Gospel Story Finder

I really wanted to help with my family history, but my father had seven generations in his family tree, and all the temple ordinances were complete. For 11 years he found no new information about his family. My desire and hope disappeared. I told myself with frustration, “All my family history is done. Where am I going to get names to take to the temple?”
I decided to look at all the information my father had on his FamilySearch tree and a voice told me that there was still much to do. I began to search for information all over the internet. I was able to find many people with my surname, but I could not find my relationship to all those people.
When my hope was exhausted, I decided to fast with my mother to have success in our family history. The next Sunday morning as we were getting ready to go to church, I did my typical internet search, and suddenly I found a page with information I had never seen. It was a miracle!
With the help of new information, I, at age 14, took a total of 400 family names to the temple. I was so happy. My favorite part was sharing those names with the youth and seeing their happiness at having so many cards in their hands.
I testify of this great and marvelous work. When we do family history, the Spirit helps us have success and touches our hearts.
Guillermo T., Chile

I carried this faith into the first years of my life as a college student at the University of California at Santa Barbara. About that time, however, a philosophy class opened challenges and raised issues about the very existence of God. About this same time, I faced the decision of whether to take a leave of absence from college to serve a mission. To add to the dilemma the Korean War commenced with its disquieting influence on my generation. I wrestled with the issue of God, not exactly doubting, but thinking more deeply about it. I loved the Church, but being somewhat analytical developed a list of doctrinal and policy issues and concerns to which I wanted to find answers. For me the list was somewhat lengthy and formidable.

What carried the day on the question of leaving college to serve a mission was probably a feeling of trust in my parents' and my grandparents' viewpoint on the existence of God and Jesus Christ together with a feeling that there was good and evil in the world and the Church was a source of light, goodness, and truth. I was drawn somehow to that feeling of goodness, not then knowing its source, but despite my decision to serve I wanted to know more and I wanted to find answers to my concerns. Reading the Book of Mormon gave me enough assurance to go on, but it also made me realize how much I didn't know and gave me a thirst to want to know more, much more. If I am right some of you may have had somewhat similar experiences to mine.

I entered my first assignment in northern Montana with enthusiasm, but also full of desire to know more. I read everything about the gospel I could get my hands on, and especially the scriptures which I read over and over until my eyes were sore. Over the next couple of months, I found answers to virtually all of my questions, enough so that I felt complete assurance that there were answers to all of my fundamental questions. We never in this life get to know everything, but I knew enough and had enough experience by then that my testimony had become firm. It has never left me, even though I still have things I would like to more fully understand. I felt sorry for my first companion who had to put up with all of my probing and searching. The result of this early experience was personally helpful and powerful. Study and reasoning had confirmed the feelings of the heart that caused me to volunteer for missionary service.

Former Primary General President Joy D. Jones recalled that as a young couple, she and her husband were called to visit and minister to a family who hadn’t been to church for many years. It was immediately clear in their first visit that they were not wanted. After the frustration of additional failed attempts, and after much sincere prayer and pondering, Brother and Sister Jones received an answer to the why of their service in this verse from the Doctrine and Covenants: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.” Sister Jones said:
“We realized that we were sincerely striving to serve this family and to serve our bishop, but we had to ask ourselves if we were really serving out of love for the Lord. …
“… We began looking forward to our visits with this dear family because of our love for the Lord [see 1 Nephi 11:22]. We were doing it for Him. He made the struggle no longer a struggle. After many months of our standing on the doorstep, the family began letting us in. Eventually, we had regular prayer and tender gospel discussions together. A long-lasting friendship developed. We were worshipping and loving Him by loving His children.”

Jack Reinwand, of the campus police, reported that campus and city officers patrolled the streets to help stragglers move to the college and safety before the flood waters hit Rexburg. “Jim Sessions and I were going up Main Street when we saw a young man, about 15, running up the street as hard as he could go. The water was only two city blocks away, so we pulled over and picked him up. He managed to gasp something about a sister or girl at home.”
The officers raced to the home and the youth dashed inside to get the young lady. There was a delay. The officer and his companion looked up the street, where just one block away the flood, tumbling a house trailer and a Cadillac, was bearing down on them. Brother Sessions, who is also a branch president on the campus, then ran in the house and brought the pair out. They jumped into the car and sped off, scant seconds in front of the flood.

At a 20-year high school reunion, one of the graduates had a surprising conversation with one of her classmates that went something like this:
“I came to this reunion after all these years hoping you would be here so I could thank you. My high school experience was hard for me. You may not have known it, but you were the only friend I had in high school. I wondered if maybe the seminary teacher had assigned you to be nice to me. Did he?”
“No. He didn’t assign me.”
“Well, you didn’t know it, but every day I looked for you because I knew that you would talk to me. You made me feel better about myself. Now I am married and have a large family. During these past years I have thought many times of what you meant to me, and I wanted to tell you that.”

I knew a lady, whose husband was very sick for a very long time, they were very poor and the family was large and in the end they had to move away to find more support. Standing in the doorway of her empty home she said, "I hope we are learning the lessons and principles that the Lord would have us learn." There in is the key to ponder amidst our afflictions, what lessons should I be learning for there are no afflictions in life without purpose.

I want to share a story from one of my daughters from her freshman year at BYU. She said:

During my freshman year at BYU, I was assigned what was then called a visiting teacher from my ward. This sister came and introduced herself to me my first day at church. We made small talk for a little bit with get-to-know-you questions like favorite drinks and foods, hobbies, etc. I didn’t think much of the conversation and went throughout the semester with occasional texts from this sister to check in and an occasional drop-by to share a message.

Finals week came, and I remember feeling completely overwhelmed. I was spending hours and hours in the library each day studying and was ending each day exhausted. I remember in these hours feeling alone and unimportant.

I came home one night after a long night in the library to find a bottle of apple juice and a handwritten note next to my door. I picked up the note. It was from my visiting sister. The card read something like “I hope you are doing okay during finals! You have been on my mind all week, and I wanted to find a way to serve you but knew you were busy and wouldn’t be home much. I remembered that when we talked that first Sunday, you told me your favorite drink was apple juice. It’s not much, but hopefully it’s enough to get you through the next few days! I love you!”

In reality, this was a small gesture, but to me it spoke volumes to God’s power to answer our prayers. I’m grateful that sister was so Christ centered that she was able to forget her own finals-week stresses to serve me.

I think of my neighbor whose wife was afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease. Every Sunday he would help her dress for Church meetings, comb her hair, apply her makeup, even put on her earrings. In rendering this service, he was an example to every man and woman in our ward—in fact, for the world. One day his wife said to him, “I just want to see my husband again and be with him.”

He answered, “I am your husband.”

And she sweetly replied, “Oh, good!”

Here at Church headquarters we hold many committee meetings, and early this year in one of those meetings, Elder Neal A. Maxwell was listening attentively to a presentation concerning the development of local leaders. Near the end of the meeting, Elder Maxwell asked, “Is there more that we can do to help bishops bring peace and healing to the Saints?” I was interested in knowing more of his concern, so just prior to his passing and in the privacy of his office, Elder Maxwell expanded on the doctrines associated with obtaining peace and healing. He gave encouragement to my sharing these remarks with Church members.
Elder Maxwell was and remains a wonderful example of selfless love. His concerns for others were bone deep, especially for those with physical and emotional pains. Walking out of his office, one could not help but be more committed to being Christlike. He set a standard for us all. He loved the Savior. He was indeed a true Apostle and disciple. We miss him.

I remember our visit to Kime Kinikini at the Holy Cross Hospital in Salt Lake City. He was in the last throes of cancer and was suffering terribly. Our appearance in the room was a surprise. Kime's wife, Fale'aka, leaped from her chair, embraced us and led us to the bedside of her dying husband. It was profoundly moving to see this radiant and loving man in such visible distress. Kime was too sick to even smile, but was able to make a sign that he wanted a blessing which I was honored to give.

We reminisced about our association over the years and about Kime's father and mother, TĂŤvita Muli and Le'o. As an older man, Muli had been my missionary companion for several months in Tonga in 1961. After saying our last goodbyes, we left the room knowing we would not see Kime again in this life. Fale'aka followed us all the way out to the car, weeping and expressing gratitude for our visit. As we were about to get into the car, she pressed into my hand what I thought was a piece of paper. "If you don't need this," she said, "I believe you know someone who does. Kime wants me to give it to you." She turned to go back into the hospital while I stared at a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill in my hand. Suffering his death-agony, when all things of this life seem to be blurred into insignificance, Kime and Fale'aka still wanted to give his friends a token of their undying friendship.

How could we take this money from a poor woman about to become a widow? The more burning question was how could we not receive with humble gratitude this emblem of consecrated friendship. In this case we felt it was better to receive. To resist or make a fuss over the gift would have violated the purity of the consecration. We knew the gift was not about money, but about friendship. It was not for us, but for someone we knew who like Fale'aka, might be in distress.

Once Trent had many friends. There was Martha, who raised hamsters. There was Tommy, the break dancer. And there was Bobby, who was always pulling surprises out of his pocket. Sometimes he had a rubber snake or a lollipop, and once he had a live lizard!
Now Trent had no friends at all. He and his mother had moved to a new city. The apartment house was full of people, but Trent didn’t know any of them.
“It won’t seem like a birthday party without friends,” Trent grumbled.
“Saturday is a long way off,” said Mother.
“But I haven’t any friends here.”
“Maybe you aren’t trying hard enough to make any.”
Coming home from school on the bus the next afternoon, Trent thought about what his mother had said. Have I tried hard enough? he wondered. What can I do? He began thinking of some familiar faces. There was the old lady who sat with her cat at the window of her apartment on the ground floor. There was the red-headed girl he’d seen on the elevator.
Trent looked around the bus. Wasn’t the boy sitting on the front seat the one he’d seen walking a dog the other day? And the boy sitting across the aisle from him got off at the same bus stop that he did. Trent mustered up his courage, crossed the aisle, sat next to him, and said, “Hi, I’m Trent Collins. What’s your name?”
“Jeremy Brown. You’re new at school, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Trent. “Here’s our stop.”
They stepped off the bus. Trent pointed to the right. “I live in the next-to-last building on the block.”
“I live around the corner on the top floor of that tall building,” Jeremy said, pointing to it. “We can see the whole city from our windows. If you’d like to come home with me, I’ll show you!”
“I’ll have to call and tell my mother. May I phone from your house?”
“Sure,” said Jeremy.
Trent called his mother, and Mrs. Brown spoke to her, too, saying that she was glad that Trent could stay.
When Jeremy showed him the view from the window, Trent exclaimed, “Wow! You can see the whole city. How tiny everything looks!”
“Use these,” Jeremy said, handing Trent a pair of binoculars. The rest of the afternoon the boys watched the busy city.
When Trent left, he invited Jeremy to come to his home on Saturday at three o’clock. Then, on his way home, Trent saw the boy with the dog. Maybe I should say, “Hi” first to him, too, Trent thought. So he walked toward the boy.
The boy turned his head and quickly walked away.
He’s pretending he didn’t see me, thought Trent. I wonder why.
On the elevator at the apartment house, Trent saw the redheaded girl. She was carefully carrying a white carton with wire handles.
“You must have something special in that carton,” Trent said.
“Fish,” said the girl, not looking up.
Trent’s mother was cooking supper when he went into the kitchen. “Did you have a good time at Jeremy’s house?” Mother asked.
“Yes, he’s my first new friend,” Trent replied. “But the boy with the dog and the girl in the elevator weren’t friendly, even though I was.”
“Maybe they’re just shy,” said Mother.
“I never thought of that,” Trent said. “May I make butterscotch pudding for dessert?”
“If you’ll go to the store for a carton of milk.”
The wind whistled down the street as Trent walked to the store. Walking toward him was the boy with the dog. The wind ruffled the pages of the newspaper the boy carried under his arm. Suddenly the wind tore the paper loose. It flew through the air, flattened against the wall of a building, then took off again. It swooped down and flapped against Trent’s legs. He caught it and quickly rolled it up and handed it to the boy. “Here’s your paper.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Trent Collins. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago.”
“Hi. I’m Jimmy Boyd.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Skipper.”
“I like dogs,” Trent said, “but they aren’t allowed in my apartment building. May I play with Skipper sometime?”
“Sure. I’m taking him to the park tomorrow after school. Do you want to come?”
“That sounds great,” Trent replied.
After school the next day Trent met Jimmy and Skipper, and they went to the park. They raced with Skipper and threw sticks for him to fetch. Then they played ball.
On the way home Jimmy said, “You’re a good ballplayer, Trent. We’ll have to do this again.”
“That would be fun,” said Trent. “Would you come to my house on Saturday at three o’clock?”
Jimmy said, “Sure,” and they said good-bye.
As Trent neared his home, he saw the old lady hobbling from the apartment, leaning on her cane. “Here, Kitty, Kitty,” she called.
“I’ll find your cat for you,” Trent said.
“Oh, would you?”
The cat’s probably raiding the garbage, Trent thought, hurrying toward the alley. He found the cat sitting on top of a garbage can, licking its paws. Trent picked it up and took it to the old lady.
“You must come and have some milk and cookies,” said the old lady. “I’ll get it ready while you check with your mother. Tell her Mrs. Grable invited you.”
Sitting at the table, Trent and Mrs. Grable got acquainted. “These cookies are really good,” said Trent.
“They taste better when you’re eating them with someone,” replied Mrs. Grable. “You’ll have to visit me again.”
Trent promised that he would and invited her to his house on Saturday at three o’clock.
Stepping into the hallway, Trent met the redhead again. “Did the fish taste good?” Trent asked.
The girl laughed and laughed and laughed. Finally she said, “They weren’t for eating. They’re my pets. I have an aquarium with lots of tropical fish. C’mon, I’ll show them to you. I’m Cindy.”
Trent told her his name, and she introduced him to her dad when they got to her apartment on the eighth floor.
“I didn’t know that there were so many interesting-looking fish,” Trent said. “What kind of fish are they?”
One by one Cindy pointed out the fish. “That’s a swordtail, a molly, a harlequin, a zebra, an angelfish.”
Before long, Trent could identify most of Cindy’s fish. When he left, he said, “Now it’s your turn to visit. See if you can come to my apartment on Saturday at three.”
“OK,” agreed Cindy.
At last Saturday came. Trent waited eagerly for the sound of their buzzer. “Surprise!” he said, greeting each guest and handing out party hats.
Jimmy and Cindy and Jeremy and Mrs. Grable were astonished. “We didn’t know that it was your birthday,” they all said. “We didn’t bring any presents.”
“Yes, you did,” said Trent. “You brought yourselves, the best presents of all. A few days ago I didn’t have any friends, and now I have you!”

A couple of years ago, Sister Johanson and I were visiting the island of Maui. On the Sunday of our trip, we attended the Lahaina First Ward. A while ago, we decided that unless there were extenuating circumstances, we would attend the entire three-hour block of Church meetings when we traveled. As we went through Sunday School and Priesthood and Relief Society meetings, we discovered that this ward was planning a temple trip to the Laie Hawaii Temple, and they were trying to find housing for the group. The options were slim and as you can imagine very expensive. When we asked about the dates of the temple trip, we found that it would be during the same time that we were going to be on a family trip and that our home would be vacant. We offered the use of our home, and it ended up being used for several of those who came to serve in the temple.

Now, this was, in my eyes, a mundane act on our part, but the point I want to make is that by Being There, we were able to help meet the needs of these faithful saints. Had we stopped in for Sacrament meeting only, we would have missed the opportunity to perhaps be the answer to someone’s prayer.

This year a new Laurel, Sara,* came to our Young Women class. She arrived with many challenges. She is mentally handicapped and is sometimes difficult to understand because her speech is unclear. Sara is home-schooled. Her family brings Sara to midweek activities so she can have some interaction with her peers. When I first met her, I wondered how she would be accepted by the Laurels in my class.
I didn’t have to wonder long, though, because Sara was welcomed with open arms.
One of the first activities she came to was a craft night. All the Young Women were making finger puppets to give to the local children’s hospital. Without prompting, a few girls from the Laurel class invited Sara to sit at their table. She remained there the entire evening, working alongside all the other girls. At subsequent activities, Sara was always included, without prompting from the adult leaders.
Our ward-sponsored “Back to School Dance” at the beginning of the school year was especially memorable. I was in the ward library making a few copies before the activity began. As I was waiting, someone came from behind me and gave me a hug. It was Sara.
I noticed she was dressed up for the occasion. She followed me into the cultural hall and watched the others dance. She tapped her feet to the music and said, “I know this song.”
We weren’t on the sidelines long before one of our class members came over and said, “Hey, Sara, come dance with us.”
Sara leaped from her chair and followed this girl out onto the dance floor.
Sara’s classmates have accepted her in a way that is genuine and caring. When I think of Sara and the other Laurels in my class, I often think of the scripture, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).

One of our fine stake presidents shared with us the following experience:
“I remember a girl that I had gone to high school with. She was from a good LDS family, but when she was a junior in high school, she began to compromise her standards and principles.
“I remember how stunned I was one afternoon as a group of us were in the back of the bus riding home from school. We were talking about the consequences of sin or transgression, and she flatly announced that she wasn’t worried about committing any sin because her bishop had told her she could easily repent and could be quickly forgiven.
“Well, I was shocked with this flippant attitude that didn’t reflect any understanding of repentance or appreciation of the miracle of forgiveness. I was also sure that she had grossly misunderstood the instruction and counsel of her bishop.”

After my mission I struggled to find work. Eventually I received an interview. I knew the position would be a great opportunity, but I worried that I was not as skilled as some of the other applicants. My turn for the interview came, and I sat nervously in front of the manager. As I glanced at his table, I saw a paper with the questions he was asking applicants. My heart pounded. The questions appeared to use difficult terminology I didn’t know. If those questions were the basis of passing the interview, I would lose the job even before the interview started.
The manager grabbed the paper to ask me some “starting” questions. Suddenly he said, “Maybe I should first look at your CV [résumé].” He found my résumé and started asking about my previous work experience. When he read “full-time missionary,” he asked if I could tell him what I taught on my mission. I hadn’t expected that question at all.
I talked with him about prophets, the plan of salvation, and eternal families. His face brightened and he said, “One of these days I want you to come and meet my family.” Our discussion lasted almost an hour.
He apologized that my interview was taking so long and again grabbed the paper with the interview questions. My nervous feelings returned. He paused and then asked, “Do you have a place to stay here in Manila?” He didn’t wait for my response and said, “Well, you need to look for one. You’ll start tomorrow.”
It’s still a miracle to me that during an important job interview the focus wasn’t on my qualifications but instead on my missionary service. I’ll never forget how my serving a full-time mission helped me in my interview.

Imagine putting in that kind of time and effort for an entire year. That’s what Erin Johnson of the McLean Virginia Second Ward did. She got up close and personal with the Mormon pioneers so she could make a presentation for National History Day.
“I read 45 books for the project. I got some of the books from the library, and people loaned some of them to me. I also read journals from ancestors and relatives,” says Erin.
The work didn’t stop when Erin finished reading, though. She then put together a ten-minute dramatic presentation depicting the struggles the pioneers experienced as they crossed the plains.
During that ten minutes, Erin takes the audience through trials on the plains such as a mother burying her small child by the side of the trail, and then on to Utah, where the Saints set up an orderly, productive society.
“Each family member had a job on the trail, even the children,” says Erin in her presentation. She presents a short account of a pioneer child gathering buffalo chips to burn. She points out that everyone’s job was important on the trail—glamorous or not.
All her hard work paid off when Erin won third place in the Junior National competition, as well as a special award in her state division. High praise for a 12-year-old who had to prepare, set up, and perform her presentation with no help from anyone.
“I think it’s important to be well educated and work hard,” says Erin. “I also have a much greater appreciation for my ancestors and what they went through after doing this project.”
Erin says she now also appreciates her own family even more than she did before.
“They’ve helped me a lot,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without their support.”

That help came to my father years ago when his work took him to Australia. He was alone on a Sunday, and he wanted to take the sacrament. He could find no information about Latter-day Saint meetings. So he started walking. He prayed at each intersection to know which way to turn. After walking and making turns for an hour, he stopped to pray again. He felt an impression to turn down a particular street. Soon he began to hear singing coming from the ground floor of an apartment building close by. He looked in at the window and saw a few people seated near a table covered with a white cloth and sacrament trays.

Now, that may not seem like much to you, but it was something wonderful to him. He knew the promise of the sacrament prayer had been fulfilled: “Always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).

Hilda knelt down and carefully lifted the cloth-wrapped roots from the shallow pool of water beside Elk Horn Creek. Holding them in both hands, she hurried to the top of the hill where she could see the covered wagons stretching in a long line. Hilda knew that everyone was ready to leave, so she hurried to her own wagon. She reached the wagon just in time to carefully lay the roots beside a barrel before the company captain shouted, “Let’s roll!”
“Walk by me, Hilda,” her father invited. He used a big stick to goad the oxen, and slowly, their great heads swaying, the animals moved forward. Hilda looked up at her mother, who rode in the wagon with their new baby.
Until the baby was born, Hilda had not thought about the wrapped roots. But when her father took her into the wagon to see her little brother, Hilda’s mother said, “Now you must learn to do special things to help, Hilda.”
“Your grandmother grew beautiful yellow roses in Vermont,” Mother continued, “and when she moved to Nauvoo, she took roots from her favorite rose with her. There she planted the roots and they grew. When we left Nauvoo, I took roots from Grandmother’s yellow rose. Now that we are going west, the rose must go too.”
Mother explained how Hilda must keep the heavy cloth around the roots damp. “We hope,” she said, her voice sad, “that roses will grow in our new home. The roots must not dry out, Hilda. Keeping them damp will be your responsibility.”
Each day as the long hot hours passed, Hilda worried that the rose roots might become dry. Every night after the wagons circled, she looked for a stream of water where the roots could be soaked in a quiet pool.
Hilda learned many things about the streams and rivers they passed by or camped near as the wagons rolled westward day after day.
“This is the Platte River,” her father said as they came to a broad shallow stream that flowed to the east. “Our people travel along the north bank of the Platte, while folks going to California or Oregon travel along the south.”
As Hilda put her rose roots into the water, she gazed across the wide river. Wagons were circled on the other side too, and she wondered whether children there carried roses or other plants they hoped would grow in a far-away place.
Several days later they camped on the steep banks of the river near Fort Laramie.
Hilda was frightened of this wild country, so she soaked the roots very quickly in the Laramie River and hurried back to camp.
When the wagon train crossed the North Platte River, Father’s wagon almost tipped over in the deep fast current. “We nearly got your roots too damp that time, Hilda,” he laughed, but his voice was shaky.
On the banks of the Sweetwater River, as Hilda sat watching the cloth around the roots grow dark in the water, an old man sat down beside her. Hilda knew he had lived for many years in the wilderness, because the leader of their wagon train had asked the old man many questions.
“Funny how this river got named,” he said to Hilda. “Long years back when there wasn’t much in these mountains except Indians and buffalo, traders started hauling goods to trade for furs.” He nodded remembering, “The first wagon hauled across the river was loaded with sugar. The mules balked and dumped the load.” The old man paused and a smile lighted his wrinkled face. “Oh, was that river water sweet! Been called that ever since—the Sweetwater.”
Many of the rivers and streams where Hilda dampened the roots had names she did not understand. Although she looked, she found no strawberries near Strawberry Creek. The Big Sandy had no sand in it. And who, wondered Hilda, would name a river “green” when the cold water was so brown?
She was glad when they finally reached Fort Bridger, because a stream ran right beside their camp. For once Hilda could sit while the roots soaked and watch the women of the wagon train build fires to cook their meals.
At last the wagons rolled through Emigration Canyon and slowly made their way down to the new settlement in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. Hilda’s father found a small cabin he could use for his family.
That same afternoon Hilda took the rose roots from the wagon and tenderly unwrapped them. She wondered if the roots were as weary as she was! Did they too feel strange in this valley? She had faithfully dampened them in the rivers and streams they had crossed, but would the roots live?
Hilda nearly cried when she removed the cloth and found the roots dry and brown. But she would not give up. Choosing a place beside the cabin wall, she dug a hole and filled it with water. Then she placed the roots inside the hole and packed dirt snugly against them, until only one tiny tip stuck out. Around that Hilda packed straw.
During the cold winter that followed, Hilda often felt discouraged. She knew Mother and Father did too, but no one complained.
Finally the long winter ended and the snow melted. One sunny spring day Hilda went around the cabin and lifted the damp straw. Growing bravely out of the roots, a new green shoot lifted into the spring sun.
Slowly Hilda stood up, tears running down her face. Suddenly a fresh new feeling of happiness came to her. If a yellow rose could grow and bloom in the Salt Lake Valley, she could too!

A few days later, the Whitmers joined the Smith family at their farm in Manchester. Knowing the Lord had promised to establish His words “in the mouth of as many witnesses as seemeth him good,” Joseph went into the woods with his father, Hyrum, and Samuel, as well as four of David Whitmer’s brothers—Christian, Jacob, Peter Jr., and John—and their brother-in-law Hiram Page.34
The eight men gathered at a spot where the Smith family often went to pray privately. With the Lord’s permission, Joseph uncovered the plates and showed them to the group. They did not see an angel as the Three Witnesses had, but Joseph let them hold the record in their hands, turn its pages, and inspect its ancient writing. Handling the plates affirmed their faith that Joseph’s testimony about the angel and the ancient record was true.35
Now that the translation was over and he had witnesses to support his miraculous testimony, Joseph no longer needed the plates. After the men left the woods and went back to the house, the angel appeared and Joseph returned the sacred record to his care.36

The class bell rang, and a few stragglers darted quickly into their classrooms, leaving Jed Fischer stranded in a new school with a locker that wouldn’t open. For the fifth time he slowly turned through the numbers written on a slip of paper, but it wouldn’t open.
“What are you doing in the hall during class time?” a voice sternly barked behind him.
He turned, expecting to face an angry teacher, but instead found a girl his age sporting an impish grin.
“Scared you, didn’t I?” Her face was freckled and she had short, tossled, reddish-brown hair. Plopping her books in his arms, she took the paper giving his combination. After dialing the three numbers, she slammed the locker with her foot. The locker flew open.
“It sticks. You have to hit it.” She opened her own locker, next to his, and took her books from him.
“Thanks,” he said. “I just transferred here from Idaho.”
“Welcome to New York. I’m Pam Burgess.”
“My name is Jed Fischer.”
“I know. I work in the office in the afternoon. My family is very big for volunteer work,” she said, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “I looked at your records when they came here. I found out that you’re a junior, that your dad is a nuclear engineer transferred from Idaho to Brookhaven Lab, and that you’re a football player. Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the only one in this school.”
“My sister goes here too. She’s a sophomore. So there’re two Mormons.”
“What’s her name?”
“Brenda.”
“Does she have curly hair like her brother?” Pam asked.
“No. That’s the curse of our family. The girls have straight hair.”
“Do you want to walk around, and I’ll give you the tour?” Pam asked, closing her locker.
“What about you?” he asked as they leisurely strolled the halls.
“My mom and dad both work in the city. Mom is in advertising. Dad’s a stockbroker. I see him about twice a month.”
They passed the cafeteria. The smell of tuna fish casserole invaded the hall.
“Nobody eats there,” she said.
“Somebody must.”
“Oh, sure, the losers.”
“Who are the losers?” he asked.
“There are just two kinds of people in the world, the winners and the losers. Didn’t you know that? You look to me like a winner.”
“Where do the winners eat?” he asked.
“We go to a little pizza place a couple of blocks from here. I’ll meet you at noon and show you.”
He met Pam at noon. They were joined by one other boy, Doug Cabot, who spent his time complaining about how rotten everything was.
The pizza shop was old. Two large fans resembling airplane propellers stuck from the ceiling. At noon the place was crowded with kids from school. All the booths were being used, and several people were jammed around the stand-up counter. After they had ordered, they stood and waited.
“I think we can sit down over there,” Doug said, looking at a small booth near the corner.
They walked over to the booth. There was just one boy in the booth. He was overweight and wore a pair of thick glasses that seemed to magnify his eyes to an observer. He ate his pizza without looking up, avoiding eye contact with any person in the room.
“Ernie, how’s it going?” Doug asked, his voice conveying a mood of cruelty.
The boy looked up with a weak smile.
“We saw you sitting all alone in this big booth, and we thought you might be nearly through.”
Ernie understood the threat. “You can sit here. I’m almost finished.”
Ernie stood up, grabbing his cardboard platter with pizza still on it, and started to leave the booth. Doug stood in his way.
“You sure gorge yourself, Ernie,” Doug said. “What’s it like to be fat? Since you have such a weight problem, would you mind if we borrowed a couple of slices to nibble on until our order is done?” Doug reached out and took a slice.
“Give him back his pizza, Doug,” Jed said firmly.
“Why? He’s letting me have it.”
“Leave him alone.”
“Are you a friend of his?” Doug asked. “Because if you are, you’re the only one he’s got.”
Pam broke the mounting tension. “Lay off, Doug. Our pizza is done.”
Doug stepped aside for Ernie to pass. About halfway to the door, somebody deliberately bumped Ernie’s arm and his pizza fell on the floor. Ernie knelt down, scraped up the mess, and threw it in the garbage can on his way out.
During lunch, Doug talked about the injustices committed against a group of people in South America.
Jed found out when he went to class that Pam was in his chemistry class. On that day they were having a lab. Each group was given a test tube with an unknown solution in it. The purpose of the lab was to determine what the unknown was by performing a series of chemical tests.
Pam invited Jed to work with her. “Nothing to it,” she smiled. She walked to the checkout counter in the back of the room and started talking to the lab assistant. The others in the class were testing for the unknown.
In a few minutes Pam came back with a slip of paper. “I found out what our unknown is. Just copy this down on your lab notebook.”
“What about the tests we’re supposed to perform?” Jed asked.
“All the reactions are negative except numbers 3 and 11.”
“Aren’t we going to do it?”
“What for? This is how I do all the experiments. If you want to be a hero and smell like hydrochloric acid, be my guest.”
Jed sheepishly signed his name to the report and turned it in.
As they walked downstairs to their lockers, she suggested driving to Montauk Point on the tip of Long Island.
She let him drive her car, a late model sports car. When they arrived, the wind was whipping up white caps on the incoming waves. The turbulent waves smashed against huge boulders, sending up geysers of spray.
They walked along a path that climbed up to a rocky precipice. Near the top they found a place where they could sit and watch the endless water.
“Most people come here in the summer,” she said, her arms wrapped around her legs. “Sometimes it seems like there are a million, and every one of them has a bag of potato chips and a bottle of suntan lotion. They gobble the chips, throw the bag on the beach, douse themselves with oil, and fry.”
They watched the clouds changing shapes as they swept across the sky.
“I like to come in the winter,” she continued, “after the wind and the breakers have ripped away all the debris, leaving it clean.”
She pointed out to him the silhouette of a freighter on the horizon.
“Hard to believe all this is an accident,” she said, observing the harsh beauty of the ocean.
“It didn’t just happen.”
“You seem sure of yourself.”
“I am,” he replied.
“Back in school or at home, I really get so I don’t care about God. But sometimes, when I walk here, there’s a feeling I get. It’s hard to explain, but a feeling that He’s there somewhere. But by the time I’m back in my car and stuck in traffic on the freeway, the feeling is gone.”
He studied her face as she talked. She was beautiful even with the wind scattering her hair. He felt as if he cared for her, not really like being her boyfriend, but more like a brother. It was a good, clean feeling, and he thought that she felt it too.
“Pam, I want to tell you about my church.”
They made a date for her to attend his ward on Sunday. When they returned to the car, the feeling was gone.
“Well, that turned into a real prayer group, didn’t it?” she said, embarrassed.
They made it back to his home at 7:30. Luckily his parents had gone out that night to have dinner with his father’s new boss. While Jed got out of the car, Pam slid over to the driver’s side, smiled, and drove away. When he walked in the house, his sister Brenda was standing at the window.
“Well, I don’t have to ask you how your first day of school went,” she teased. She was tall and graceful, looking like she could be a ballet dancer. Yet at home she preferred levis and an old long-sleeved shirt of Jed’s. The hardest thing about the move for her had been the sale of her quarter horse.
“Her name is Pam, and I think she’s interested in the Church.”
“Where have you been?”
“We went to Montauk Point. How was your day?”
“Not too bad, considering I don’t know anybody in the school.”
The next day after English class, Ernie walked over to Jed and said, “Thanks for trying to help me yesterday.” His eyes darted up to Jed’s face and then down again, uncertain of his standing.
“Sure.”
“They say you’re a Mormon. I’ve got an uncle who’s a Mormon. He joined a year ago. Is there a Mormon church on the island?”
“Several.”
“Can people who aren’t members go to it?”
“Yes.” Jed inwardly cringed at the thought of Pam seeing Ernie at church.
“I’d like to go this Sunday. My uncle keeps telling me how friendly the people are.”
“You can’t smoke on church property,” Jed said coolly.
“I know. I have a jacket with these pants. Is that okay to wear?”
Jed looked at the wrinkled, gray dress slacks with tiny cuffs. They must be ten years old, he thought to himself. “I guess so,” he said dryly.
It was only the second time that Jed had been to church in New York. After priesthood meeting he was in the hall putting on his jacket so that he could drive out to pick up Pam. Ernie walked in. His forehead was sweating, and he was puffing.
Elder Baker, one of the missionaries assigned to the ward, rushed Ernie shortly after he walked in, shaking his hand and welcoming him to church.
Jed reluctantly came out from the coat rack area and said hello to Ernie, “I see you made it,” he said. Ernie rambled on about missing an exit and going three miles out of his way. Jed looked nervously at his watch and excused himself.
Pam’s home was a three-story brick house set on a hill overlooking Long Island Sound. A maid answered Jed’s ring and showed him to the den. He sat and studied the wall of bookshelves; in the middle of the room was a large, natural-stone fireplace.
In a few minutes Pam appeared. It was the first time he had ever seen her dressed up. She looked beautiful and rich.
“What’s it going to be like?” she asked on the way. “Will you help me so I’ll know when to kneel or what to say?”
“It’s not like that. It’s very simple. More like a big family than anything. In fact, we teach that we’re all brothers and sisters. So if anyone calls you Sister Burgess, don’t faint.”
He took the exit from the freeway. “Oh, Pam, there’s one other thing. That fat kid, Ernie, cornered me in class, and well, he’s going to be in church too.”
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Ernie?”
They got there late. Jed saw the elders taking Ernie to the investigator’s class, and so he decided to take Pam to the class for high school students.
Sacrament meeting was held immediately after Sunday School. It seemed extra long to Jed. The high council visitor was there. He talked about welfare and explained how he used to hoe sugar beets on a welfare farm in Utah as a boy. Jed counted him using poor grammar ten times during the talk. A young mother in front of them struggled with her two-year-old boy, feeding him soda crackers one at a time. Jed felt embarrassed about church for the first time in his life.
On the way home Pam talked enthusiastically about their summer home in Maine and how she’d like him to see it sometime when her folks took her there.
“Thanks,” she said as they pulled up in her driveway.
“I guess it seemed a little different from the church you usually go to,” he said.
“Yes, it did.”
“I’m sorry about the noise.”
“That’s okay. I guess it’s what you get used to.”
“Will you let the missionaries explain about our beliefs?”
She grinned. “I’m more interested in you than I am in your church.”
“It means a lot to me.”
“I’ll see,” she answered.
When Jed got home, Elder Baker and his companion were there.
“Ernie’s really ready for the gospel!” Elder Baker announced. “He wants to have the discussions. It’d be great if we could have them here so he could be fellowshipped.”
Jed’s mother agreed, and they arranged the first discussion for Tuesday evening.
“How about inviting that girl you brought to church to hear the lessons at the same time?”
“No, not with Ernie.”
The discussion on Tuesday was a success as far as the missionaries were concerned. After Ernie had left, Elder Baker said, “He’ll be baptized. Jed, you can really help him by fellowshipping. Eat lunch with him, take him to activity night, get to be friends with him.”
“A guy like that will never join the Church,” Jed said grimly.
“What do you mean by that?” his father challenged.
“Nothing,” Jed said, unwilling to get into an argument.
The next week Jed started on the next chemistry lab experiment, determined to quit his reliance on Pam’s friendship with the student lab assistant. He was still reading the complicated directions when Pam came back to where he was working.
“Sodium hydroxide,” she whispered in his ear.
“Go away. I’m busy.”
“The unknown is sodium hydroxide. But now that I’ve told you, it’s not unknown, is it? I’ve saved you two hours of work. Will you come home with me and help me fix my ten-speed?”
After they’d looked at the bike, she gave him a piece of cake. They sat and ate in the kitchen. The kitchen floor looked like it could have been used for a commercial about floor wax.
“My dad says he knew a Mormon in the service; he respects them.”
“Did you ask him about taking the missionary lessons?”
“I never ask him anything unless it costs money,” she answered.
“Well, are you going to take them?”
“I don’t know. Is it all that important?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is good old Ernie going to be a Mormon?” she teased.
“No.”
“If he did, you’d have to call him Brother Ernie, wouldn’t you? And if I joined too, he’d call me Sister Pam. That’d be great,” she said cynically. “He’s a loser, Jed. Face it.”
That Friday night Pam’s parents took Jed and Pam to dinner with them in Manhattan. They ate at a Japanese restaurant where they removed their shoes and ate on bamboo mats in a small enclosed room. Afterwards they went to a Broadway play. They talked during intermission about inviting him up to see their summer cabin in Maine.
The next week the elders persuaded Jed to pick up Ernie for activity night. He and his mother lived in a housing development built for low-income people. Ernie’s mother was a tired-looking woman with a deep, hacking smoker’s cough.
They played volleyball that night. At first Ernie was just going to watch, but Brenda talked him into playing on her side. She stood next to him and instructed him about how to set up the ball for players in the front row to spike. When he missed, which he did frequently, she’d say, “That’s okay, Ernie,” or, “Nice try.” By the end of the first game, he was returning most of the serves hit to him. By the end of the second game, he was excited about the game, encouraging other players, and shouting when they gained a point.
Jed and Brenda drove him home after it was over. He joked with Brenda about his poor eyesight, telling how he stepped on his glasses once while he was looking for them. Jed was silent.
After they had let Ernie out at his home, Brenda started in with Jed. “The only time you paid any attention to Ernie was when you spiked the ball toward him.”
“He was the weakest member of your team. It was just good strategy.”
“You aren’t helping him any.”
“You’re wasting your time, Brenda. He’ll never join the Church.”
“But your precious Pam will?”
“Yes, in time she will.”
“My big brother is a dummy.”
“My little sister can’t face reality.”
“Jed, why do you ignore him?”
“How can anybody ignore him? He’s got bad breath.”
“Do you think you’re better than he is?” she asked.
“That’s not the point. If I can get Pam interested in the Church, the Church will be made stronger. She knows a lot of people. But she’ll never even look at the Church if Ernie is baptized.”
“So you’re just going to let Ernie go. His only chance, maybe, to hear the truth.”
“I picked him up tonight. Isn’t that enough?”
She was quiet for several minutes, and then, quietly, she asked, “What would the Savior do?”
“You’re not going to trap me,” Jed answered brusquely.
“Just tell me what He would do.”
“It’s more complicated than that. You don’t understand. If I get tied up with Ernie, I won’t have a friend in that whole school.”
“Because he’s fat.”
“Yes, and sloppy and clumsy.”
“Jed, you’re my big brother. I used to be proud of you, but I’m not sure that I like you very much anymore. You’ve changed. Pam’s changing you. Did you know that?”
“Tough,” Jed said angrily.
The next Monday when Pam and Jed met at their lockers, she invited him to come with her and her family for the weekend while they did some work on the cabin in Maine. The plans called for them to fly up Friday and return on Monday afternoon.
His parents were not happy about the plan. “You’re going to be missing two days of school. You’re already behind,” his mother said.
“What will you do about church on Sunday?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have to miss one time. It won’t kill me.”
“That’s not the point. Where are your priorities?” his dad asked.
After an hour’s discussion his dad finally said that Jed was getting old enough to make his own decisions, that he’d been taught what was right, and that he would be allowed to make his own decision.
Jed went to his room, knowing what he should decide, knowing what he was going to decide. After an hour of listening to his tapes, he walked downstairs and announced simply, “I’m going this weekend.”
The next night Elder Baker and his companion came over and announced that Ernie was to be baptized Saturday. “And he wants you to baptize him, Jed.”
There was an uneasy silence in the room. “I can’t,” Jed said. “I’m going with Pam and her parents to Maine for the weekend.”
“Oh,” Elder Baker said, looking at Jed’s parents.
The next day at school Jed decided the least he could do was to explain to Ernie why he wouldn’t be able to baptize him on Saturday.
“I’m sorry I can’t go to your baptism. Pam’s parents asked me up to their summer home in Maine.”
“Do you think you might be falling in love with her?” Ernie asked.
“What’s that to you?” Jed shot back.
“Nothing, I guess. Are you falling in love with her way of life?”
“Why?”
“I’ve got a friend in chemistry who says you and Pam are cheating.”
“Just on the labs,” Jed defended.
“Oh, just on the labs. I’ll be sure to tell him. I’m sure he’ll be much more interested in learning about the Church when I tell him you’re only cheating on the labs.”
“I’m going to make it up.”
“I don’t know if he’ll believe that, but I’ll tell him.”
Jed felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Anything else? I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes, one other thing,” Ernie replied, looking straight at Jed. “I guess you’re upset about my joining the Church, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jed said. “The Church is for everyone.”
“But you’d like to choose which of those everyones joins, wouldn’t you? A rich man, or a beautiful girl, an athlete, a talented artist, an influential politician. I’m not any of those things, am I? Do you think there’s room in your church for me?”
Jed felt stunned as if he’d been hit.
“For the first time in my life, I now have a reason to live. But you’ve always had that, haven’t you? It was very comfortable, wasn’t it? Having the truth while the rest of us stumbled in the dark. I’d like to know how you feel, Jed. Not that it matters, I guess, because I’m going to be baptized. Not because of your example, but in spite of it.”
Jed walked away. His face felt as if it were on fire.
He walked to a park, sat on a deserted park swing, and thought.
He went back at noon, ate in the cafeteria with Brenda, and for the first time they were able to talk again. After his last class, he met Pam at her locker.
“Pam, something has come up. I won’t be able to go with your family this weekend.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m going to baptize Ernie Saturday.”
“That’s more important than being with us in Maine?”
“Tell your parents I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe you’d back out of this trip just so you can baptize that clown Ernie.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Then you’re a loser too,” she snapped, slamming her locker and walking away.
“Pam?” he called, when she was no more than 20 feet away.
She turned around, tearful yet defiant.
“Nobody’s born a loser. We make the losers, you and me, by the way we treat them. We carefully mold them each day of their lives. But to the Savior, nobody’s a loser.”
She shook her head, turned away, and walked quickly down the long hall.
Jed watched her go and then slowly walked up the stairs for what became a long conversation with his chemistry teacher.