons that she taught, including one about how we can draw closer to the Savior when we turn our focus outward and look for ways to help others. Years later, I’m still striving to turn that inner focus outward.
Sister Chambers also happened to be my piano teacher. She was so patient with me, even when I was having a hard time with a piece or when it was obvious that I hadn’t practiced as much as I should have. Sister Chambers was encouraging and gentle, and I think that helped me improve more than anything else. I loved her so much that I didn’t want to disappoint her! In fact, I wanted to be like her.
During one piano lesson, she told me she was moving. After the lesson, I think I cried for about an hour! I loved her so much. I don’t think she ever knew the impact she had on me. But that’s the power that good teachers can have. They can shape you in such a way that their influence is felt long after their presence is gone.

I remember as well Sunday, January 8, 1956. To understand why that is memorable to me, we must go back to 1910.

George H. Brimhall, having already served nineteen years as president of BYU, determined to establish a recognized teachers college. He had hired three professors: one with a master’s degree from Harvard, one with a doctorate from Cornell, and the other with a doctorate from Chicago. They hoped to transform the college into a full-fledged university. They determined that practicality and religion, which had characterized the school, must now give way to more intellectual and scientific philosophies.

The professors held that “the fundamentals of religion could and must be investigated by extending the [empirical] method into the spiritual realm,” and they “considered evolution to be a basic, spiritual principle through which the divinity in nature expressed itself.” The faculty sided with the new professors and the students rallied to them.

Horace H. Cummings, superintendent of Church schools, became concerned because they were “applying the evolutionary theory and other philosophical hypotheses to principles of the gospel and to the teachings of the Church in such a way as to disturb, if not destroy the faith of the pupils,” and he wrote, “Many stake presidents, some of our leading principals and teachers, and leading men who are friends of our schools have expressed deep anxiety to me about this matter.”

Superintendent Cummings reported to the board that
1. The teachers were following the “higher criticism” . . . , treating the Bible as “a collection of myths, folk-lore, dramas, literary productions, ­history and some inspiration.”
2. They rejected the flood, the confusion of tongues, the miracle of the Red Sea, and the temptation of Christ as real phenomena.
3. They said John the Revelator was not translated but died in the year A.D. 96.
4. “The theory of evolution is treated as a demonstrated law and their applications of it to gospel truths give rise to many curious and conflicting explanations of scripture.”
5. The teachers carried philosophical ideas too far: (1) “They believed sinners should be pitied and enlightened rather than blamed or punished,” (2) and they believed that “we should never agree. God never made two things alike. Only by taking different views of a thing can its real truth be seen.”
6. . . .
7. The professors taught that “all truths change as we change. Nothing is fixed or reliable.”
8. They also taught that “visions and revelations are mental suggestions. The objective reality of the presence of the Father and the Son, in Joseph Smith’s first vision, is questioned.”

Superintendent Cummings concluded his report by saying that the professors “seem to feel that they have a mission to protect the young from the errors of their parents.”

President Brimhall himself defended the ­professors—that is, until some students “frankly told him they had quit praying because they learned in school there was no real God to hear them.”

Shortly thereafter President Brimhall had a dream.

He saw several of the BYU professors standing around a peculiar machine on the campus. When one of them touched a spring a baited fish hook attached to a long thin wire rose rapidly into the air. . . .

Casting his eyes around the sky he [President Brimhall] discovered a flock of snow-white birds circling among the clouds and disporting themselves in the sky, seemingly very happy. Presently one of them, seeing the bait on the hook, darted toward it and grabbed it. Instantly one of the professors on the ground touched a spring in the machine, and the bird was rapidly hauled down to the earth.

On reaching the ground the bird proved to be a BYU student, clad in an ancient Greek costume, and was directed to join a group of other students who had been brought down in a similar manner. Brother Brimhall walked over to them, and noticing that all of them looked very sad, discouraged and downcast, he asked them:

“Why, students, what on earth makes you so sad and downhearted?”

“Alas, we can never fly again!” they replied with a sigh and a sad shake of the head.

Their Greek philosophy had tied them to the earth. They could believe only what they could demonstrate in the laboratory. Their prayers could go no higher than the ceiling. They could see no heaven—no hereafter.

Now deeply embarrassed by the controversy and caught between opposing factions, President Brimhall at first attempted to be conciliatory. He said, “I have been hoping for a year or two past that harmony could be secured by waiting, but the delays have been fraught with increased danger.” When an exercise in administrative diplomacy suddenly became an issue of faith, President Brimhall acted.

First, you will likely be found out. Then you must work extra hard to make up for losing the trust of your teachers and your parents. One young woman was very nervous about going to college. The first essay she turned in to her freshman English class was one she plagiarized (copied from another source). Her teacher recognized the essay she had copied from and confronted her. The student spent the rest of the semester trying to make up for her cheating. Even when she did well on an essay she wrote herself, her teacher was always a little suspicious.

Second, cheating takes away the satisfaction of doing well in your classes. Nothing will give you more confidence in your abilities than doing well in a class by studying hard. One young chemistry student found out that someone in his chemistry lab had the answer book for all the lab experiments they would be assigned that semester. It seemed like the whole class played around in the lab and then filled in the correct answers while he did his lab work without cheating. He was made fun of, but in the end, when the class was assigned individual projects for their final grade, he was way ahead because he had actually learned the things he was supposed to have learned.

Third, and perhaps most important, cheating damages your spirit. When you are in tune with the promptings of the Holy Ghost, it is fairly easy to tell right from wrong. But each time you cheat or lie or cover up errors, you start to believe your rationalizations. You begin to think that there really are good reasons for you to cheat or to bend the rules in your case. But no matter how you fool yourself, it doesn’t make it right. And the cost to your spirit is high. Your ability to hear the promptings of the still, small voice telling you right from wrong will diminish. You can become spiritually numb, as it says in 1 Nephi 17:45, “Ye were past feeling, that ye could not feel his words.” [1 Ne. 17:45]

The things you learn about being honest in schoolwork apply to the business world as well. As you move into the working world, if you give good honest value in services and products for the money paid you, then you can truly say that you deal honestly with your fellowmen.

I knelt beside my three-year-old and listened to his scrambled bedtime prayer: “I’m thankful for Mommy and Daddy, snow and clouds. I’m thankful for Santa Claus. I’m thankful for pizza and my big brother. Thank you for food. Thank you for everything.”
I waited as he hesitated. With such a long inventory of blessings, I assumed he was deciding between continuing his list or jumping into his warm, inviting bed. After a long pause, he hastily added, “Oh, and please bless our dumb old cat.” He then finished his prayer with an emphatic amen.

I’ll never forget our family reunion the summer I turned eight. It was at the sawmill site on our mountain homestead. Our family is a big one, with lots of uncles and aunts and big and little cousins—especially Lucinda. She’s just my age. Our birthdays are both in July.
The ranch has a meadow, a creek, a pollywog pond with a zillion frogs, ponderosa pines, and lots of things to do and places to play. Lucinda and I made little fences and houses out of pinecones and wildflowers, and our people and animals were pretty rocks and twigs.
The reunion was two days and nights of fun. The first night, when the canyon breeze whispered through the pine trees, Papa lit a campfire that felt good. Everyone brought folding chairs and circled the fire. The sun was setting in a sky of pink and gold. Uncle Jake strummed his guitar and began to sing, “Just a Song at Twilight,” and Papa and Mama and all of my uncles and aunts joined in. I felt like heaven itself had come to our reunion. Nothing could have been prettier. Stories and songs filled the evening. We sang songs like “You Are My Sunshine” and “Red Wing,” and we giggled while we sang “Plant a Watermelon on My Grave and Let the Juice Soak Through.”
The second night, after our marshmallow roast and singing, Aunt Venice told us about the time the Savior came to America and blessed the children. When Lucinda and I snuggled into our beds, we lay looking at the stars while we talked about the angels that had come down among the children.
The next morning after breakfast, we cleaned up camp and packed to go home. We were sad to leave. I wished we could have stayed forever. Lucinda and I walked out into the meadow while the cars were being loaded. The penstemons were blooming tall and pinkish white. In one of their snapdragon-like blossoms was the shining black rear of a big bumblebee.
“Hey, look, Lucinda,” I cried.
The blossom’s lips were pursed snugly around that fat bee. I tapped the stem to see if he would back up, but he didn’t. So I tapped harder. “He likes it so much he won’t come out,” I said.
“He’s so full of honey, he’s taking a nap,” Lucinda remarked.
Papa honked the car horn and shouted, “All aboard.”
“Are you riding with us?” Lucinda asked.
“Thanks,” I answered, “but I think I’ll go home with my family. I want to show Robbie my bumblebee. He’ll love it.”
Car horns honked again and Lucinda ran. I picked my bee-flower and started to run, then tripped on a morning-glory runner. I lost my bee in the tall grass and couldn’t find him. Cars were leaving, and some of them had already crossed the creek. By the time I got back to camp, the last car was pulling out. It was my family. I yelled, “Hey, wait for me!” but they went right on. I knew my parents would think I was with Lucinda, because that was the way I had come.
I ran as fast as I could, but it was no use. No one looked back. The cars crawled in a dusty caravan over the bumpy road and vanished around the bend. And there I was. Alone.
The only thing I could think of was to keep running. Maybe someone would have to stop. I ran until my lungs burned. I stopped at the gate, which was wired shut. I’d have to climb over it. I remembered a nearby mountain road where someone would see me and take me home.
As I reached for the bars to pull myself up onto the gate, a warning thought came into my head. Firmly it said, Don’t go out that gate.
I stepped down. “The only way to get home is to climb that gate,” I said to myself, so I put my foot on the bottom bar. This time the thought shouted, Don’t go out that gate!
I was already panting from running so hard, and now I was shaking. I leaned against a tree to think. Home was seventeen miles down the mountain. The road was twisty and steep. Papa called it a slow road. It would be a long time before the folks got home and discovered I was missing, and then a longer time before they could get back to find me. If I could get out onto the road to catch a ride, I might get home before they missed me.
Then I remembered my parents warning us all to never get into a car with a stranger. Something terrible might happen. My heart was pounding and a sob stuck in my throat, but I was determined not to cry. I knew I wasn’t alone, because of the warnings that kept me from climbing over the gate.
I could hear the trickle of the nearby creek. I sat on its bank and watched the water splash over the rocks. My thoughts went back to last night’s get-together around the campfire and Aunt Venice’s story. The sweetness of her telling about how Jesus came to America after the Resurrection comforted me. How wonderful it was when He kneeled in the midst of the little children. I felt His love as He blessed each one of them. How beautiful it must have been with all of the people looking up and seeing heaven open and angels descending in the midst of fire and encircling the little ones.
I’m one of the little ones, I thought. It seemed like those very angels were with me. A song filled my heart. I found myself softly singing, “I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How he called little children like lambs to his fold; I should like to have been with him then.”*
“Thanks, Heavenly Father,” I whispered. “It’s good to know that I’m not alone.”
With time on my hands, I enjoyed the wildflowers and the bluejays, the woodpeckers and the squirrels, the chipmunks and the wrens. Finally I got sleepy. I gathered armfuls of bracken ferns and stacked them for a pillow on the shady tabletop of a huge tree stump that had been timbered off years ago, and curled up for a nap.
I slept so soundly that I didn’t hear anyone coming through the gate. Mama’s kiss and her tears on my cheek awoke me. Opening my eyes, I saw her and Papa bending over me. The bursting happiness that was mine can never, never be forgotten. I wanted to shout to all the world the goodness of our Savior and Heavenly Father, and the preciousness of families.

My first district leader’s motto seemed to be “Work smarter, not harder.” I don’t agree with the second half of this motto, but if I had it to do over, I would certainly try to work smarter. My district leader was quite creative and quite successful. For instance, he organized a volleyball team among the youth in his branch, and they invited their friends to play. It was a fun and simple way to help the youth be missionaries. Teaching opportunities and conversions resulted from this nonthreatening approach to sharing the gospel.

I was probably too rigid and restrictive in my definition of what the Lord’s work should be. I considered myself lazy if I wasn’t out knocking on doors all day long or teaching serious investigators. But the Lord’s work doesn’t have to be hard to be considered work. If I were a missionary today, I would, under the guidance of my mission president, try to be more creative in finding people to teach.

The service activity is on Wednesday to help with the park cleanup, Will. Can I count on you being there?
Yes, Bishop. I said I’d help, and I’ll keep my word.
I’ll keep MY WORD.
Isn’t the football game on Wednesday? I was going to watch that …
Maybe I should do my homework now while I have time so I won’t be tempted to do it later.
Hey! Come hang out with us on Wednesday!
I could just take a quick nap before I go—I’d still have time, right?
I kept my word. I’m ready to work!

“Best party we’ve ever had,” smiled a girl as she sank exhaustedly onto the grass. “Just hope the paint comes off my slacks.”

“Seek to Serve” was Salt Lake Highland High School Seminary’s goal. Instead of the usual cookies-and-punch party for one of their yearly socials, seminary leaders chose to devote a complete day of service to someone who really needed it.

A neighbor of one of the seminary teachers had been unable to take proper care of her home for some time. An elderly widow, she wasn’t up to the rigors of house painting and weed pulling.

But 171 seminary students were.

Nancy Harker, social chairman, organized the entire event. Tickets for the “social” were sold at $1.50 to raise money for plants, paints, seeds, and other supplies. Then on Saturday afternoon the party began.

As the students arrived they began sanding, scraping, and painting the entire house. Seven loads of debris were removed from the yard. Bushes were trimmed, trees pruned, and flower beds weeded and planted. A large portion of the backyard was cultivated and turned into a vegetable garden.

The widow supervised the project. “Oh, I just can’t believe this,” she said. “Here I am, not even a member of their church, and there are 171 young Mormons painting and cleaning up my house!”

Six hours later as the last weed was pulled and the last paint brush was being cleaned up, it was impossible to tell who was happier—the widow or the students. One participant summed up the feelings of most participants when he said, “I guess service is just realizing we’re all brothers and sisters.”

When I was a new mom, I felt stifled in the daily routine of childcare. It was hard to watch my husband and others pursue exciting new paths while I was stuck in our tiny apartment all day caring for two small children. I wanted to love being a mother, but I was struggling. So I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. I asked Him to help me know how to change my outlook and myself. The answers I received are simple yet powerful:
Count your blessings. When I concentrate on the good things in my life instead of the negative things, I feel grateful and happy.
Find the beauty and joy in the everyday. I noticed how often my kids laughed and made me laugh. I loved being able to watch them grow every day. I began to delight in accomplishing household tasks, even those I had to do several times a day. This is a blessing of the Spirit that I gained through prayer and effort.
Play with your kids. Taking the time to play with my kids has been a huge blessing. It helps me prioritize my time and minimize my distractions, and it gives my kids less time for watching TV, getting into mischief, and pestering each other! When I play with my kids, they’re happy, and when they’re happy, so am I. Joining in their play helps me develop a stronger relationship with them and allows me to see the world through their eyes. It reminds me why the frustrations of parenthood are worth it.
Look outside yourself. When I focus on others, I don’t dwell on my own problems. This frees me from feeling frustrated, sad, or discouraged and helps me replace those feelings with the pure love of Christ. I know this to be true, but I have to relearn it now and then. I don’t do everything I do for myself; I do it for the precious souls God has placed in my charge. I grow to be more like Him as I teach them to be more like Him.
Maintain a long-term perspective. When I get frustrated with the seemingly endless tasks before me, I remind myself how precious and crucial this time of life is. My kids will be with me for just a short time, and I cherish the time I have to help them learn and watch them grow into the amazing people Heavenly Father wants them to be.
Following these promptings has completely changed my perspective on motherhood. Before, I felt like I was missing out on life’s grand adventures. But now I know that my kids are a grand adventure. The excitement and purpose I was looking for was right in front of me the whole time. I’m not just a maid; I’m a teacher, a counselor, a confidant. Motherhood is both a great blessing and a great challenge, and I’m grateful for the ways in which it stretches me, teaches me, and refines me to become the person Heavenly Father knows I can be.

When the sun was directly overhead, Red Fawn spread her lunch of frybread, venison, and some berries she had picked. The spot she selected was a flat boulder, warmed by the sun. She had tied fishing lines to the lower branches of the willow trees growing close to the water. When the boughs began to shake violently, she would know a fish was on the line.
Red Fawn stiffened suddenly as she heard metal strike rock. Horses! she thought, and shod ones, so they are not Indian ponies! She swept her food into a rock crevice and darted away into the willow trees to hide. The Indian girl hugged the ground and watched a small group of white men dismount and lead their horses to the river to drink. One man, an old Indian, remained on his horse, hands tied behind his back. Red Fawn muffled a gasp as the horse turned toward her. The captive was Lone Tree, her father’s uncle!
Lone Tree was an elder of her tribe, a wise, honest, and highly respected brave. The men are not soldiers or settlers. Why have they taken him and bound him like a criminal? she wondered. Red Fawn winced as Lone Tree was pushed from his horse and sent sprawling. The old Indian struggled to a sitting position, his face impassive. There was laughter as the leader teased the Indian with water, then splashed it to the ground.
Red Fawn felt like weeping. How could these renegades have so little respect for Lone Tree’s dignity and gray braids? The girl watched as the men cooked and ate their supper and then relaxed around the fire. No food was offered to Lone Tree.
Suddenly Red Fawn sensed a change in him. The Indian had not moved, but his muscles had tensed; and his eyes glowed like live coals as he stared at the boulder where she had started to eat. Red Fawn looked and saw two crushed berries and a few telltale crumbs she had not swept away! Lone Tree’s eyes darted to the dangling fishing lines, then searched among the willows.
Red Fawn did not dare move, but she signaled with the chirp of a brown thrush. A slight smile rippled across the weathered face of Lone Tree. Friendly eyes were watching, although he did not know who it was. He was not alone. There was hope.
He would not feel so optimistic if he knew it was only me, Red Fawn thought sadly, wishing her brothers were with her. How can I free Lone Tree from six armed men? All she had were her skinning knife and strips of rawhide line. The situation seemed hopeless.
The leader of the men got up and approached the bound Indian. He dangled a cut thong with a gleaming gold nugget attached that Lone Tree always wore around his neck. He shouted harsh questions that Lone Tree answered truthfully, as he had many times before.
The men had attacked and taken him prisoner three days ago when he had approached their camp in friendship. He told them again, “I do not know where the nugget of yellow metal came from. My father wore it, and his father before him. It was theirs and now it is mine, until it passes on to my eldest son.”
“He’s still lying!” another man shouted, lunging toward the helpless man. “There’s got to be more nuggets where this one came from. Probably a whole mountain of the stuff. Beat the truth out of him!”
A younger man, who had done the cooking, stepped forward and pulled the angry man back. “You won’t get truth from this man by beating him nor by starving or thirsting him to death either. And if you kill him, we’ll never find the lode. So don’t touch him again!” he threatened. “I intend to get my share of that gold. The stuff has no value to these Indians, so I’ll see that he’s given food and water until he decides to talk. He will, sooner or later, when he sees that he can’t return to his kin until he gives us the information.”
“So it’s only the yellow metal they want,” Red Fawn whispered, relieved to know that Lone Tree had not innocently broken some law of the white man. If he had done no wrong and was not being taken to the soldiers, then she would break no law by freeing him—if she could. She considered the thought of showing herself and leading the captors to a stream where she had seen tiny flakes of the yellow stuff in the sand. But, instinctively, she realized that it would not be enough to satisfy their greed or gain Lone Tree’s freedom. It would only give them another hostage and possibly seal Lone Tree’s fate unless he lied and pretended to know where many gold nuggets were. She did not want to cause Lone Tree to lie.
Red Fawn’s cramped muscles cried out for relief, but she stayed motionless as the men quarreled and finally agreed to set up camp for the night. At dark Lone Tree was tied to a stake with his back toward her hiding place. The other men slept close to the fire, but their leader, to Red Fawn’s despair, spread his bedroll close to the old man.
The girl waited until the restless men sank into deep sleep before inching her way backward to a clearing where the hobbled horses were grazing. She cut them free and used Lone Tree’s pony to quietly herd them away from the camp. At a safe distance, she flicked slapping branches to send them loping northward.
The weakened Lone Tree had not dozed off. Certain that his unknown rescuer would come, he waited patiently. A small hand touched his shoulder, then his numbed hands were cut free. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Red Fawn’s face in the flickering firelight. He had assumed that the reassuring signal had come not from this slip of a girl but from some young brave out hunting alone.
Standing before Red Fawn on trembling legs that threatened to buckle, the old brave was ashamed of his weakness and stiffened joints. He tried not to lean too heavily on his young rescuer as they slipped toward the hidden pony, but he could never have made the short distance alone. His hands and feet were tortured, and felt as though pierced by many hot needles when the blood returned to them.
“Stretch your muscles and be ready to ride fast when I return,” Red Fawn whispered, turning back.
Lone Tree feared for her safety and was curious about her determination to return to the white man’s camp, but he kept silent. She has done the impossible by rescuing me alone, he thought. Still, I wonder what it is that she feels she must do. Whatever it is, I will trust her and wait.
Red Fawn soon raced back, flung herself up behind Lone Tree, and sent the spotted pony into a gallop. They were well on their way when they heard angry shouts and gunshots from the camp. “Indians! Indians!” the thrashing leader bellowed, when the wad of dry grass was removed from his mouth and the rawhide loops cut from his wrists and ankles.
“You have nothing of ours. We have nothing of yours,” Red Fawn shouted back, dangling the broken thong with its swinging yellow nugget that she had removed from the leader’s saddlebag.
A look of awe was on Lone Tree’s face, as Red Fawn placed in his wrinkled hand the necklace passed down from his father and from his father’s father.

David Haight’s hour came during World War II, when as a lieutenant commander in the Naval Reserve, he served under Admiral Nimitz, with headquarters at Pearl Harbor, and Admiral Crosse on the mainland.

With the war escalating in the Pacific, Commander Haight left San Francisco at midnight for a high-level conference in Hawaii. He was assigned a sleeping bag in the tail of a Boeing Clipper.

As he lay awake that night, his whole life passed before him. He had a testimony and was a counselor to his bishop, but his priorities were not right. He poured out his heart in prayer and promised that if he lived through the war and was permitted to return to his family, the Lord’s work would always come first.

My mother, Mildred Bennion Eyring, grew up in the farming community of Granger, Utah, USA. One of her brothers, Roy, followed the family business of raising sheep. As a young man he spent many weeks away from home. Over time he became less interested in the Church. Eventually he moved to Idaho, USA, married, and had three children. He died at the age of 34 when his wife was 28 years old and their children were small.
Even though Roy’s little family was in Idaho and my mother had moved about 2,500 miles (4,025 km) to New Jersey, USA, she often wrote them letters of love and encouragement. My uncle’s family affectionately referred to my mother as “Aunt Mid.”
Years passed, and one day I received a phone call from one of my cousins. I was told that Roy’s widow had died. My cousin said, “Aunt Mid would want you to know.” Aunt Mid had long since passed away, but the family still felt her love and reached out to tell me.
I can still remember the love in the voice of my cousin who called and said, “Our mother has died, and Aunt Mid would want you to know.”
It is a blessing to live in the time when the promise of hearts turning is being fulfilled. Mildred Bennion Eyring felt that urge in her heart. She loved her brother’s family, and she reached out to them. They felt their hearts turn in love to Aunt Mid because they knew she loved them.