Gospel Story Finder

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.”

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
When I was six or seven years old, I knew I wanted to be an oceanographer. I focused on my goal, worked hard, and got into a good college. I took several courses in zoology and loved it. But as I got further into my studies, I became fascinated with the human body, particularly on the cellular level. I decided to become a pathologist.
I soon met my future husband, and we decided to get married. Having a family was always part of my plan, but while I knew I could be a great doctor and a great mother, I felt that I couldn’t be great at both at the same time. Because family is essential to the Lord’s plan of salvation, I decided to become a mother first. I figured that once my kids got into school, I could go back to school myself.
When my youngest child entered kindergarten, I began the application process for a PhD program in nutritional studies at the University of Texas in Austin. Just before submitting my application, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with my seventh child. I was in my 40s, and by the time this child entered school, I would be nearly 50.
“A little late to start a new career that takes extensive schooling,” I thought.
All at once I saw my life’s career dreams crumble around me. As I began to despair, a scripture came to my mind and my heart: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). I had always considered this scripture to mean one person dying for another, but now it means so much more.
I realized that the greatest love I could show was to lay down the life I had planned for myself and give my time and energy to raising my children. I felt that for me, this was what the Lord would have me do. Yes, I could have helped a lot of people as a doctor, but I also know that the greatest eternal impact I can have is in the lives of my own children.

Think back with me. When I was your age, like many of you have experienced, I was a new high school graduate coming to college in Rexburg for the first time. Embarrassingly, I had committed to attending Ricks College before I ever realized it was not in Utah. I didn’t even know where it was. I was purely making this journey on the advice of my neighbor in Ohio: Wayne Marler.
Just before fall semester started, I landed at the Idaho Falls airport with another student that was also coming out to Ricks College from our Rootstown, Ohio, ward. I only knew three people in all of Idaho, and we were meeting two of those three people at the airport. My traveling companion climbed into the only available spot in the cab of the pickup truck, so I climbed into the covered bed with my luggage.
As we approached the first Rexburg off-ramp, on what was later described to me as “the highway,” I saw the roadside sign indicating this was the Rexburg exit. Peering through the small windows of the truck cap, I saw a hillside community surrounded by agricultural fields. At that moment, I became uneasy with the decision I had made to come so far for school as the reality set in that I was approximately 1,800 miles from home. What was I thinking?
Luckily, when I was dropped off in the parking lot of my apartment complex, about 200 yards from where I am standing today, I was immediately greeted by friendly college girls. (My wife made me say that.) I began to think to myself, “I think I might like it here!” And I was right! I had a fantastic student experience because of the gathering opportunities in classes, student wards, family home evening groups, devotionals, student study groups, campus activities, great roommates, and so much more.

Our plane landed and the young mother was off, carry-on bag in one arm, little boy in the other. It turned out she had another flight ahead of her and was about to miss it. I watched her panic on the tarmac as her luggage came out. I took stock of her belongings: stroller, car seat, suitcase, carry-on, diaper bag. She needed help. My empathy needed to mature into compassion.
Without stopping to introduce myself, I reached for her many belongings and said, “I’ll take these. You take him. Run to your gate. I’ll follow you.” She accepted gratefully, and we sprinted through the airport. As we approached the gate, I saw another woman pleading with the airline attendant to keep the plane on the ground for just a few more minutes. We approached breathless but triumphant. The young mother and this woman embraced with tears of joy and relief before boarding.
This small act of service didn’t change the world, but it did meaningfully bless the life of a child of God in need. Just as it helped my new friend progress toward her physical destination, it helped me progress toward my spiritual destination. Choosing empathy and compassion helped me become a bit more like Jesus Christ. And this made me happy.

During my junior year of high school, the bishopric called a new Sunday School teacher for my class. It was wonderful because this new teacher was very entertaining. At that time I didn’t go to Sunday School regularly. Before Brother Dahl was called, I hardly went at all.
One Sunday, I was walking down the hall to throw away my little brother’s leftover Cheerios from sacrament meeting and head for the bathroom to spend Sunday School time with my friends. On my way, Brother Dahl greeted me. Shaking my hand he said, “How are you doing, Sister Whitworth?” I just smiled, pushed open the garbage can, and dropped the bag in. “I hope you are coming to Sunday School today. The lesson is one of my favorites.”
“Brother Dahl, all the lessons are your favorites.” He smiled and left for class, leaving me with a weird feeling that he knew I had not planned on going to class that day. I am always one to do exactly the opposite of what everyone thinks I will do, so I went to the bathroom and casually said, “Come on, Kristina, let’s go to Sunday School.” Kristina always went to Sunday School, but I could see the surprise on her face when I was the one who suggested it.
As we entered the class, Brother Dahl asked, “Annie, what would you like for Christmas this year?”
“Money,” I said. Everyone giggled, even Brother Dahl. Brother Dahl asked everyone in the class the same question. Some wanted a mountain bike, others a stereo, and others didn’t really care as long as they got something.
Brother Dahl said, “Every year about this time I start wondering if my wife knows what I want for Christmas. I hope this year she gets me a new tennis racket and shirt, because my old ones are getting a little worn out.” Everyone knew he was joking because he was grinning.
“But that is not what Christmas is all about,” he said in a voice that changed the tone of the lesson. He started handing out paper and pencils. “At Christmastime we should be in the spirit of giving, but we should also remember what Christmas really is. On this paper I want you to write a letter to Jesus, thanking Him for all He has given you. And tell Him what present you will give Him.”
This was not an easy assignment for me. At first, I wrote down that I would give Him all of my money so He could build temples and churches, but I realized that the money really wasn’t mine anyway; it was His.
When class ended I still hadn’t thought of anything I could give Jesus that He had not already given me. I had found someone who truly had it all, and what kind of a present can you get the person who gave you everything?
That afternoon I had to set the table for Sunday dinner. While I was matching up knives with spoons, I tried to think of a really good present, but I still couldn’t think of anything. As we ate dinner, we talked about the lessons we learned at church. No one had any suggestions for what I should give Jesus for Christmas. But when my family read scriptures that night, I found my answer.
We were taking turns reading in Matthew. When I started reading, I wasn’t paying attention until I read Matthew 25:40: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Now I realized the Savior had already told us what the best present is. I only needed to read His words for myself to understand.

My name is Job Abram Goldrup. Several years ago, when I was four years old and my older brother, Matt, was six and a half, Dad took us camping at a place called Blue Lake in northern California. It was in the middle of a very, very hot summer. Although most of the other lakes around there—even bigger ones like Clear Lake in Mendocino County—were very low and muddy, Blue Lake was filled with water.
We slept in sleeping bags on the ground that night, and Dad told us a story. I can’t remember what it was about, but I liked the soft sound of his voice and the feeling of being with him by the lake in the woods. I felt safe and loved and excited. The moon made silver, bouncy light on the water, and I heard an owl hooting in the dark trees whose branches swayed back and forth in the dry wind. I looked a long time at the warm, bright glow of our campfire. It made the dark not too scary, just like Dad’s voice did. Yep, I liked it there. A lot.
In the morning Dad made hot chocolate and cooked hot dogs. The chocolate had a few twigs in it because he spilled the chocolate powder on the ground and some stuff got mixed up with it when he scooped it up. But that was OK because Dad said there was hardly any use being in nature if you didn’t get a little of it in you. “Besides,” he added, “a little roughage is good for the system.” We just laughed and drank it down. It was kind of a strange breakfast—what we ate should have been for dinner, and what we had for dinner we should have had for breakfast—that was part of the fun of camping with Dad.
After breakfast, we rented a rowboat and went out on the lake. Dad made us wear orange life jackets. That’s the only part that wasn’t much fun because it was already getting hot and the life jacket made me hotter. But Dad said that just as the words of the prophets are meant to help keep us spiritually safe, life jackets are made to help keep us temporally safe.
I scrunched up my face something awful and fidgeted as if to shake that life jacket right off me.
“You have to plow your own furrow, huh, Joby?” Dad said, smiling and shaking his head.
I didn’t know what he meant. I scrunched up my face again and reached my hand down into the cool water. The water felt good. And, I have to admit, so did Dad’s counsel. Even if I didn’t understand it sometimes, I knew that it meant that he cared about me and my brother.
We kind of went around in a few circles before Dad started rowing straight. Matt whispered to me that Dad was about as good at rowing as he was at cooking.
Dad heard us and laughed. “I’m just taking the scenic route,” he joked.
After a while, we reached a small island near the other side of the lake. I felt like an explorer as Dad pulled the rowboat partway onto the pebbly beach. The island was covered with trees. A few big ones had long before fallen into the water along its edges, and there were logs on the beach.
There was only one problem: It was very hot! It helped to take off my shirt and shoes and wade in the shallow water along the beach, looking for rocks and small fish. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. “Dad,” I begged, “can’t I take off my life jacket? It’s so hot, and the water isn’t deep here. It hardly comes up to my knees.”
Dad, who was wading higher up the beach ahead of us, scratched his head and scrunched up his face. “I guess it would be OK, Joby,” he said at last, “as long as you don’t wade out any deeper.”
I promised that I wouldn’t, and Matt helped me get out of the jacket. I threw it up onto the beach. It felt great to have it off! My brother and I continued to look for rocks and fish below the surface of the water, Matt poking and turning the rocks over with a stick he had brought from camp.
A few minutes later, Dad looked back to check on me and my brother and yelled, “Where’s Joby, Matt?”
Matt looked this way and that, then, bewildered, back at Dad. “I don’t know—he was right here a minute ago.”
Dad raced up out of the water and faced the thick, tangly island trees. “Joby!” he yelled again and again, hoping I had decided to venture into the trees.
Matt was worried too. “Where is he, Dad?”
Dad didn’t answer. He ran into the shallow water close to where Matt stood, scanning the water about him. Then he ran along the beach, first in one direction, then another. Suddenly he stopped, looked down into the shallow water by a fallen tree, and screamed, “Joby!” He threw himself beneath the surface and pulled me up!
A big gasp came from me as I breathed in air at last.
“Are you all right?” Dad looked at me with tears filling his eyes.
I nodded. “I guess I stepped into a hole. A feeling like a voice told me ‘Stay calm. Your dad will come for you.’ So I did. I just started looking around at the big tree roots, waiting for you to find me.”
Dad started crying hard. He hugged me like he would never let go. And for a moment, I didn’t want him to, and I started to cry too.
Afterward we all sat on a log up on the beach, and Dad explained what had happened. He said that I had stepped in a pothole and very well could have drowned. It was because of Heavenly Father’s loving, watchful care that I was spared. Dad said that the voice-feeling I had was the Holy Ghost telling me what to do. I know that that’s true because of the special feeling I had while I was waiting for Dad to find me. “If you had panicked,” Dad said, “You would have swallowed water and might have drowned.”
I will always remember that day—listening to Dad’s story and sleeping by the campfire, eating those hot dogs and drinking the twiggy hot chocolate that Dad had lovingly prepared, the cool lake water on a hot summer day. But most of all I will remember my experience with the Holy Ghost that taught me how near He is to us—as near, Dad would say, as an amen at the end of a prayer.

Each time I have shared the following experience, it has been helpful to me, and hopefully it will be of value to you. My sister, just older than I, set this very powerful example for me. For many years, she had been the main caregiver for her husband, who had multiple sclerosis and whose body had come to the point that he required almost around-the-clock care. One day, my sister was not feeling well, so she went for an appointment with her doctor. Stomach cancer was diagnosed. It had spread from her stomach to her liver and other abdominal organs. It was inoperable, and she was told that she likely had a very short time to live. She never returned home again. During the weeks she was in the hospital, her temple recommend expired. When it appeared that she had just a few days left to live, while visiting with her Latter-day Saint cancer specialist she said, "I would like to be buried with a current temple recommend." He replied, "I don't think they need to use them over there." "Nevertheless," she answered, "I want to be buried with a current temple recommend." Her bishop and stake president came and interviewed her. She passed away a few days later, and she was buried with a current temple recommend. With that example, I hope and intend to do the same. I always want to live in such a way that I will be able to look my bishop and stake president in the eye and answer their questions honestly and appropriately. I always want to have in my possession a current temple recommend, and, as we are counseled by our leaders, to use it "as frequently as circumstances allow."

And their help doesn’t go unappreciated. “I’m a widow, and usually I’ve bought my wood,” says Nedra Baughman, who received some wood last year. She was surprised one day to find a truck and some of the youth from the ward in front of her home. “There they were, two unloading the wood, some splitting it and others stacking it,” she says. “I was overwhelmed. It makes you feel humble and very grateful.”

“Wait a moment, Allie,” Grandpa said. “I want to tell you something. Do you remember when President Wilford Woodruff died?”
Allie remembered well. It had only been a year ago, and Grandpa Snow had been worried about the responsibility of being the next President of the Church. He had prayed that President Woodruff would not die. When President Woodruff passed away, Grandpa had come to the Salt Lake Temple as soon as he heard the news.
To succeed means to be the next in line to fill a position. Ever since the deaths of the Prophet Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, the Lord has chosen the man who has been an Apostle for the longest time to become the next President of the Church.
“It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me. He told me to go right ahead and reorganize the First Presidency at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff,” Grandpa said.
Grandpa held out his hand. “He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.”
Allie stood very still as she felt the Spirit confirm the truth of these words. The Savior had appeared in this very spot in the temple and told her grandpa about his calling as President of the Church! Grandpa continued to describe the Savior’s hands, feet, face, and beautiful white robes. He said they were so white and bright that he could hardly look at the Savior.
Then Grandpa put his hand on her head. “Now, Granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with Him face to face.”

Four years ago, during my preparation to serve a full-time mission, I went to Asi Ukpo hospital located in the city of Calabar, Nigeria for my medicals. After paying for my medical test, it was time for my X-ray. I was directed to the laboratory and there I met with the doctor. He looked at me and asked the following questions:
“Your name?”
I replied “Bassey Thomas, sir”.
He asked, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?”
I said “Yes, I am.”
He smiled and asked, “Have you been to the temple before?”
I said “Yes, I have”.
He then asked, “Have you been baptized for the dead before?”
I again replied, “Yes, I have”.
Next, he asked, “Are you going on a mission?”
I said “yes, that’s why I am here, for my medicals.”
He smiled again and asked me to wait. He then invited his colleague to join, and they began trying to prove my faith wrong and my decision as well. I was quiet while they spoke. They opened scriptures and started teaching me. They challenged me to go look for a Bible-believing church and join. They also promised to cancel my medical test and refund my payment so that I can go and look for something meaningful to do.
After their challenge I began testifying to them:
That God and His Son, Jesus Christ live.
That The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true.
That the temple and temple ordinances such as baptism for the dead are ordained of Him.
My decision to serve as a full-time missionary is to help others to know this truth.
They told me that they didn’t have any option other than to obey my choice. He then proceeded to carry out the test.
After some months, I was called to serve and labor in the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. There I was able to learn, teach, grow and develop a strong testimony of my Heavenly Father, my Saviour and His restored gospel. The experience I had in that hospital has strengthened my testimony, whenever I think back on it. Indeed God “will not suffer [us] to be tempted above that [we] are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that [we] may be able to bear it” (1 Corinthians 10:13).

Miss Blake is concerned that everyone in my fourth-grade class has a good self-image. At first I wasn’t sure what she meant. I knew that your image is what you see in the mirror, but I decided that the image that she was talking about was the one that you see of yourself when you’re not looking into the mirror.
Last Thursday she said that we should all think of something good to say about ourselves. Now, that really took a bit of thinking on my part. I wish I could have said, “I like the way I look,” as Mary Lou did. That was all right for her, with her beautiful long blonde hair and her big blue eyes. But it would never do for me. Oh, my, no! My hair is too thin and my freckles are too thick and my nose is too short. That would never do for me.
Neither could I be like Wendy and say, “I like the way I do my schoolwork.” She almost always has the highest grades in class. Not me. I’m really not very good in math. I’m better in history. I love the stories, but when a test comes along, I can’t remember the dates.
What I truly wanted to say was, “I like having so many friends.” But I would have to leave that for Kevin. Everyone likes him, me included. He lives just two houses away, so maybe that’s why he’s always friendly and nice to me. But then, on second thought, he’s that way with everyone. We elected him class president, and when Miss Blake said that it was time to vote again, no one wanted to change.
“Well, Angie?”
That was Miss Blake. It was my turn, and I still hadn’t decided on anything, so she went on to Linda and the others.
I had to think of something, something that I was really good at. I couldn’t even say that I was the fastest runner. Both Kevin and Linda could beat me at running. They knew it, and so did I.
While I was trying to think of something, I was also listening to what the others were saying. When it was Kevin’s turn, he didn’t say a word about all his friends. He just said, “I like the way I can catch high flies when I’m having a good day at baseball practice.”
There is one thing I’m good at: I notice things, and I’m honest enough to tell people what I notice. For instance, one morning Mary Lou came to school with her hair looking just awful. No one else seemed to notice, but I did. I asked her if her mother was away. She seemed surprised and wanted to know why I asked. “Because,” I said, “your hair is such a mess.”
I learned later that her mother had been away—to the hospital for a new baby—but Mary Lou didn’t tell me. She sort of stayed away from me the rest of the day. Most of the other girls did too. They just seemed to flock around Mary Lou. I guess they hadn’t noticed how weird she looked.
And when Wendy came to school with a tear in the back of her blouse, not one other person seemed to notice. But I did; I told her about it too.
“Are you ready, Angie?” Miss Blake had finished with everyone else and was back to me. I had to think of something quickly.
“Honest.” I said. “I suppose I’m about the honestest person in this whole class.”
There was a big silence, a real silent silence. I was a little surprised. Didn’t the class members agree with me?
I thought about it as I walked home by myself. I decided that I’d have to work even harder at being honest. I began the very next morning.
Miss Blake was wearing a dress that I disliked. Now, I can take most colors. But purple! I have this strong feeling against purple, particularly that purple. I had to be honest about it. As soon as school started, I spoke right up. “Miss Blake, I don’t think I can do my work very well today.”
“Why, Angie? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Yes … I mean, I was. But I hate that purple color of your dress, and it upsets me. I thought that I had better be honest and tell you.”
Well! The silence that followed that remark made yesterday’s silence sound like a traffic jam. For the next few moments I don’t think that anyone even breathed.
Miss Blake spoke first. “I am truly sorry, Angie. I shall try to remember.”
The next recess, when I tried to join the girls playing jump rope, they quit and went over to the volleyball net. When I moved over there, they all ran into the school building.
Then Kevin ran by, chasing a softball. He got it and threw it back to the pitcher. I wasn’t surprised to see him playing in the field, even though he is our best pitcher. He says that the other kids like to pitch too. That’s Kevin, always thinking about others.
“Hi, Angie,” he said.
I felt silly standing there all alone. “The others were all thirsty,” I explained. “They all went in early.”
He just glanced at me, then started back to his game.
“Well, I don’t care!” I shouted at him. “See those mountains in the canyon, those far, far back ones? My dad and I are riding our horses up there on Saturday. That’s my favorite place in all the world, and I don’t care what these girls do or say!”
“Honestly, Angie?” Kevin called back over his shoulder. Then he stopped and turned around. “You know, Angie, some people like purple. It’s my favorite color.”
I stood there thinking about what he had said and about what I had said to Miss Blake—and about how the other kids had looked at me. Right there on the playground, without any kind of mirror, I took one good long look at myself, and I didn’t like what I saw.
And to think that Kevin liked purple! Evidently Miss Blake did too. I looked again at the mountains to the east. The closer ones were different shades of blue, but those farther away, those up against the horizon—those in my favorite place in all the world—were a beautiful, lovely purple! And it was the same color as Miss Blake’s dress. …
I made up my mind. When the bell rang, I raised my hand and said, “Miss Blake?” My voice was a little shaky, but I made sure that it was loud enough for everyone in class to hear. “I’m sorry for what I said about your dress. It’s really very nice, and I’ve decided to learn to like purple.”
Once more there was silence in our classroom. Then Kevin started to clap. After a moment the other kids all smiled and joined in. So did Miss Blake.
After school Mary Lou, Wendy, and Kevin waited to walk home with me. I felt happier than I had for a long time. I decided that I would still be honest, but from now on I was going to be like Kevin, honestly kind.
When I reached the sidewalk in front of my own house, I took another good long look at myself, still without a mirror. I liked what I saw a little better.

Let me tell you about this boy again. Now he is married. He has graduated with a degree in engineering, and he has left to go away to a big city. He and his wife were nervous—a new job, a new home, away from the family.
He told me these two experiences. He worked in a large room with a lot of engineers. After he had been there for two months, he was getting things ready so that he could leave his work on time. We had taught him to arrive at work a little early and to stay a little after time, to do a little extra. But this day he wanted to get away right on time. One of the other engineers asked him where he was going.
“What are you in such a hurry for?”
“Well, we are going to a dinner tonight.”
“What kind of a dinner?”
“It’s a quorum dinner. We are taking our wives to a special dinner and social.”
The other engineer shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I’ve been here two years; I don’t know anybody yet. My wife and I are still just by ourselves. You’ve been here for two months. Already you’ve been invited to dinner.”
The next experience. One day one of the engineers asked if my son would help him move. “We found a better apartment. Saturday we are going to move. I need some help. Will you help me?” Our son said, “Yes, I’ll be glad to.” And then his wife made some bread for them and prepared a meal. He helped them move. Then he said this: “Dad, I’ve been thinking about that. He hardly knows me. I hardly knew who he was.” And he said, “If I’m the one who was the closest to him, the one he would dare to ask help him move, he doesn’t have anybody.” And he said, “Look what I have.”
When he and his wife arrived in the new city, they went to Church. He went to his quorum; he belonged the day he walked in. A quorum—to sustain one another, to help one another. A quorum of the priesthood. You boys of the Aaronic Priesthood can begin to prepare now. You’ve trained to help others—to gather the fast offerings; to take care of other assignments, the sacrament, home teaching; to get you trained to help others. Why? You belong to a quorum. A quorum. The word quorum is a marvelous word. In the Church, the worth of quorums has never yet fully been realized.
It is a tremendous honor to belong to a quorum. To be called to preside over a quorum is a distinct responsibility. To be called as the secretary of a quorum, or to teach a quorum, is a tremendous responsibility. Do you know where the word quorum comes from? It isn’t in the Old Testament or the New Testament. It comes from ancient Rome. When they would form a commission of great importance to perform a great work, they would appoint the members of this commission. And they would send them their certificate. And on that certificate the word quorum would appear. It would tell what the commission was going to do, how important it was, that great men were being chosen, and then it would contain these words: Quorum vos unum, meaning, “You are to be united.”
My young brethren, you belong to quorums. What a tremendous opportunity! You can learn to be in charge, to take care of your life and to assist others. I am grateful to have held the Aaronic Priesthood, and to still hold it. I am more grateful that my sons have held it and grateful that you can hold it. God bless you, my boys. May the Spirit of the Lord rest upon you. The gospel is true. The priesthood is a great opportunity. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Years later, our family had grown to five children, including our youngest, Spencer.
Once, when Spencer was six years old, my wife and I went away for just a few days and left the children with a babysitter. When we returned home, I sat down with Spencer and asked him how everything had gone while we were away.
He told me that he’d had a hard time sleeping. When I asked why he didn’t sleep well, he thought about it and said he did not know.
Later that evening our family began our nightly routine of reading the Book of Mormon together.
Suddenly Spencer exclaimed, “That’s it!” I asked what he was talking about. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep very well at night.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” I asked.
“We didn’t read the scriptures at night while you were gone, and I like how the scriptures make me feel.”
Spencer had learned that reading the scriptures every day brings us the comfort, peace, and guidance of the Holy Ghost.

The early Latter-day Saints needed that confirming witness of the Holy Ghost often, but one day when it was especially crucial was August 8, 1844. Six weeks earlier, the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum had been martyred. Mob violence was threatening, and the Saints were without their beloved leader. There was no precedent to tell them how the Church would move forward and who would lead them.

On that August day, in the midst of this ­anxiety and uncertainty, thousands of Latter-day Saints gathered just to the east of the Nauvoo Temple. Sidney Rigdon spoke to the Saints in the morning and proposed that he lead the Church as its “guardian.”3 At two o’clock that afternoon, the Saints reconvened, and Brigham Young, the president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, addressed the assembly. He declared:

There has been much said about President Rigdon being president of the Church . . . , but I say unto you that the Quorum of the Twelve have the keys of the kingdom of God in all the world. . . .

. . . I tell you, in the name of the Lord, that no man can put another between the Twelve and the Prophet Joseph. Why? Because . . . he has committed into their hands the keys of the kingdom in this last dispensation, for all the world.4

The Spirit rested on the Saints. They knew that what Brigham Young had said was true. How did they know? They knew by the influence of the Holy Ghost.

“My sheep hear my voice,” Jesus explained, “and I know them, and they follow me.”5

At least ninety-five people recorded or shared their sacred feelings and experiences from the afternoon of August 8, 1844. Here are a few. See if you notice some common elements among them.

Emily Smith Hoyt, age thirty-seven:

Sidney Rigdon made a speech and claimed to have authority to lead the Church; others had similar claims. None appeared reasonable to me. . . . But the God of Heaven . . . sent President [Brigham] Young home just in time, and clothed him . . . [with] the spirit and power which had rested on Joseph. . . . If any one doubts the right of Brigham to manage affairs for the Saints, all I have to say to them is this. Get the spirit of God and know for yourselves. The Lord will provide for his own.6

Jacob Hamblin, age twenty-five:

I attended a general meeting of the Saints. Elder Rigdon was there, urging his claims to the presidency of the Church. His voice did not sound like the voice of the true shepherd. . . .

Brigham Young [spoke] to the congregation. . . .

The people, with few exceptions, visibly saw that the mantle of the prophet Joseph had fallen upon Brigham Young. . . .

I arose to my feet and said to a man sitting by me, “That is the voice of the true shepherd—the chief of the Apostles.”7

Philemon Christopher Merrill, age twenty-four:

Sad was the day that the Saints met by a call of the Apostles in a Grove, east of our beloved Temple. . . . For where was the good Shepherd? We were left alone, as we thought, with none to lead us. It was a gloomy time. . . . But when President Brigham Young arose and said to the people, “Stand still and see the Salvation of the Lord,” the Spirit of God rested upon me, and I received a testimony at that time that upon Brigham Young rested the Authority of the Holy Priesthood.8

George Romney, age twelve:

When the man of God, as the people knew him, was taken away, they did not know what would become of them. . . . But they knew the shepherd’s voice. Sidney Rigdon and the others said, “I am the man, I am the man,” but it did not take. The sheep knew better. . . . When Brigham got up, the mantle of Joseph Smith fell upon him. . . . This is true—that the mantle of Joseph did fall upon Brigham Young and the people knew it.9

Wilford Woodruff, age thirty-seven:

They were addressed by elder Brigham Young, the president of the quorum of the twelve. . . . The spirit of wisdom and counsel attended all his teachings, he struck upon a chord, with which all hearts beat in unison.10

Here was Sidney Rigdon and other men rising up and claiming to be the leaders of the church; and men stood, as it were, on a pivot, not knowing which way to turn. But just as quick as Brigham Young rose in that assembly . . . , the power of God that was upon Joseph Smith was upon him; he had the voice of Joseph, and it was the voice of the shepherd.11

That afternoon, the influence of the Holy Ghost rested on the Saints. These were the true sheep of the true Shepherd, and they recognized His voice—it was the familiar voice of the Spirit. So when they raised their hands to sustain the leadership of the apostles, they did not sustain just with their hands. They sustained with their whole souls. They were willing to make any sacrifice, to do whatever was asked of them.

Following the prophetic leadership of Brigham Young, they finished the construction of the Nauvoo Temple and received their endowments. They eventually left Nauvoo and traveled more than 1,200 miles to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. They accepted mission calls and preached the gospel around the world. They raised their families and built up Zion in the Rocky Mountains. Many accepted calls to leave the Salt Lake Valley and establish new communities—hundreds of them throughout what became the western United States.

Why did they do all of this? Because they had received the Holy Ghost, which changed their hearts and made them “new creatures.”12

How Ron and Sandi Hammond arrived at that important moment in the Middle East is a testament of the Hammonds’ faith and the inspiration behind the Church’s senior missionary program.
In 2012 the Hammonds were serving as ordinance workers in the Rexburg Idaho Temple. Ron had a successful dental practice and was teaching in the Religion Department at Brigham Young University–Idaho. But the serene routine of their lives changed abruptly with a distinct spiritual impression to immediately submit papers to serve a mission. The timing surprised them. Their married children were in various stages of career moves and relocations, and Ron was not yet looking to retire. But the Spirit assured them that they were needed and that all would be well.
As it turned out, priesthood leaders at Church headquarters had been fasting and praying to find the right couple to serve as country directors for LDS Charities in Amman, Jordan.
“It was so evident,” says Sandi, “that the Lord was out ahead of us, preparing the details of the specific assignment He had for us. We know that He does this for every missionary who serves. It is comforting knowing that the Savior is arranging things for you to serve before you ever arrive.”
“In retrospect,” Ron says, “we are grateful we were neither specific nor insistent on where we wished to serve. Leaving such matters in the Lord’s hands allowed Him to give us an experience we would not have had otherwise.”

In the early days of the Lord’s Church, leaders close to the Prophet Joseph Smith began to speak of his faults. Even with all they had seen and knew of his standing with the Lord, their spirit of criticism and jealousy spread like a plague. One of the Twelve set for us all the standard of faith and loyalty we must have if we are to serve in the Lord’s kingdom.

Here is the report: “Several elders called a meeting in the temple for all those who considered Joseph Smith to be a fallen Prophet. They intended to appoint David Whitmer as the new Church leader. … After listening to the arguments against the Prophet, Brigham [Young] arose and testified, ‘Joseph was a Prophet, and I knew it, and that they might rail and slander him as much as they pleased; they could not destroy the appointment of the Prophet of God, they could only destroy their own authority, cut the thread that bound them to the Prophet and to God, and sink themselves to hell’” (Church History in the Fulness of Times Student Manual [Church Educational System manual, 2003], 2nd ed., 174; see also Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Brigham Young [1997], 79).

On one day of the campaign, Sister Parkin was helping with crowd control, checking children for the ink mark indicating those who had received the vaccination. One young boy didn’t have the mark. Through her translator, Sister Parkin asked why he hadn’t received his shot. He said he was afraid. “Will you go if I go with you?” Sister Parkin asked. He agreed.

“It was a sweet experience,” Sister Parkin recalled after returning from the trip. “Maybe I’ve helped one child. It was life-changing for me.”

I stood next to my father in a hospital room. My mother, his wife of 41 years, lay on the bed. We had watched her for hours. We began to see the lines of pain disappear from her face. The fingers of her hands, which had been clenched into fists, relaxed. Her arms came to rest at her sides.

The pains of decades of cancer were ending. I saw on her face a look of peace. She took a few short breaths, then a gasp, and then lay still. We stood there waiting to see if another breath would come.

Finally, Dad said quietly, “A little girl has gone home.”

He shed no tears. That was because the Holy Ghost had long before given him a clear picture of who she was, where she came from, what she had become, and where she was going. The Spirit had testified to him many times of a loving Heavenly Father, of a Savior who had broken the power of death, and of the reality of the temple sealing he shared with his wife and family.

The Spirit had long before assured him that her goodness and faith had qualified her for the return to a heavenly home where she would be remembered as a wonderful child of promise and be welcomed home with honor.

For my dad, that was more than a hope. The Holy Ghost had made it a reality for him.

It has been almost a decade since my husband told me he was being investigated for a serious white-collar crime.
For a long time, no one knew what was happening except for our parents, our bishop, and our stake president. Not even our children knew. I felt as if I was living a double life, trying to smile and pretend that my world wasn’t crashing down around me.
Despite the turmoil, I had never felt closer to my Savior than I did during those months. I received a priesthood blessing and learned that I could pray to understand my husband’s feelings and needs. After months of prayer, I received confirmation that I needed to stand by my husband.
After a year of being investigated, we were financially ruined and not sure how to continue paying our legal bills.
I watched as my husband became depressed. He slowly began to shut us out, and he would often comment that he didn’t want to live anymore. Meanwhile, I had to go back to work and try to manage family life. It was overwhelming, and I was scared.
Before the court hearing, we each received priesthood blessings in the bishop’s office and felt peace. It was expected that my husband would be placed on probationary supervision for a short season. But as the judge pronounced the sentence of seven years in prison, I had a panic attack. I literally fell to the floor, and someone called the paramedics. I spent three days in bed after that, worried, scared, and confused.
My husband’s term of incarceration would begin in four months. During that time, our family searched for ways to cope and prepare. I remember how simple things like walking into church caused us debilitating anxiety, as we felt alone.
An inspired stake president started meeting weekly with us to set goals to help keep us from sinking further. Even with the generosity of family and friends, we knew nothing was going to make this go away. I was about to be a single mother! Even after years of living the gospel, I struggled to have faith that I could survive. Negative feelings and emotions flooded my mind. I felt worthless, broken, and alone.
Finally, the time came for my husband and me to travel to the prison where he would be incarcerated. I sobbed uncontrollably watching him walk into that facility. I didn’t know how I would be able to go home to my kids alone.
The challenges of supporting a loved one who is incarcerated seem to be endless. Because of the expense of traveling from our home to the prison, our family was only able to visit him about once every six weeks. After two years, he was transferred to a facility closer to our home, so our visits became more frequent. My children often missed school to see their dad and missed opportunities to be with friends and attend Church activities.
All of this took an emotional toll on the children. Our youngest child constantly worried that something bad was going to happen if he was not with me. He refused to go to activities unless he could call me, and I had a hard time getting him to attend school. He became quite defiant, especially toward his father.
So many life events took place while my husband was incarcerated. Our son got married, a missionary came home, and another missionary left. A child graduated from college, and another graduated from high school. Our first two grandchildren were born.
Going through these milestones alone was difficult. It was hard to keep our marriage intact, and at times even harder to feel close to God. Throughout it all, my children and I did our best to put our faith in God. We regularly attended professional counseling to deal with the anger, depression, and anxiety that came as a result.
The closer we got to my husband’s release date, the more excited and fearful I became. Of course I was excited to see him! But I feared that it would not be easy for him to integrate back into family life after so much time away. Everything that happened before he left came rushing back to my memory, accompanied by all the horrible feelings.
When my husband was released, he spent a month in a halfway house, which limited the time we could spend with him so he could gradually ease back into society. He was then released to home confinement for six months. Finally, he was home!
Since my husband has returned home, every single day has brought new triumphs and new struggles. We call it “cleaning up the debris.” There are still difficult moments, but we love and value each other more than ever. We are quicker to forgive and move on. Our treatment toward each other has improved as we serve each other, show kindness, and say “I love you.”
Meanwhile, we try hard to love our kids through their struggles as they continue trying to heal from this experience. Our family still has a lot of hard and painful work ahead of us. But, with help from God and professionals, we are slowly becoming unified the way we once were.
Honestly, the first six months after my husband returned home were spiritually tough. But now we feel more comfortable at church. We are again teaching the same Sunday School class we were teaching when my husband was incarcerated. Our son is in that class, and it gives him an opportunity to hear his dad’s testimony in a way that he has missed. Some Sundays are still filled with anxiety for both of us, but we are getting better.
We are forever changed. Although we have learned some good things from this experience, which I will describe below, I have to acknowledge that each member of our family is still haunted to some degree by the time my husband spent incarcerated. And we are still burdened by the aftermath of the financial, emotional, and social toll it has taken on each of us. Some days are harder than others. Some days I wonder if life will ever really feel normal. At the same time, I know that through Christ, complete healing and forgiveness are possible.
I’ve gained some things because of this experience. First of all, I have gained lifelong friends who did not allow me to get lost in this trial. I found friends I didn’t realize I had and met new friends who were in a similar set of circumstances.
Also, so much self-discovery happened while my husband was incarcerated. I learned what being committed to an eternal marriage really means. I learned to rely on God, and I gained a better understanding of His timing. I learned He answers prayers in ways that allow me to grow while still giving me light and hope.
I learned I have amazing, strong kids. I learned I can do the unthinkable: not only can I survive in the face of adversity, I can excel. I learned that it does not make me weak to need others. I learned to rely on and ask for priesthood blessings. I learned that no request is too small for my Heavenly Father.
I still have anxiety and am fearful of a lot of things, but every day brings healing. My husband and I have witnessed so many miracles these past eight years. I am no longer angry. I know Heavenly Father has been and will continue to be with us—before, during, and after this trial.
This I know to be true: friends, family, priesthood leaders, and the Lord helped my children and me make it through my husband’s incarceration.

“The greatest hardship I passed through on our journey was the day before we got to Laramie. The cattle were tired and footsore and the traveling was very hard so Father told us that morning we must all walk. No riding that day. I shall never forget that memorable walk, sand ankle deep to men and women and much deeper to the cattle and wagons. When we camped that night, we had traveled ten miles. I thought it was a thousand and wished many times that day that I was where people didn’t get tired.”
“At last, we came to the end of our long, tedious journey, and on the evening of October 15 we camped at the mouth of Emigration Canyon. Oh, what a glorious sight to look down into the valley of the Great Salt Lake! The next morning we were up bright and early, and soon drove down.”