Gospel Story Finder

Some while ago, I went to visit my son who was studying in Rexburg, Idaho. He, his wife and I went out to dinner at a restaurant where people stand in line to get served. It was full of students excited for graduation and the end of the semester. I noticed a young lady come in by herself, looking somewhat lonely and overwhelmed by the noise and activity around her. I felt prompted to invite her to sit with us. As she got her food, she walked by us and made her way to a table by herself. At that moment, I thought, “Oh, she’ll think I’m strange if I invite her to sit with us,” and I let the prompting pass. I remember waking up about 2:30 a.m. the following morning thinking “What if she had really needed our help and friendship?” I got out of bed onto my knees and prayed that someone else might help her where I had failed. I also determined then that I would try never to let that kind of prompting or the opportunity to lift another pass again.

The Wilkinsons attend Church in Wolfeboro, about 10 miles (16 km) away. Though there are a few other Latter-day Saint families in Alton, they don’t have children Rachel’s age, so her many friends are of other faiths. Friends often ask her to go out on the lake or join them for a barbecue on Sunday, but she always says no and explains why. None of them has taken offense. “It was hard saying no at first, because sometimes you really want to go,” Rachel admits. “But it’s getting easier every time.”

Bear and Chipmunk were sitting at their kitchen table. “Do you remember what day today is, Chipmunk?” Bear asked his friend.
“Tuesday?” said Chipmunk.
“Yes, it’s Tuesday,” said Bear, “but do you remember what else today is?”
Chipmunk looked at the calendar on the wall. “Why, it’s your birthday, Bear! Happy Birthday!”
“You remembered!” said Bear smiling. “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone baked me a birthday cake and gave me a birthday present?”
“That would be nice,” said Chipmunk. “Maybe someone will.”
“Maybe I’d better leave so that someone can get busy,” said Bear.
“Maybe you’d better,” said Chipmunk, trying hard not to smile until Bear was safely gone.
“I love birthdays, especially Bear’s,” Chipmunk said, opening the kitchen cupboard and taking out a cake. “I’m glad I baked this yesterday.” He mixed up a batch of honey frosting and spread it over and around the cake. “I hope Bear likes it.”
Bear was peeking through the kitchen window. “I will,” he said quietly. “I will!”
Chipmunk carried the birthday cake into the dining room and put it on the table, then went to the bedroom and took a big box out of the closet. Taking some wrapping paper out of the desk drawer, he wrapped the big box. “I hope Bear likes it,” he said.
Bear was peeking through the bedroom window. “Oh, I will,” he said quietly. “I know I will.”
Chipmunk carried the big box into the dining room and put it on the table next to the birthday cake. “There now,” he said. “Everything’s ready. I’ll call Bear.”
But Chipmunk didn’t have to call Bear. Bear was standing right there next to him! Chipmunk laughed. “Happy birthday, Bear!” he said.
“You really did remember, Chipmunk!” Bear said happily.
Bear opened the big box. His eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Chipmunk,” he said, “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Chipmunk.
“I love them!” Bear said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Bear stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Chipmunk.”
“I’m sorry, Bear,” said Chipmunk, “but I can’t.”
Bear looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t have any roller skates.”
“Well then,” said Bear, “why don’t you take the money Grandma Chipmunk sent you for your birthday last week and buy some.”
“I already spent it.”
“On what?”
“On something special.”
Bear looked down at the new white roller skates he was wearing. Suddenly he knew what that something special was. Bear didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Chipmunk.”
“You’re welcome,” said Chipmunk, smiling again.
Just then the doorbell rang. Bear skated over and answered it. A delivery person handed Bear a big package. It was from Uncle Bear. Bear unwrapped it, and his eyes opened wide. “Look at these, Chipmunk!” he said, taking a pair of glowing purple roller blades out of the box. Bear had never seen such fabulous skates before!
Chipmunk hadn’t either. He didn’t say anything, but the pair of white roller skates he had given Bear for his birthday seemed quite plain and ordinary now.
There was a card in the big box. It said:
Dear Nephew,
I Hope you enjoy these.
Happy birthday!
Uncle Bear
P.S. If there is something else you’d rather have, please exchange these for it.
Bear looked at the glowing purple roller blades he was holding. He looked down at the white roller skates he was wearing. He looked at Chipmunk. Then Bear put the glowing purple roller blades back into the big box and skated out the front door with them. “I’ll be back soon, Chipmunk,” he called over his shoulder.
Chipmunk watched Bear disappear down the road. “He didn’t even take time to have a piece of his birthday cake before he left!” Chipmunk said sadly.
He was sitting in his favorite chair when Bear came back. Bear was still wearing the white roller skates Chipmunk had given him, but he was not carrying the big box from Uncle Bear. Instead, he had a little box. Bear skated over to Chipmunk and handed him the little box. “Open it, Chipmunk,” he said.
Chipmunk’s eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Bear!” he cried, taking a pair of little white roller skates out of the little box. “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Bear.
“I love them!” Chipmunk said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Chipmunk stopped lacing up the little white roller skates. “Bear,” he said, “where are the purple roller blades Uncle Bear sent you?”
“I exchanged them for those,” said Bear, pointing to the little white roller skates Chipmunk was wearing.
Chipmunk didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Bear.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bear, smiling again.
Chipmunk finished lacing up his little white roller skates. He stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Bear!”
“I’m sorry, Chipmunk,” said Bear, “but I can’t.”
Chipmunk looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I haven’t had a piece of my birthday cake yet! And honey frosting is my very favorite.”
Bear ate three big bear-size pieces of birthday cake. Chipmunk ate two big chipmunk-size pieces. Then Bear wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “I’m ready, Chipmunk. Let’s go roller-skating together right now!”
Chipmunk wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “Let’s!”
And the two friends did.

That first week at BYU-I was one of the hardest of my life. I read Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers. I created a timeline from Adam to the twelve tribes of Israel and ultimately to Jesus Christ.

The Spirit was teaching me the importance of the Abrahamic covenant and what it meant to receive the promises of priesthood, posterity, and promised land. I began to see that it was about eternal marriage, enduring trials, making and keeping covenants, and creating eternal families.

For the first time, I began to see not only the patriarchs of the covenant but also the matriarchs. There is no Abrahamic covenant without Sarah.

I saw a powerful pattern: God often asks His covenant people to move forward in faith long before they understand His purposes.

I have learned that trusting the God who knows the ending does not remove the trial.It changes the way we face it.

That first week at BYU-Idaho was one of the scariest weeks of my life.

Growing up, I struggled in school. I had been diagnosed with ADD and a mild learning disability. I was deathly shy and terrified to go to college. Now my dad was dying of cancer.

How could God ask something so hard of me?

The first morning of the semester, I woke up in my dorm and opened my scriptures. I read Genesis 1:1: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” [20]

I remember thinking, If God could create the heavens and the earth, surely, He could help me get through college.

I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet so my roommates wouldn't hear me cry, knelt on the floor, and begged God for help. Then I walked to the Taylor Building to try to add a religion class.

“I'm sorry,” the teacher said. “My class is full.”

I was devastated. If there was one class I needed, it was religion.

Just as I was about to leave the building, I felt a prompting: “Go into that room.”

My first thought was, “Absolutely not.”

Again, the impression came: “Go into that room.”

So, I walked in and asked if I could add his class.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “My class is full.”

I started to cry and said, “My dad is dying of cancer.”

He looked surprised and replied, “You can add my class.”

It was a 9:00 a.m. Book of Mormon class taught by Brother Kinghorn.

That weekend, I went to a dance on campus, but I didn't feel like dancing. As I walked home, all I could think about was my dad. I remember thinking, “This is too hard. I can't do this.”

When I got to my dorm, I fell on the floor. I didn't even turn on the light.

I said out loud, “Dear Heavenly Father, I do not want to be here. I want nothing more than to be with my dad right now.”

At that moment, I felt arms wrap around me. Whether it was physical or spiritual, I felt arms around me and I heard a voice say, “Tiffany, your earthly father can't and won't always be with you, but I am your Heavenly Father, and I can and I will always be with you.”

That moment changed my life.

That first semester was extremely difficult, yet I grew in unexpected ways. I became a better student, began overcoming my shyness, and learned that when I looked outward instead of inward, my burdens became lighter. Most importantly, I learned that God knew me.

Lindsey Walch and Carson Evers, two 17-year-olds from the Santa Cruz California Stake, had to decide what the Sabbath meant to them. When challenges came, they made their decision and found greater understanding and peace.
Carson’s game is basketball, and he loves to play in tournaments. The problem, of course, is that many tournaments include Sunday in their schedules.
“At this one particular tournament we had a chance in the finals, which were on a Sunday,” he says. “I was thinking about going because it was the final big tournament. I said to myself, ‘I don’t want to give up. I don’t think it’s right.’”
When he talked to his coach, he felt even more pressure. “He was kind of pushing me to go because we were in the finals of the big tournament.”
What made it even more difficult were his own prior choices. “Before then I was kind of used to making exceptions,” he says. “I used to go play some on Sunday every once in a while for tournaments. I always played my worst game then. It just never worked out.”
But this time he made a decision about what the Sabbath meant to him. “I talked about it with my parents,” he says. “They said, ‘Whatever you decide.’ I always hate that when they make you choose.”
Carson also received support for his decision from a friend and teammate, who is also LDS and chooses not to play on Sunday. “It’s kind of easy for me, because he is a member,” says Carson. “He’s like my best friend, and we always play sports together. And it’s easier for me because we both don’t do that stuff on Sundays. It’s just good having another person there. I’m not the only one.”
When Carson made his decision not to play, it had quite an effect on him. “I had this good feeling about it when I went to church that Sunday,” he says. “I knew I needed to be there and not at my tournament. That whole day, I just knew—that nice little chill up the spine feeling, you know?”
Attending church is an important part of the Sabbath for Carson, particularly renewing his covenants and remembering the Savior through the sacrament. “It makes me keep the Sabbath day a little more holy,” he says. “It helps me think of the Sabbath as a holy day and not just a day of rest.”
So what does the Sabbath mean to Carson?
“For me, it’s about showing respect for Heavenly Father and what He commanded,” he says. “It’s resting, taking a day off, just getting back in the groove. By the end of the week I’m burned out; I’m done. I always need a rest.”
One of his favorite things about Sunday is spending time with his family. “It’s just good to have one day just with my family to get to know them better,” he says. “During the week I don’t have the time to be with my family as much as I’d like. So Sunday’s a pretty good day to be with them.”

How well I can recall a sweet, young patient whom I first saw years ago for a premarital examination. She had been born with one arm missing. Noticing that she had identified herself as a stenographer on her medical history record, I asked, “You’re a secretary?”
“Are you surprised?” she chuckled in return. “I can type with one hand as fast as many girls can with two. As early as I could comprehend, my mother told me that I have been given a deformity so that it might strengthen me, and that I was to learn to do things as well with one hand as everyone else did with two. I have never found my limitation to be a real handicap.” I have watched this young patient. She has since had a heart operation and a child of her own for whom she cares with tender love. A beautiful response to affliction, and God is pleased, I am sure.

Elder Helio da Rocha Camargo, a former member of the Seventy, once told of a ward clerk who sincerely prayed that he would be able to learn what he needed to know to fulfill his calling. At the time, all statistical and financial records were kept manually, without the help of a computer. That month, it seemed every possible problem occurred for this ward clerk: bank statements did not reconcile, records contained incorrect dates, and so on. These problems brought extra and overwhelming work. That clerk went to Heavenly Father in prayer and said, “Father, I asked Thee to help me learn to be a clerk, and then all sorts of problems happened with the records.” The response came quickly to his mind: “And didn’t I help you?”

Last year I reported to my doctor in Baltimore, Maryland. We had a full surgery scheduled for my right hip, which would mean a body cast for several months, perhaps even endangering my ability to attend my senior year of high school. We’d known about this for a year, since the last checkup when he made it known that my right hip was in bad shape.
When my dad and I got in the examination room, my doctor placed the X rays to the light. After looking at them, examining me, and looking back at the X rays again, he announced, rather astonished, that there seemed to be nothing wrong at all with my hip. He could see no reason to perform the extensive surgery he had planned. He said that, except for some work that needed to be done on my feet, I was in fantastic health and would need no more surgeries.
That was some kind of news to someone who had already had eight major surgeries and a handful of minor ones.
It is more than important to note that many prayers had been offered by our family and others prior to my examination, and I had many dear friends praying and fasting.
Sure enough, my hip was healed. I know that only Heavenly Father could have done what I witnessed. As a result of the many times I have had to face the reality of surgery and the consequent recovery, I have learned to pray—fervently and with real intent, exactly as Heavenly Father wishes for it to be.

The Hyde Park Ward, Chicago Heights Illinois Stake, has some fine young men to look up to, literally. With only four young men available to make up the basketball team, they looked for a way to have a team for competition. The ward members asked some friends to join with them, and the result was a winning combination.
Eddie Britton, first assistant in the priests quorum, was the captain of his high school football team. But he showed real skill with the round ball as well. Eddie, plus lead scorers Leon Harvey and LaMonte Thompson, and teammates played an undefeated season. They went on to win both the stake and regional championship.
The young men found that basketball was an excellent way of introducing the gospel to their friends. Playing together on a team also cemented friendships and established good relationships within the community.

The Christmas season of 1837, however, was not pleasant for Joseph. The national financial panic of that year had helped cause the crash of the Saints’ own banking institution, the Kirtland Safety Society. Many members, some in high places, turned against the Church. Returning from a trip to Missouri on 10 December 1837, Joseph found that some of the opposition planned to deprive him of his presidency, and even kill him. On 12 January, 1838, Joseph and Sidney Rigdon left Kirtland for safety among the Saints in Missouri.

Some years ago following a talk I gave about the concept of faith, I was approached by an older gentleman. I’ll try to paraphrase his observation:

You know, young man, I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve learned that there are only so many things that you can get done with the time that you have. You have to choose carefully where you are going to put your energies. You’ve said some nice things tonight about using faith to accomplish worthwhile goals, like learning to play the piano. But you didn’t talk at all about faith in Christ.

I hope I never forget how stunned I felt. I think of the Pharisees’ meticulous care in observing the law while all along failing to recognize the Christ. The whole aim of tradition, of religious culture, is to point our souls to Christ. In our parenting, if we teach only morals, or church activity, or cultural tradition, we will have fallen terribly short of what must be our goal—to teach our children faith in Christ, that they will turn to him for salvation. For it is he, after all, not us, that will write his law in their hearts.

Because of violent civil uprisings in 1994, full-time missionaries were pulled out of many areas in the state of Chiapas in southern Mexico. Some fledgling branches, such as the one in the town of Palenque—near the famous Mayan ruins of the same name—were closed.
Missionaries assigned to Palenque some two years later faced the challenges of reopening the branch, locating and reactivating scattered members, baptizing new converts, and preparing members for leadership.
Among the first missionaries to arrive were Elder Bartolomé de la Cruz Reyes and his wife, Natalia, of the Arboleda Ward, Mexico City Mexico La Perla Stake. “This couple literally rescued the branch,” says President Benjamín de Hoyos Estrada of the Mexico Tuxtla Gutiérrez Mission. Their secret: hearts filled with love for the Lord, for one another, and for their fellowmen.
“Sister de la Cruz walks with me, and I walk with her,” says Elder de la Cruz. “This is the feeling we have—lots of love for our brothers and sisters, all of them, whether they are members of the Church or not. I know they are children of our Heavenly Father.”
Elder and Sister de la Cruz became like members of the family to all they met. Within a few months of their arrival in Palenque, the branch had grown from just a handful of people attending sacrament meeting to an average weekly attendance of 50. Soon the branch had outgrown the rented house where they held meetings and moved to a larger meeting place.

I wondered, as I read that story so filled with pathos, what had brought him to this sorry state. I discovered it, in the Journal of Discourses, in a talk given to the Saints in this same bowery the year before by George A. Smith. I think, if you’ll bear with me for a minute or two, it is worth the telling to illustrate to all of us the need to be careful in dealing with small matters which can lead to great consequences.
According to the account given by George A. Smith, while the Saints were in Far West, Missouri, “the wife of Thomas B. Marsh, who was then President of the Twelve Apostles, and Sister Harris concluded they would exchange milk, in order to make a little larger cheese than they otherwise could. To be sure to have justice done, it was agreed that they should not save the strippings (to themselves), but that the milk and strippings should all go together.”
Now for you who have never been around a cow, I should say that the strippings came at the end of the milking and were richer in cream.
“Mrs. Harris, it appeared, was faithful to the agreement and carried to Mrs. Marsh the milk and strippings, but Mrs. Marsh, wishing to make some extra good cheese, saved a pint of strippings from each cow and sent Mrs. Harris the milk without the strippings.”
A quarrel arose, and the matter was referred to the home teachers. They found Mrs. Marsh guilty of failure to keep her agreement. She and her husband were upset and, “an appeal was taken from the teacher to the bishop, and a regular Church trial was had.” President Marsh did not consider that the bishop had done him and his lady justice for they (that is, the bishop’s court) decided that the strippings were wrongfully saved, and that the woman had violated her covenant.
“Marsh immediately took an appeal to the High Council, who investigated the question with much patience, and,” says George A. Smith, “I assure you they were a grave body. Marsh being extremely anxious to maintain the character of his wife, … made a desperate defence, but the High Council finally confirmed the bishop’s decision.
“Marsh, not being satisfied, took an appeal to the First Presidency of the Church, and Joseph and his Counselors had to sit upon the case, and they approved the decision of the High Council.
“This little affair,” Brother Smith continues, “… kicked up a considerable breeze, and Thomas B. Marsh then declared that he would sustain the character of his wife even if he had to go to hell for it.
“The then President of the Twelve Apostles, the man who should have been the first to do justice and cause reparation to be made for wrong, committed by any member of the family, took that position, and what next? He went before a magistrate and swore that the ‘Mormons’ were hostile towards the state of Missouri.
“That affidavit brought from the government of Missouri an exterminating order, which drove some 15,000 Saints from their homes and habitations, and some thousands perished through suffering the exposure consequent on this state of affairs.” (Journal of Discourses, 3:283–84.) Such is George A. Smith’s account.
What a very small and trivial thing—a little cream over which two women quarreled. But it led to, or at least was a factor in, Governor Boggs’ cruel exterminating order which drove the Saints from the state of Missouri, with all of the terrible suffering and consequent death that followed. The man who should have settled this little quarrel, but who, rather, pursued it, troubling the officers of the Church, right up to the Presidency, literally went through hell for it. He lost his standing in the Church. He lost his testimony of the gospel. For nineteen years he walked in poverty and darkness and bitterness, experiencing illness, and loneliness. He grew old before his time. Finally, like the prodigal son in the parable of the Savior (see Luke 15:11–32), he recognized his foolishness and painfully made his way to this valley, and asked Brigham Young to forgive him and permit his rebaptism into the Church. He had been the first President of the Council of the Twelve, loved, respected, and honored in the days of Kirtland, and the early days of Far West. Now he asked only that he might be ordained a deacon and become a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord.

Others, like Brother Thach, risk capture and death by traveling from Vietnam in the south, northward through Cambodia to neutral Thailand. With Brother Thach was his wife, Minhdan, three-year-old daughter, Minhvan, and a nephew, eight-year-old Khaivien. Brother Thach says, “Khaivien’s father was unable to pay the price to get his wife and six children out of Vietnam. He asked me to take the boy. Even though it meant giving up their oldest son, he and his wife felt that at least one of their children should have a chance at freedom.”
The journey through Cambodia was arranged with the help of a “guide” who charged Brother Thach one and one half taels of gold, approximately equivalent to his entire earnings for eighteen months. Brother Thach worked hard to save the money, accumulating the funds secretly so as not to arouse the suspicions of the authorities. Finally prepared, after selling the family’s meager possessions to relatives and friends, the group left on a moonless night in March, 1981, praying that they would be successful in their venture.
Brother Thach knows that their prayers were answered. Although they were Vietnamese citizens, he and his wife shared a Cambodian heritage and assumed the identity of Cambodians for their journey. “We were not always successful,” he recalls. “For instance, my wife dressed like a Cambodian woman, but one day we were questioned by someone who wondered why her sarong looked Vietnamese and not Cambodian. Even though the two countries have the same cultural background there is a difference in the style of sarong and in the way that it is worn. We gave some excuse or other, and we were allowed to go on our way.”
They were stopped several times by soldiers, but each time a small miracle occurred and they were free to continue. “One time,” says Brother Thach, “we were stopped at a checkpoint where there were two soldiers on guard; one of them Cambodian and the other Vietnamese. For some reason the Vietnamese soldier turned away and didn’t talk to us. The Cambodian soldier asked to see our identification papers. I decided to tell him the truth—where we were from and where we were going. He let us go. I’m sure we would have been detained had the Vietnamese soldier challenged us.”
The family also escaped other potential dangers—being attacked by robbers or getting caught in military skirmishes—as they made their way by overloaded and ancient buses, bicycles, ox-drawn cart, and railroad train to Batdambang south of the Thai-Cambodian border.
The train carrying them had to make frequent stops while repairs were made to railroad tracks damaged by land mines. Brother Thach explains, “To clear the tracks, the train crew would unhook the locomotive from the passenger cars and use it to push ahead a weighted freight car to set off any unexploded mines. Then they would repair the track. This took so long to do each time that all of us on the train were afraid we would be stranded without food.”
Brother Thach says that at one repair stop, “I left the train and prayed that the Lord would help me find food for my family. They had not had anything substantial to eat for some time. After walking for about two kilometers I came to a village. I went to a house at the edge of the village and asked a lady if I could buy some food from her. She cooked a pan of rice, packed it in a banana leaf, added a pinch of salt, and gave it to me.” He paid her and took the rice back to his wife and the two hungry children, not forgetting to thank the Lord.
The family finally arrived at the refugee camp in Batdambang, but because it was located in Cambodia, Brother Thach requested that they be transferred to safer refuge at Panat Nikom, Thailand, where they arrived in May, two months after leaving Vietnam. From Thailand, they relocated to the United States where Minhdan Thach was baptized. She now serves as a Relief Society counselor in the Taylorsville 40th (Vietnamese) Branch, Taylorsville Utah Central Stake. Brother Thach, second counselor in the branch elders quorum presidency, is now an electronic test technician with a national engineering and research company with a manufacturing plant and offices in Utah.

Number four comes from a contemporary of Abraham Lincoln, and this picture is entitled “Honesty.” During American slave days a little black girl was placed upon the auction block to be sold to the highest bidder. A prospective purchaser approached and said to this little girl, “If I buy you and give you a good home and treat you kindly and feed you well, will you promise me that you will be honest?” This wonderful little black girl said, “I will promise you that I will be honest whether you buy me and treat me kindly or feed me well or not.”

As a young man, Brother Vern Crowley said he learned something of the crucial lesson the Prophet Joseph had taught the early Saints in Nauvoo when he told them to “love others, even our enemies as well as friends.” This is a good lesson for each of us.

After his father became ill, Vern Crowley took responsibility for running the family wrecking yard although he was only fifteen years of age. Some customers occasionally took unfair advantage of the young man, and parts were disappearing from the lot overnight. Vern was angry and vowed to catch someone and make an example of him. Vengeance would be his.

Just after his father had started to recover from his illness, Vern was making his rounds of the yard one night at closing time. It was nearly dark. In a distant corner of the property, he caught sight of someone carrying a large piece of machinery toward the back fence. He ran like a champion athlete and caught the young thief. His first thought was to take out his frustrations with his fists and then drag the boy to the front office and call the police. His heart was full of anger and vengeance. He had caught his thief, and he intended to get his just dues.

Out of nowhere, Vern’s father came along, put his weak and infirm hand on his son’s shoulder, and said, “I see you’re a bit upset, Vern. Can I handle this?” He then walked over to the young would-be thief and put his arm around his shoulder, looked him in the eye for a moment, and said, “Son, tell me, why are you doing this? Why were you trying to steal that transmission?” Then Mr. Crowley started walking toward the office with his arm around the boy, asking questions about the young man’s car problems as they walked. By the time they had arrived at the office, the father said, “Well, I think your clutch is gone and that’s causing your problem.”

In the meantime, Vern was fuming. “Who cares about his clutch?” he thought. “Let’s call the police and get this over with.” But his father just kept talking. “Vern, get him a clutch. Get him a throwout bearing too. And get him a pressure plate. That should take care of it.” The father handed all of the parts to the young man who had attempted robbery and said, “Take these. And here’s the transmission, too. You don’t have to steal, young man. Just ask for it. There’s a way out of every problem. People are willing to help.”

Brother Vern Crowley said he learned an everlasting lesson in love that day. The young man came back to the lot often. Voluntarily, month by month, he paid for all of the parts Vic Crowley had given him, including the transmission. During those visits he asked Vern why his dad was the way he was and why he did what he did. Vern told him something of their Latter-day Saint beliefs and how much his father loved the Lord and loved people. Eventually the would-be thief was baptized. Vern later said, “It’s hard now to describe the feelings I had and what I went through in that experience. I, too, was young. I had caught my crook. I was going to extract the utmost penalty. But my father taught me a different way.”

Jennie shivered and drew the patchwork quilt more tightly around herself. She snuggled close to Susan. Outside the wagon, the wind whipped fiercely across the prairie, snapping the white wagon cover above her. Frightened, she wondered if the big wagon could withstand the raging storm. Papa had said the wagon was to be their home on the long journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. But suppose the wind shatters this old wagon, she conjectured, then how would Susan, baby Sarah, Mama and Papa, and I get to the valley?
Although the wagon was cold and uncomfortable it did provide substantial shelter from storms, and it was large enough to carry the things that Jennie’s family would need to start their new home in Salt Lake. Besides all of Papa’s tools, there was a heavy iron blade for a plow. Mama, too, had packed many things. Her beautiful dishes were carefully wrapped in bedding and linens to protect them from breaking as the wagon creaked and jolted across the land. She had also packed a sewing box of scissors, thread, and needles. Along with the grain and vegetable seeds there were tiny packets of flower seeds. Lovely flowers blooming in the yard would help make their new house a home. There had been no room to carry furniture, so Mama’s beloved carved vanity had been sold, as had Papa’s dresser and Susan’s bedstead.
Jennie remembered their pleasant home in Nauvoo. It had been hard to leave it, but cruel men had forced them to go. Papa had promised her that someday they would have a new home in the Rocky Mountains where they would all be safe and happy. Now thunder rumbled loudly across the prairie, and the wind moaned through the night. Jennie buried her head in her pillow and wished that the days of happiness and safety would come soon.
“Sister Quigley! Sister Quigley!” It was Brother Olenslager’s urgent voice. The light of his flickering lantern could be seen through the canvas wagon cover. “Are you awake? You must come. My wife is having her baby!”
“Yes, Brother Olenslager, I’m awake and I’ll come at once.”
Jennie heard Mama hastily dressing in the cold darkness of the wagon box. Tonight Papa was gone, for it was his turn to guard the stock. Jennie suddenly realized that she would be alone in the big dark wagon with four-year-old Susan and Baby Sarah.
“Mama?” she whispered.
“Jennie, I must go to help Sister Olenslager. Please watch after the little ones if they wake.”
“Yes, Mama.” Jennie’s throat was dry and she could scarcely speak. How she wanted to cry out, “Don’t go, Mama. I’m frightened!”
“If I’m not back before morning, Jennie, you must get breakfast and prepare to roll at daybreak. The morning bell will signal when it is time to wake up.” Then Mama slipped from the wagon into the sodden night and was on her way to Sister Olenslager.
BOOOOM! A frightening clap of thunder directly overhead split the night, jolting Susan from her slumber. “Mama!” she cried.
“She isn’t here, Susan,” Jennie explained, trying to soothe her frightened sister. “She’s gone to help Sister Olenslager with her baby.”
“I want Mama,” Susan began to cry. “I’m scared.”
Jennie hugged her younger sister and said softly, “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right. I’m here with you. It’s just that this noisy storm woke you up! Go back to sleep now.”
Jennie held the trembling little girl in her arms, concealing the terror that she herself felt. Unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Susan’s blonde hair. Oh, if only Papa were here! she wished. He always laughs at storms. Jennie believed that Papa’s booming laugh was louder than thunder and his muscled arms stronger than a fierce wind.
“Shhh …” Jennie whispered. “Be still, Susan.” But the little one, shivering beneath the patchwork quilt, was not easily quieted. Soon her sobs woke Baby Sarah, who began to fuss and whimper.
All the while the storm grew wilder, and the rain beat unceasingly against the canvas. Lightening crackled, brilliant and white, and thunder boomed and echoed across the sky. A cold knot of terror tightened in Jennie’s stomach. She could no longer bring herself to speak to her sisters or to comfort them. Mama had told her to tend the little ones, yet she, herself, was frightened. Oh, what can I do? she wondered pleadingly.
Then Jennie remembered something Papa had told her before they had left their home in Nauvoo. He said that there would be times in her life when she might be lonely or frightened and that during those times she might have to do things that she felt she could not do all by herself. But even though he and Mama might not be close-by, she need never be alone. He explained that Heavenly Father was anxious to help her in times of need. He was eager to comfort her when she was fearful, and happy to be near her when she was lonely. All she need do was pray and ask for His help and her prayers would be answered.
Swallowing her fear, Jennie sat up and knelt beside her two sisters. Then she prayed with all her heart for Heavenly Father to bless her and Susan and Sarah and be with them during the storm. When she had finished praying, she crawled back under the covers.
Soon both Susan and Sarah were sleeping soundly next to her. As she lay beside them Jennie felt the cold fear drain from her own heart, to be replaced by a warm calm. And weary from listening to the roaring of thunder, she, too, fell into a peaceful sleep.

“Grandma, is your dad really old?” Katie asked. Katie’s great-grandpa was coming all the way from Hungary to stay with them. This would be her first time meeting him.
“Compared to my age, he’s not that old, but compared to your age, I guess he is,” Grandma said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I was just wondering,” Katie said. “I bet he has lots of good stories.”
“He does,” Grandma said with a smile. “But he doesn’t speak English. I’ll have to translate for you.”
Katie hadn’t thought about that. “Well, can’t he learn English?”
“Learning a new language isn’t easy. It can take a long time,” Grandma said.
I have time, Katie thought. “Maybe I could learn Hungarian! Would you teach me, Grandma?”
Grandma smiled. “I would be happy to.”
“How do you say, ‘Grandpa, I love you?’”
“Nagypapa, szeretlek. Na-dj Pa-Pa, ser-et-lek,” Grandma pronounced slowly.
“Nagypapa, szeretlek,” Katie repeated until it sounded right.
Katie had a Hungarian lesson every day for a month. She learned how to say Hogy vagy? which means “How are you?” She learned köszönöm, which means “thank you.” Grandma was right. Learning a new language was hard work! She didn’t know enough Hungarian to have a conversation, but at least she could tell Great-Grandpa she loved him.
At the airport Katie bounced on her feet. She stretched her neck, trying to see when Great-Grandpa would come through the gate. Next to her, Katie’s grandma bit her lip and twisted her hands. She hadn’t seen her father in 40 years. They had been separated during World War II. Katie had heard the story many times. Eventually her Grandma was brought to the United States, while Great-Grandpa had stayed in Hungary. At last they would be reunited.
Finally, a tall silver-haired man walked toward them. When he saw them, his face broke into a wide smile. “Lányom,” he said to Grandma. They were both crying as they hugged. I know that word! Katie remembered. Lányom means “my daughter.”
Soon Great-Grandpa stood in front of Katie. He leaned down to hug her. He had blue eyes just like Grandma’s.
“Nagypapa, szeretlek,” Katie said in her best Hungarian.
Great-Grandpa’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t expect my great-granddaughter to tell me she loves me in my own language. I love you too.”
Katie stared at him in surprise. Great-Grandpa was speaking English! “Grandma told me you couldn’t speak English,” she said.
“Your grandma didn’t know,” Great-Grandpa said. “I always prayed that one day your grandma and I would be together again. So when I found out she was in the United States, I began to study English. I was preparing for when we would be reunited.”
Great-Grandpa had learned English because he loved his daughter, and Katie had learned Hungarian because she loved her Great-Grandpa! She took a deep breath. This was the hardest phrase she’d learned. “Örülök hogy, el tudtál jönni,” she said. “I’m glad that you could come.” It seemed to make Great-Grandpa happy to hear his own language.
Great-Grandpa smiled. “Me too.”
“I don’t know how to say very much in Hungarian,” Katie said, a bit shyly. “Would you teach me more? Maybe we could have language lessons together.”
“I’d like that very much,” Great-Grandpa said.

“What’s up, Coach?” DeLyle said.
“Come in,” Coach Gardener said. “Sit down.”
DeLyle Condie walked into his coach’s office and pulled up a chair. He held his red basketball jersey in his hands. It was almost time for practice.
“I hear you’re going on a mission,” Coach said. “Let me show you something.” He turned on the projector.
DeLyle blinked in surprise. Coach often showed films of other teams playing. But these were pictures of palm trees and beaches.
“This is Hawaii,” Coach said. “The team’s going there next year. You’re going to miss it.”
“I know. But I’ve already decided,” DeLyle said. “A mission is the right thing to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Coach said. “But if you go, I don’t think you’ll ever play basketball again.”
DeLyle looked at his jersey. “I love basketball,” he said, “but some things are more important.”
“Good luck, then.” Coach sighed. “Now get to practice. You’re not a missionary yet!”
A few months later, Elder DeLyle Condie got on a ship in San Francisco, California, USA. It was 1955, and missionaries often traveled by boat back then. Three weeks later the ship arrived in Sydney, Australia. There, Elder Condie took an overnight train to Melbourne. Two elders were waiting for him.
“Wow! You’re a tall one!” Elder Johnson said. “You’d have been a great Mormon Yankee!”
“What’s that?” Elder Condie asked.
“More like what was that,” Elder Johnson said. “Missionary teams used to play in local basketball leagues. It was a way to help people get to know about the Church. One of the teams was called the Yankees. But we don’t do it anymore.”
“That’s OK,” Elder Condie said. “That’s not why I came on a mission.”
“Well, let’s get to the office,” Elder Johnson said. “It’s time to meet President Bingham, our mission president.”
President Bingham assigned Elder Condie to Tasmania, an island near Australia’s southern coast. There weren’t many Latter-day Saints there. In fact, in all of Australia, there were only about 1,200 Church members.
Elder Condie soon met lots of friendly Australians. But most weren’t interested in discussing the gospel. What they did want to talk about was the Olympics.
“Why are so many people interested in the Olympics?” Elder Condie asked.
His companion grinned. “The games are coming to Melbourne next year,” he said. “It’s a chance to put Australia on the map. Besides, lots of people are sports crazy already. I think that’s why the Mormon Yankees were so popular. I wonder if they’ll ever do that again.”
At the same time, 200 miles away in Melbourne, two men were discussing exactly that.
The coach of the Australian Olympic basketball team sat across the desk from President Bingham. “We need your help,” he said. “I know you used to have teams called Mormon Yankees. Some of your missionaries were pretty good. With the Olympics coming, it’s a long shot that Australia will win any games. We need to practice against players with talent and experience. Some friendly practice games will help people know more about your church, and they will help us get ready for the Olympics. Can you put a Mormon Yankees team together one more time?”
After the meeting, President Bingham found one of his assistants. “Bring Elder Condie back to Melbourne,” he said. “Missionaries will still be missionaries. But we’re going to help Australia prepare for the Olympics. And I’ll need Elder Condie to help choose a team.”

One such came to mind last January when I attended a prayer breakfast at the White House, in Washington, D.C., hosted by President Bill Clinton. During an informal reception that preceded the breakfast, I was chatting with a distinguished and scholarly Jewish rabbi from New York. Our conversation was interrupted by another rabbi, who asked his colleague from New York if he could recall the scriptural reference to the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph that would come together one day. My friend paused for a moment, stroked his chin pensively, and then replied, “I think you will find that in the book of Ezekiel.”

With that, I could not restrain myself. “You might look in chapter 37 of Ezekiel,” I interjected. “There you will find the scriptures that you seek.”

My rabbi friend expressed surprise: “How did you know that?”

“This doctrine,” I concluded, “is very important in our theology.”

Indeed it is. You know it, and I know it. I would like to read it:

Moreover, thou son of man, take thee one stick, and write upon it, For Judah, and for the children of Israel his companions: then take another stick, and write upon it, For Joseph, the stick of Ephraim, and for all the house of Israel his companions:
And join them one to another into one stick; and they shall become one in thine hand. [Ezekiel 37:16–17]