Gospel Story Finder

I conclude with two recent experiences. First, this summer I attended a religious liberty summit in Rome where President Dallin H. Oaks gave the keynote address. The summit was filled with inspiring speakers. But when President Oaks rose to speak, I experienced something distinctly different—that beautiful witness of the Spirit that reaffirmed, “Sheri, this is a prophet.” What a priceless truth that is!

I sat, legs crossed, in my dorm room. My roommate’s bed was empty because she had gone away for the weekend, so I started to fold my clean clothes on it. I glanced up at our big wall clock. Finally it was a quarter to three. I picked up my keys and headed to the campus mail boxes. When I got back to my room, I sank to the floor, let a pile of mail fall to my side, and ripped open a far more important letter.
Keller had written me back, finally. Before when I had written to him, he made it a point to answer quickly. The news in this last letter must have really shocked him. I could understand that. It had taken me almost two weeks to get my thoughts together and finally write the letter. I had written him almost two months ago about our father’s health problems. Neither of us had been particularly close to Dad, but when I found out he had cancer, I knew Keller would want to know immediately. This letter also provided me an opportunity to ask a question that I had needed an answer to for a long time.
Ever since Keller and I were little we knew only two things about Dad, that he loved Mom and that he loved our house. He loved Mom because of her patience, her wisdom, her strength, and her beauty—both inside and out. He loved our house because he had grown up there; his father had died there. Keller and I sometimes wondered if Dad loved us or the house more. We knew he loved Mom the most, but his love for the house was always a mystery.
Our family had lived in that house since I was a baby. It was an old house and had lots of problems. The basement flooded when we had heavy rains, and the well dried up at least once every summer. The house was out in the middle of nowhere, so in the winter our road didn’t even get plowed. Dad bought a tractor and every morning, before he went to work, he plowed out our whole road, from one end to the other.
Keller and I didn’t mind being out in the middle of nowhere though. We used that as an excuse to go wherever we wanted and do whatever we wanted. We built dams in the creek, forts in the woods, and clay slides in the front yard. The house was perfect for two adventurous children like us, and it was perfect for Dad too. Only Mom seemed to be bothered by the frequent problems, but she never complained. She kept herself almost too busy, planting and maintaining our gardens, pruning our apple trees, and raising two fearless explorers. She handled it all so well that no one even realized that she was sick. She kept it from everyone until she was too bad off to continue hiding it. She still wanted to do her jobs, and finally Dad had to take off work just to keep her in bed.
Every day Dad would go into her room and find out what she wanted him to do that day. He even let her tell him how to do the jobs. He knew perfectly well how to weed a garden, but he let her tell him how to do it anyway. The last instructions that she gave him were to help me with my bath and to make Keller take his. She died when Keller was seven and I was five.
Dad lost his job when he asked for the rest of the summer off to take care of us. They said he had already taken too much time. Dad spent close to five months hunting for a new job. He wanted one close enough to our house so that we wouldn’t have to move. He got a position at an architectural firm 71 miles away. He spent more time there than at home.
As we grew up, living in the country lost its appeal. All the problems with the house were a lot worse when there was no one around to fix them. When Dad came home each night, he would fix dinner, take a shower, and then go straight to bed. It seemed that almost overnight a once huge house grew too small, and Keller and I no longer wanted to explore. Neither of us had bothered to replant the gardens once we were old enough to do the work, and Mom’s apple trees had gone years without pruning. All the magic and life that Mom had brought to the house had died with her. Since Dad worked in the city it just made sense that we should live closer to it. If we moved we could get a newer house and not have to worry about the problems. He continued to commute, however, no matter how much we argued in favor of moving.
“That reminds me of your question, which I didn’t think was as strange as you thought I would. I even think I have an answer for you that might actually make sense. Part of it I learned here on my mission.
“I realized long ago that Dad doesn’t firmly believe in God because no one has ever reached him with the message; neither you nor I could do it. I think his house is the only place on earth that he feels connected to his father. After Mom died, I think he felt the same thing there with her. He doesn’t know about the afterlife, or doesn’t believe in it, so earthly connections are very important to him.
At that moment I understood just how much our house meant to Dad. It meant as much to him as the Church meant to Keller and me. It’s the same for anyone who has ever valued anything. From the moment I joined the Church I began a journey toward eternity. Before I reach my destination, I’ll travel through life and have great trials and sacrifices. But when I arrive home to be with my Heavenly Father, the value of being there will be a thousand times greater than the value of all I might ever have possibly had to give up.

Francisco spoke frankly of a sad journey and a sweet homecoming. “I was away from the Church for some time,” he said, “and I thought I was happy, but it wasn’t as it seemed. Within myself, I was asking questions over and over: ‘Why do you smoke? Why do you drink? Why do you do these things if you know they are harming you?’ I didn’t know why. I wasn’t spiritually happy. I wasn’t free. I was, as it were, sick. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to go about finding again the happiness that I had had previously. I wanted to go back to church, but shame kept me away for a time.
“One day I finally just got on my bicycle and started out for the church without further delay. I was determined to start going back no matter what. When I got there, it seemed as if everyone was waiting for me. As soon as they saw me, they became very happy and received me with open arms. It was as if I was in my own home. I found that this was truly where I belonged. I found again the happiness that I had been looking for. It was better than ever. Since then I have felt so joyful that right now I can still feel the Spirit I felt then, a very deep happiness. I was away from the Church for six months, six months without happiness.”

One of my sons had a difficult time when he was young. He was regularly teased and seemed to feel defeated much of the time. As parents, we also often corrected him. His emotions were regularly close to the surface, and we weren’t able to talk through things with him. As my wife and I made an effort to understand him, we felt like he needed to feel the Spirit more in his life and he needed to know his parents really did care.
I asked him if we could spend time together each night reading from the Book of Mormon. We didn’t focus on how long we read or how much; instead, we simply found something meaningful we could talk about. The goal was not to read the Book of Mormon but rather to help my son feel the love of his heavenly and earthly parents. While not a cure-all, the effort to give him what he needed helped us both. We both felt much brighter and closer to each other and to God. My son started asking questions as we read, and I began to understand him even better.

Turning on the television one afternoon as a break from my studies, I saw a group of boys singing. I’m a serious-minded person and have never had a pop music “idol,” but something about these boys made me stay and listen. They were dressed in white, and as they sang, “Is the answer up above?” my heart responded, “Yes!” I learned they were the Osmonds and that they were Mormons. I decided to read some books about the Mormons, but I couldn’t find any.

One afternoon as I was upstairs studying, I heard a knock at the door. My mother answered it, and I could hear her talking to two young men. As I went downstairs, I heard mother try to give them some excuse and turn them away, but I said I wanted to talk with them. She let them in, closed the door, and went back to her work. The missionaries gave me the first discussion that very afternoon, and I began to get the same feeling I had experienced as a little girl as I ran into the arms of my Heavenly Father.
A week later they came to give me the second lesson, but my mother met them and told them they were not to come again. She told me later the missionaries were only after my money. That night I heard my parents arguing about the Church, and I decided I would not see the missionaries again.
Just before I turned 18 I finished school and decided to go visit one of my friends. She had married my uncle, and they had moved from England to Switzerland. The week I arrived in Switzerland, two Mormon missionaries knocked on their door.
I eagerly asked them to teach me and decided to be baptized after only three visits. Two weeks after my 18th birthday I was baptized. I had found my people, my world, and was in the arms of my Heavenly Father again.

I am reminded of one sister I knew who had married a prospective elder, and their life rolled along. She became conscious of some of her lady friends whose husbands always went with them to Church affairs, sang in the choir together, went to the temple together, and seemed to be happy and content with life. She began to nag her husband: “Why can’t you treat me like other men treat their wives? Why don’t you become more active in the Church?”

It happened that they lived in an active ward where fellowshiping was almost an obsession, and sure enough, the day came when this inactive man caught the total spirit and received much joy in his family and Church activity. The woman who had been so unhappy before was now unhappy with his new dedication and upbraided him: “Why do you have to give all your time and thought to Church work? Why can’t you be like other men are and treat me to a little fun and pleasure?” Her constant nagging finally wore him down, and he reverted again to the inactive status.

The day after the baptism of Veswengal Gharti Chhetri (known as G. C.), a political group in Nepal called a bund (strike). This meant that no vehicles were allowed on the roads. But G. C., who lives a great distance from where the branch meets, knew people were counting on him to be at church to be confirmed. He walked 2 1/2 hours one way on roads that, empty of the crushing traffic, were now crowded with people and wandering animals.
He first learned of the Church at the school where he teaches when he overheard a young Latter-day Saint teacher discussing the gospel with the school’s principal. He quickly approached Ramesh Shrestha and began asking questions. Now, age 21 and a member of the Church for only a few months, he has been called as Young Men president. G. C. says, “The Church was something more than I expected.” He loves the concepts of eternal marriage, agency, the Word of Wisdom, and the plan of salvation. G. C.’s talents are the warmth of his personality and his great love of people, which make him a natural for his second calling as a branch missionary. When asked why he likes to teach the gospel, he says, “It is not good to have something so delicious and not share it.”

With a will to serve, Sister Marilyn Jones of Sydney, Australia, accomplished a task that at first seemed impossible. Her son had physical handicaps, and Sister Jones knew that he and others with disabilities would benefit from a neighborhood recreation center. There were zoning restrictions to change. She solicited support and filled out innumerable papers for government grants. It took hours of talking to convince others to lend their efforts.

After eight years, Marilyn and her neighbors saw the results of their charitable labors. The community program they operate blesses hundreds of children who have physical limitations.

When his children were young, Juan José Resanovich of Argentina turned to the Book of Mormon when he had questions about how to teach and raise his children. “My wife and I searched its pages for inspiration for our children, and we always found answers,” he wrote.

The Resanoviches taught their children obedience by pointing them to Nephi’s example in 1 Nephi 3:5–6:

“Thy brothers murmur, saying it is a hard thing which I have required of them; but behold I have not required it of them, but it is a commandment of the Lord.

“Therefore go, my son, and thou shalt be favored of the Lord, because thou hast not murmured.”

“We taught our children that Nephi respected his earthly parents and the things of God,” wrote Juan. “We made a goal that as a family we would have Nephi’s attitude of respect and obedience.

“Each of our children served a mission. We did not have to convince them to serve. They have been good students, good friends, and good children. Our family has a lot to improve, but the Book of Mormon is a tremendous help in reaching our goals.”

Carlan snuggled in bed, fast asleep. She wore her favorite pajamas with elephants on them and held her favorite fuzzy bear.
Suddenly Carlan’s eyes flew open wide. “Scary, scary!” she yelled. She covered her face and started to cry.
Daddy came to the door. “Did you have a bad dream?” he asked. Carlan nodded, but tears kept rolling down her cheeks.
Daddy sat down on Carlan’s bed and started singing, “I love to see the temple. I’m going there someday.”
Carlan felt a little better. “Daddy, sing child of God, please,” she asked.
“I am a child of God, and He has sent me here,” Daddy sang.
When Daddy finished singing, he looked down to ask Carlan what song to sing next.
But Carlan was already fast asleep.

Although many of our experiences in the house of the Lord are too sacred to share publicly, some we can share. Forty years ago, while living in Florida, Kathy and I traveled to the temple in Atlanta, Georgia. On Wednesday night, May 9, 1984, as we completed a session in the temple, an ordinance worker approached me and asked if I had time to do just one preparatory initiatory ordinance. The name of the person I represented was unusual. His name was Eleazer Cercy.
The next day, the temple was full of Saints. As I prepared to perform my second endowment of the day, I was given the name of the person I would represent. Surprisingly, the name was the same individual from the night before, Eleazer Cercy. I felt the Spirit of the Lord as the endowment was completed. Later in the afternoon, still in the temple, Kathy saw an elderly family friend, Sister Dolly Fernandez, who now lived in Atlanta. With no male members of her family with her, she asked if I could possibly assist in the sealing of her father to her father’s parents. I was of course honored.
As I knelt at the end of the altar for this sacred ordinance, I heard once again the name that was now inscribed in my mind, her father, Eleazer Cercy. I fully believe that following this life, I will meet and embrace a man known in his mortal life as Eleazer Cercy.

All of a sudden something flashed through my mind. I was reminded of another time when I had looked in a mirror and was concerned about the way I looked. And I started to laugh.
When I was sixteen years old, I had an opportunity to go to a dance. This was the first time I had ever worn a tuxedo. It was exciting. I had just turned 16 and had asked a special girl to go with me. It was the first time I was to take a girl out to dinner. I was so concerned. I remember that I didn’t want to be late, so I started getting my tuxedo on at 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon. Just as I was putting on my bow tie, I noticed something happening on my chin. No, not now! I ran to the mirror. Right there on the left side was a blemish. I can remember how angry I got. Why did it happen today? Why couldn’t it have happened tomorrow? Any day but today. Pictures will be taken. In my attempt to correct the problem, I made it bright red.
By the time I went to get my girl friend, I had to position myself so that my right side faced her and my left side faced away. All through the dance, she kept asking who I was looking at. I was so embarrassed by the way I looked. We went to the restaurant. I asked to be seated at a large table for 10 so that I could sit on her left side and she wouldn’t look at my blemish.
Now here I was in the hospital remembering how silly I had been. Here I was having fought for my very life and having fought for everything I had, even though it didn’t look very good. In fact, it didn’t look good at all. Yet, I knew I could see. I took a little moment to say a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven because he had answered that prayer. There really had been no chance that I would see again. But I’ll never forget how silly I was about that blemish.

In Ghana the field was also ready to harvest, due mainly to another Elias, Joseph William Billy Johnson, a preacher who obtained a Book of Mormon in 1964. He said:

"As I read the Book of Mormon I became convinced that it was really the word of God, and sometimes while reading I would burst into tears. I felt the Spirit as I read. I have a strong testimony [of] the Book of Mormon. It is a very powerful book!" Brother Johnson also knew that the Lord called him to be an Elias. He said:

Brother Johnson reported that he was strengthened and taught by dreams and visions, including instructions from the Prophet Joseph Smith and President Brigham Young. He later demonstrated his gratitude when his son was born, who today may be the only young man in Ghana named Brigham. On another occasion, when he was very discouraged his deceased brother appeared to him in a dream, and said: "Don't worry, you have chosen the only true church on earth and I am now investigating your church." I was surprised. I never knew that the church extended to another world. It was my brother who brought that knowledge to me. He said that if I didn't believe him, he would sing a song from my church, and he sang Come, Come Ye Saints. That was the first time I had heard that hymn. He said, "Don't leave the church my brother. Please see that I am baptized." Brother Johnson then noted: "It was my brother who enlightened me about baptism for the dead and brought it to my knowledge. Most of my relatives appeared to me in dreams [saying] "Reverend Johnson, do you know you have a work to do for us? Our great grandsons and daughters will be in your church soon. See that we are baptized."

"I learned these doctrines before the missionaries arrived. Nothing they taught us seemed strange. They simply confirmed what we had heard." For fourteen long years Brother Johnson helped organize ten congregations with over a thousand followers. He noted that in his dreams the Lord referred to his followers as Latter-day Saints, even though they were not yet members. Brother Johnson identified the name of the church by placing prominent signs in front of the buildings they used for worship.

Two years ago while filming Brother Johnson's story in Ghana, I walked with him through a dilapidated building that he had used twenty-five years earlier as a church meeting house. I noticed that the roof was patched with boards to keep out the rain, but my attention was drawn to one particularly colorful board. As I pointed it out to Brother Johnson, he gasped in surprise. It was part of the sign that stood in front of the building identifying the name of the church. It will be given to the Church History Museum as a treasured artifact from the pioneer period of Ghana.

One night at midnight, after many lonely years of struggle, Brother Johnson heard a short-wave news broadcast from England that announced that blacks could now receive the priesthood. He burst into tears of joy, knowing that the Church would now come to Africa. Following his baptism Brother Johnson served as Ghana's first branch president and later served several missions. Twelve years after his baptism he was ordained a patriarch.

From a distance, the future site of Ryan’s Place Park looked like a bumpy field of holes and unnaturally bright grass. But if you looked more closely, you just might see a shovel or a head pop out of one of the holes, and then you’d notice you weren’t looking at grass at all—you were actually seeing more than 200 teens in neon green T-shirts.
Such was the scene at the Providence Utah Stake youth conference. This year, in addition to spiritual firesides, dances, and games, the youth spent several hours up to their elbows in dirt and rocks—lots of rocks—preparing an empty field to become a memorial park.
Volunteers from across Cache Valley (in northern Utah) donated time and money to design and build Ryan’s Place Park, but first someone needed to dig the foundations for the playground supports. That’s where the Providence stake youth came in.
The youth took this message to heart when they arrived at Ryan’s Place Park. Digging more than 100 deep, narrow holes would not be easy. And the soil they dug in didn’t help matters, since it contained more rocks than dirt.
“Each hole took tremendous effort because the ground was so rocky,” explains Becca Smith from the River Heights Second Ward.
Instead of backing away from the challenge, the youth found creative ways to dig. “Some were in holes up to their shoulders, while others were being held by their ankles as they reached down into the bottom of holes to remove rocks,” says Jano Rees from the River Heights Third Ward.
David Thunell, who is from the River Heights Fourth Ward, was impressed by the positive attitudes he saw around him. “Never before have I seen so many teenagers working together with such determination and without complaint,” he recalls.
Kyra Moon, who is from the Fruitland Acres Ward, found that same attitude within herself. “As I crouched in a three-foot deep hole, armed with a plastic cup to get the rocks and dirt out, it hit me that I really wanted to dig holes right then. I wanted to do whatever I could to help.”
All that digging did more than strengthen their physical muscles. The youth realized it was also developing their testimonies and sense of unity.
“It was so inspiring to see so many people dressed in green T-shirts, devoting a few hours of their lives to honor someone they might not have even known,” Kyra says. “We were all of one heart and one mind, working toward a common goal, and we were all happy. It was just like Zion.”
Lindsay Bagley of the Providence First Ward agrees. “I looked out among the youth of my stake, my friends, and I saw hundreds of us all working together to dig holes, and I knew that this was what we were supposed to be doing. We were supposed to be building up our community and building up each other.”
Many of the youth, like Alyna Briscoe of the Providence Eighth Ward and Zac Hendrickson of the River Heights Second Ward, felt the spirit of community so strongly that they came back later that week to finish the park.
Benjamin Allred of the Providence First Ward learned about the joy that comes from service, especially when that service includes hard work. “Digging holes was not what you would call fun, but it didn’t need to be, because it was so satisfying.”
Becca Smith is grateful that this experience helped her gain perspective. “Service has a way of showing me what is important and what isn’t. I can see in more focus where my priorities are and how I need to change.”
For Kyra Moon, building the park became a chance to build a stronger testimony. She now better understands how she can be an instrument in God’s hands through service.
“God used us to help heal broken hearts,” she says. “It’s wonderful that something good came out of this tragedy, and it’s a testimony to me that Heavenly Father cares about us and understands our needs.”
Alex Keith of the Cobblestone First Ward says he has gained a stronger testimony of Jesus Christ. “I have more faith in God than I have ever had before, and I know without a doubt that my Savior lives.”
“I know that Jesus Christ took upon Himself my sins and died for me so that I may have eternal life,” adds Jenna Rounds of the River Heights Fourth Ward. “He died so that all may live again and so that we can be with our loved ones forever.”
After so many hours of digging through rocky soil to create a more solid foundation, these youth better understand the importance of building their lives around the Savior.
“I need to have a solid foundation of rock so that when Satan tries to confuse me about my values, I can do what I know is right,” Jenna says. “The Savior is my rock. In spite of all my weaknesses, He makes me strong.”

I'd like to add my testimony as we close our devotional and say that I know that Heavenly Father lives because I have felt his presence. I know that Jesus is my Savior because I have literally felt the healing power of the atonement in my life. I know that the gospel is true, because I have felt it's power to change lives. I come from a long line of alcoholics, and I can tell you quite truthfully that this curse of my fathers would have been mine also, had I not lived the Word of Wisdom when it was introduced to us by the missionaries. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is a place of refuge in every time of trouble, because it is there that I have turned and have found solace. I count it a choice blessing that our family came to Hawaii and that we were able to raise our children in the shadow of the temple. I love my associations with the students in the University Chorale, and my friends in the community. I will forever be grateful to the two elderly sister missionaries who found us by knocking doors and who taught us the gospel when we were about your age. As you leave this devotional and continue on your journey take our aloha with you and find joy.

Our vacation was ending. Over waffles that morning, we planned how to make the most of our time at the hotel before enduring the five-hour drive home. My husband decided to take our three young daughters for a final escapade in the pool. I would take advantage of a treadmill in the workout room.
The treadmill I chose faced a wall-sized window overlooking the swimming pool. Shortly I saw a family, my family, make their way to the pool. Towels, shoes, and T-shirts flew everywhere as the girls excitedly prepared to jump into the water. Normally I would be following behind them, gathering up clothes and shoes and, quite honestly, being a bit annoyed by it all. Instead, I saw this family from the outside looking in, as though the giant window before me was a movie screen. As my feet pounded a rhythm on the rotating belt beneath, I watched.
I saw how happy everyone was, laughing and playing together, and I thought about the times I had become discouraged by the petty arguments that inevitably arise in a family, by the uneasy feeling that, despite my best effort, I was failing to teach my children to love each other. But as I watched, I saw people who were happy together. I discovered that I wasn’t failing to teach them to love one another; I was just failing to notice that they could.
I watched one of the girls jumping from the pool’s edge over and over again into her daddy’s arms. I thought about all the big jumps she would make throughout her life and hoped she would trust Heavenly Father to catch her each time. I knew that with each jump she was learning to trust and that being part of our family was a safe way to learn that trust.
Another daughter sought to perfect a swimming skill. I saw how her family’s encouragement kept her trying. There would be times in her life when she would need that same support in the face of more difficult challenges.
And then I watched as our third daughter was accidentally bumped into the pool. Upset and angry, she sputtered her way out of the water and into a chair. Immediately her family noticed she was missing. I watched each one lovingly encourage her to rejoin them. She eventually did, and I thought of her future, of all the times she would be hurt and feel like giving up. I hoped she would always find in the love of her family the strength to endure.
Suddenly, the realization hit me: our families can be a key to our ability to learn, understand, and live the gospel. Nephi noted that “by small means the Lord can bring about great things” (1 Nephi 16:29). And so it is with families. Yes, parents struggle. But every effort to teach and train and love, no matter how small, matters.
My little movie drew to a close. As I turned off the treadmill and watched my family gather their clothes, I felt renewed determination to keep going, to keep doing all the little things that I sometimes worry don’t make a difference.

I recently received a copy of a story written about a good friend of mine, Donald W. Cummings, former president of the first Australia state, concerning sacrifice bringing forth the blessings of heaven. Let me relate a portion of it.

What sacrifices would you be willing to make to go to the temple? Would you jeopardize your home, give up your job, sell your car? These thoughts nagged at the mind of the twenty-six-year-old district president as he weighed all that would be required of him and his family if he accepted the mission president’s challenge to attend the house of the Lord. It was in 1958, and the New Zealand Temple dedication was just four months away. He sat pondering the difficulties he would have to face if he accepted this invitation, sweltering in the heat of the Australian summer; for it was January down under, and he lived in the city of Perth on the edge of the Indian Ocean.

The young man, President Donald W. Cummings, had joined the Church just ten years earlier and could remember well the small group of Saints who used to worship together. Now, of course, the district had two vigorous congregations, big healthy branches, and he was their spiritual leader. It was proper that he should attend the temple dedication regardless of the vast distance, for New Zealand was over four thousand miles away.

The mission president’s challenge kept ringing in his ears: “If you have a righteous goal and pray about it, the Lord will help you achieve it.” President Cummings reviewed his finances. He was struggling to purchase a home for his growing family. He earned only a modest salary. He had no money in the bank. He drove an old car. The price of going to New Zealand was six hundred pounds, or twelve hundred United States dollars at the time. He set his jaw and picked up the paper, looking in the classified section for loans. His eye caught an advertisement for loans on furniture. He stared out the window at his well-worn family car, pondered a little longer, and then made the decision. The company lending money against furniture was trying a new idea which they were soon to stop, but not before he was granted their final loan. He sold the old car and started walking and riding buses and even hitchhiking. He was to walk and ride buses for the next eighteen months and, in all of that time, never missed his rotated visits to the branches each week. He recalls, “Yes, it was hard getting around, but my wife and I remember this as one of the happiest periods of our lives.” He had discovered the joys of sacrifice for the Lord. “We appreciated walking all the more.”

Even in selling the car and mortgaging both house and furniture, he was still two hundred dollars short, with no other funds in sight and just several weeks to go. President and Sister Cummings were becoming discouraged when a call from the mission president two thousand miles away in Melbourne gave them fresh courage for the final push: “Keep trying. You’ll make it.”

Determined, they finalized their plans. There would be no turning back. President Cummings had to serve notice on his company that he would be quitting, for they would not hold his job for this six weeks’ trip. With less than a week to go and still two hundred dollars shy, a relative who was not a member of the Church met him on the street and, after chatting about the intended trip, surprised him with a gift of a hundred dollars. With one day left, still another nonmember relative, having driven in from the country, pressed the final hundred dollars into his hand. Brother and Sister Cummings knew both gifts had been inspired.

“The Lord had intervened and he had touched the hearts of those closest to us. We were now on our way,” they recall. This was to be an eight-thousand-mile round trip which started with a two-thousand-mile train trip across the width of the Australian outback. They changed trains five times and took 4 1/2 days to accomplish the journey. When the family finally arrived in Sidney, they delightedly met for the first time with other Saints who had also arranged for passage on a boat bound for Auckland. To their wrenching disappointment, however, they discovered the boat had recently been damaged in hitting the wharf. It required lengthy repairs and would now leave too late to get them to New Zealand on time.

They were billeted with Church members in Sidney while desperate arrangements were tried. They might still make the dedication if an airplane could be chartered. Remarkably this was done without excess cost. They all flew to the dedication and witnessed this sacred event as President David O. McKay presided and prayed. President Cummings was honored as a speaker in the spacious auditorium of the new Church college adjacent to the temple. After all their sacrifice, the Cummings family was gratified to attend the first day of endowments in the New Zealand Temple and was also the very first group to do work for the dead.

They were to have been placed in tents because their funds were so meager, but, again at the last minute, arrangements were made for hotel accommodations. Though the cost was doubled, it was agreed that they could pay later, though they never were to be billed and they never were able to discover whom to pay.

Too poor to tour, they rejoiced in working in the temple for several weeks. Then, filled with the spirit of their new blessings and accomplishments, they traveled home ten days by boat and train with merely ten dollars left—no job, no car, and a mortgaged home and furniture. But they were rich in rewards only a temple can provide—family sealing for all time and eternity.

President Cummings went back to his old employer to see about work. To his astonishment, he was hired with both an increase in pay and a new title–sales manager. But though he started work immediately, he would not get paid until the end of the week. Now the money had run out completely. There was nothing to eat. Again, one of his wife’s country relatives paid a surprise visit and dropped off enough fresh garden produce to carry them until payday. When Elder Thomas S. Monson organized the Perth stake in 1968, Donald W. Cummings was its first stake president. He had seen the kingdom of God swell from a small handful to a big thriving stake, but he never forgot the promise of his mission president: “If you have a righteous goal and pray about it, the Lord will help you achieve it.”

It was hot—too hot to do anything but think about how to get cool. The grass-hoppers were popping from spot to spot like sprinkles on a hot griddle, and the grass along the roadside was singed brittle and brown.
Papa liked the hot weather. He said it was good for the crops.
“I think I’ll just walk down to the field and listen to the corn grow,” he announced after breakfast. “Anyone want to come along?”
“Not me,” I said. “It’s too hot.”
“Me neither,” Ed agreed.
“What are you going to do, hon?” he asked Mama.
“As long as it’s miserable anyway, I figure I might as well do a hot job and get it over with,” she said. “I’m going to make apple butter from the windfalls the kids picked up last night. I’ll save my resting time for a day when I can enjoy it.”
“Do you ever have any resting time?” Papa wanted to know.
“Not much,” she answered. “‘A man works from sun to sun, but women’s work is never done.’”
Then turning to me, she said, “Dora, if you’ll just wash the bottles for me, you can go play when you’re through.”
Washing the bottles was a nice sloshy job in the sudsy water and usually good to cool me off, but today the effort left me sticky and uncomfortable. I sat down under a tree and leaned against the rough bark. How I longed for a nice drink of cool water. The drinking water in the barrel got warm so fast in hot weather that it was no use to try to keep it cool. I looked up idly at our water tank. The water was always cool after the windmill pumped it from deep in the ground. If I climb up the ladder with a cup, I mused, I could have my drink. But I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to lie in the shade of the tank with a little trickle of cool water running into my mouth. If I had a long, thin tube, I thought, I could siphon it out and do just that. I could even let it drip over me and cool me off. But I’ve never seen a small one like I need. What can I makeone with? Straw? Not big enough, probably, and not long enough, either, unless I slide one length inside the other.
“I know,” I almost shouted. “Onion stems!” There were long, hollow ones in the garden holding up the fat white blooms, tapered just enough that the top of one would slide into the bottom of the next one. It would take a lot of stems to reach all the way to the top of the tank, but we had a big onion patch.
I forgot how hot I was and ran to make my long green pipe. Then I climbed with it to the top of the tank. I had separated it a few links short of the top and sucked up enough water to start the siphon action when I accidentally let the long piece fall to the ground. That meant another trip down the ladder to get it and one up to connect it again. By the time my refreshing onion-flavored drink was flowing, I was nearly melted with the heat. I lay under the tank and let the water drip over me and into my mouth. What luxury! A little breeze danced by and already I felt cooler. I didn’t want to move—ever—just lie there and guide the end of the hose around to cool me off.
I drizzled water over me until my hair had shrunk into corkscrew curls and my clothes were damp. I was cool as a cucumber. I guess I smelled a little like a pickle too. Whenever I’d had enough water for a while, I’d shut it off by tying a knot in the end of the onion stem. Soon this one section was wearing out and I needed to replace it.
“Dora … Dora!” Ed was calling me in his coaxing voice. That usually meant he wanted me to do something for him. I dropped my spigot and walked over to where he was.
“We’re going to go swimming. Do you want to go with us?”
“Nah, I don’t want to.” I started to walk away.
“How come you never want to swim?” he asked.
“I don’t like drowning. That’s why.”
“You’ve never drowned yet,” he reminded me.
“I don’t intend to either,” I told him. “Even if I did go swimming, it wouldn’t be a hundred miles up in the air where you can’t climb out on the ground.”
“Ah, come on, Dora,” he coaxed. “We need you for a lookout so we don’t get caught.”
“What’ll you give me?”
“A pretty bottle. I found one where Papa was digging. Been buried a long time, and it’s purple.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Will you come?”
Why not? I thought. “If it’s as pretty as you say,” I finally agreed.
He pulled a piece of lavender colored glass from his pocket.
“It’s broken,” I said.
“Didn’t say it wasn’t,” he replied. “But just look at the color when the light shines through it.”
He was right. It was beautiful.
It was a long walk to the swimming spot we had found on the other edge of town. I guess it was worth it to the boys, who liked to be sweating hot when they climbed up the side and dropped into the cool water of the tank that stood by the tracks to fill the tenders of the train locomotives when they came by.
All my coolness had evaporated in the heat, and I stood waiting for the boys in the shade below the tank. I was grateful for any breeze that stirred the air to cool me off, and I kicked back the hot sand with my bare feet to see if there were a cooler spot underneath.
“When are you coming down?” I shouted up. I was answered only by loud splashes and playful laughing. They didn’t hear me. They didn’t even hear the mournful wail of the faraway train whistle or my shouts of “Train’s coming!”
They did hear the wild shriek of the brakes, though, as the engine shuddered to a stop. The sudden suspension of splashing in the tank told me that. I knew it was too late for them to climb out now without being caught, so I hid down in the shadows and tried to look invisible.
The engineer jumped out and turned on the spigot to fill the water tender on his train. If he noticed me, he ignored me. Soon he closed the valve, climbed back in the engine, and with a double toot of the whistle was on his way again.
After the train sounds died away, Ed shouted down, “Turn some more water into the tank.”
“What for? Aren’t you wet enough already?” I teased.
“So we can get out. That train drank half the water, and we can’t reach the top.”
“Can’t reach the bottom either,” Frank added.
“Where’s the tap?” I asked, looking around for it. I could only see the one the engineer used to drain the tank.
“I don’t know,” Ed shouted impatiently, “but find it!”
Finally I found another valve. But the tap had been shut off by stronger hands than mine. “I’m not strong enough,” I cried.
“Oh, come on,” Ed encouraged. “Try harder.”
“Why don’t you stand on each other’s shoulders?” I suggested.
“We tried that, and it doesn’t work. We still can’t reach.”
“Climb up the sides then.”
“It’s too slippery,” Ed called.
“Go get Papa,” Frank insisted.
“He’ll be mad,” I reminded him.
“He sure will,” Ed said, reconsidering.
Finally, however, there seemed to be no other solution, so I started off on a run to find Papa.
I was stumbling from fatigue and panting for breath when Mr. Leslie, one of our neighbors, came along on his horse.
“Why, what’s the matter, Dora?” he asked.
“My brothers will drown in the water tank. They can’t get out.”
“The train tank? They shouldn’t be in there.”
“I know they shouldn’t, but they are. They were swimming and the train came along and took most of the water. Now they can’t reach the top to get out and I can’t turn on the tap and they’ll drown.”
“There, there, now calm down. We’ll get them out,” Mr. Leslie said soothingly. “I have my rope right here.” He reached down and pulled me up behind him on the horse, and we loped all the way back to the tank.
“Ed?” I called to the silence that had settled down as we rode up. “Mr. Leslie’s going to turn on the water.”
When the water started running into the tank in a slow trickle, Mr. Leslie climbed up and pulled the boys out one at a time with the rope. When they were all out and scrambling into their clothes, Ed asked Mr. Leslie, “You aren’t going to tell Papa about this, are you?”
“Can’t think of any reason why not,” Mr. Leslie replied.
“ ’Cause he’ll whip us good,” Frank said.
“A little whippin’ never hurt any boy that I know of,” Mr. Leslie teased.
“He’ll never let us go swimming again,” Frank pleaded.
“It’ll save us a lot of trouble if you could just forget this happened,” Ed suggested. “We’re willing to pay by working for you. We’ll both pull weeds for you for half a day.”
“I’ll help too,” I offered.
The next morning when we got up Papa was waiting with a little green willow.
“Somebody needs a whipping,” he said. I couldn’t figure out how he’d heard about swimming in the train tank so soon.
“Come over here,” he directed, and he led us out by our water tank. “Look at that mess.” He pointed to a mire where the cows had sloshed up and down all night in the mud made by my siphon. He picked up the onion hose that had been pulled from the tank.
“Who,” he thundered, “thought of this?”
“I didn’t do it,” Ed said.
“Me neither,” Frank insisted.
“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t Georgie,” Papa said. “Dora, was it you?”
I turned my face down so I wouldn’t have to look at his blazing eyes, and he could tell I was guilty.
“Run along, boys,” he said. “I have some private business with Dora.”
He had to switch me a little so I’d learn my lesson. Then when he was through he said, “That was really a smart way to get a cold drink, but it sure made a mess, didn’t it? Next time remember to turn it off.”

“Oh no,” Michael moaned to himself. “Not another errand!” He knew that he shouldn’t feel this way. He loved his father. But ever since his father’s accident, it seemed like all he ever did was ask Michael to run errands for him.
“I’m coming.” Michael could hear the irritation in his words and guiltily hoped that his father would hear it, too, and respond with a “Never mind.” But there was no reply, so Michael slowly made his way to his parents’ bedroom.
Even though it had been over four months since the car accident, it still seemed strange to see his father in bed during the daytime hours. Michael knew that it was difficult for his father to lie there day after day, but it was difficult for him, too. He had been eager to run errands for his father during the first few weeks. But lately it was getting harder to give up what he wanted to do. Again today he had had to tell his best friend, Brad, that he couldn’t come over after school because he was needed at home.
It didn’t help that in a few days Michael would turn twelve. There would be few presents and no party with his friends. His mother and father had said that they were sorry—they didn’t have the time or the money this year for a friend party. It would have to be a family-only party.
Life before the accident seemed like a distant dream. Money had not been a real problem then. Now Michael worried more and more about what would happen to him and his family. His mother had taken a part-time job at a bakery to help make ends meet. Michael knew that as the oldest child in his family, he had a responsibility to help as much as he could. Lately, though, that responsibility seemed to weigh more and more, even though he did the same things: caring for his younger siblings, mowing the lawn, vacuuming the carpet, washing clothes and dishes, helping prepare meals when Mom worked late, and running errands for Dad.
As Michael went into his parents’ bedroom, the afternoon sun spilled through the window and across the multicolored quilt tucked around his father. His father turned the quilt back and slowly pushed himself up against the pillows behind him. “Michael, come here a minute, please.” Even though his face showed the strain of sitting up, he smiled at Michael. “I have an errand for you.”
Michael could feel the irritation building again. He didn’t want to run any more errands.
“Please get my scriptures for me. They’re on top of the dresser.” Michael’s father pointed toward the far end of the room.
Michael had always liked the smell and feel of the leather cover of his father’s worn scriptures. He handed them to his father and was about to leave, when his father said, “Hold on a minute. I want to say something to you. I know that these past four months have not been easy for you. You’ve given up a lot to help take care of me and the rest of the family. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you have done and how much I love you.” As Michael felt his irritation begin to seep away, his father continued. “There’s something else I want you to know. Even though you’ve given up many things, I’ve noticed that you’ve acquired others that are more important.”
“Huh?” Michael could think of several things that he’d given up, but nothing that he had gained during the past four months. “What things?”
“Well, every time you run an errand for me, you come back with something for both of us.”
None of what his father was saying made any sense to Michael. Maybe the accident caused some brain damage, he thought with concern.
Michael’s father saw his look of bewilderment and laughed softly. “Let me explain. I’ve seen you grow more these past four months than at any other time in your life. Every time you went on an errand, you came back with more maturity, more talents, and more skills.” He held up the scriptures. “The Savior taught that He only did the things His Father sent Him to do. His whole life was an errand for His Father. He willingly gave up His will to do the will of His Father. Because of that, He received everything His Father has.* In a few days, you’ll receive the Aaronic Priesthood and will be ordained a deacon. Do you know what that means?”
“I’ll be able to pass the sacrament, and I’ll go to priesthood meeting instead of Primary.”
“That’s right. But it means much more than that. It also means that you will be on the Lord’s errand. If you always do what He asks of you, even if it means giving up everything you have, what you receive in return will be far more valuable than any earthly possession or entertainment.”
Michael left the room with a completely different feeling than he’d had when he had entered. Pondering what his father had said, he realized that not all the changes in his life had been too hard—not if they made him a better person.
From downstairs, he heard his mother call, “Michael, can you run an errand for me?”
This time, he responded quickly and with joy.

Late in the year a combination of dry weather and high winds fueled wildfires in Southern California. These wildfires forced over 1 million people from their homes. At least 1,500 homes were destroyed. In response the Church provided cleaning kits, blankets, hygiene kits, and food. Over 5,000 Mormon Helping Hands along with missionaries cleaned, cooked, comforted, and cared for those affected.

One note of appreciation said: “Please forward a great big thank you to all the Latter-day Saints who have been working so hard in my neighborhood. The Mormons have been here constantly with meals, hugs, prayers, and helping to repair and clear property. They … uplift my community, heal hearts, and repair homes in the San Diego hills.”

Reflecting on the experience, one stake president said: “One of our projects was to assist cleaning up around the local Baptist church. … We assigned 25 youth. … The Baptists said that they would have lots of donuts and coffee for us. We told them the coffee would go stale, but our youth could handle as many donuts as they could provide!”