Gospel Story Finder

As a young missionary, Elder Gordon Hinckley found himself in a foxhole of a different sort. From the spiritual trenches of England, he became so discouraged that he wrote his father he might as well come home.

His father wrote back: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.”29

Stung by that counsel, Gordon Hinckley threw himself into the work. After his mission, his mission president sent him to tell the First Presidency why they needed better missionary materials. That visit to Church headquarters was supposed to last 15 minutes and ended up lasting over 70 years. Gordon B. Hinckley’s entire life was about forgetting himself and going to work. His willingness to sacrifice kept his feet moving on a disciple’s path.

The great oak tree reached its arms to the sky—higher, higher, higher. Lissa lay on a quilt at its foot and gazed through spring-green leaves to the gray sky beyond. It made her feel dizzy. She closed her eyes.
“Lissa, will you help me get up the tree?”
Her eyes opened. It took her a moment to focus on her little brother, Spencer, looming above her. “Uh-uh,” she said. “The wind’s too wild. You’d be scared.”
“I wouldn’t be scared.”
“Then I would be.” Even as she spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind became a mad thing, suddenly swirling and tearing in all directions. The giant pines in their yard swayed and bent as if they would snap in two. The oak was a churning green sea, its leafy whisper changed to a roar.
Spencer drew in a frightened breath. Lissa laughed and leapt to her feet. She caught his hands and whirled him around and around until he was laughing, too. “Will the wind blow us away?” he asked.
“No,” Lissa said. But it felt like it might.
“Come inside now,” Dad called from the house.
Lissa and Spencer hesitated and whirled around again.
“Now!” Dad yelled. “Before the storm hits.”
Even as Lissa snatched up her quilt and dashed for the door, fat raindrops struck her skin. By the time they were inside, the rain was pouring down in silver sheets.
While Dad made them hot chocolate, Lissa and Spencer dried themselves off. They slipped beneath blankets on the couch and sipped their drinks. How cozy and safe it felt in the house, although the walls seemed to tremble and the windows rattled.
Dad huddled with them. “When I call you,” he said, “you need to come right away. Don’t stop to think about it. Just come. There’s always a good reason.”
Lissa and Spencer nodded.
The room grew dim. Dad switched on the lamp. He brought a book of stories to read aloud and drew them close.
It was hard to listen.
Boom! shouted the thunder.
Spencer jumped. Lissa shivered. White lightning flashed. Then B-O-O-M! It was explosive!
Dad sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Lissa and Spencer followed. “What was that?” Lissa asked, her heart thudding in her chest.
Dad peered through the gloom. “Looks like the oak tree’s down. Good thing it missed the house.”
“Oh, no!” Lissa cried. “I love that tree.”
The storm passed on.
A few days later, Dad took his chain saw out to the fallen tree. “We can use it for firewood,” he told Lissa and Spencer.
Lissa said nothing. She still wanted to cry when she saw the oak stretched out in their yard. Its branches were tangled, and its great clump of dirt-choked roots lay exposed. She watched from the porch step, her chin in her hands, as Dad worked.
Spencer scrambled over the trunk like a squirrel. He ignored scratched knees and sap-sticky hands. After a while he disappeared. “I’m down in this big hole where the roots were,” he called. “There are all kinds of bugs and worms poking their heads out.”
“Don’t get too dirty,” Dad called back.
Lissa could hardly hear them over the chain saw’s buzz. Dad was making good progress. He had the branches off and was starting to cut the trunk into sections. Lissa sucked in a breath of the fresh-cut wood smell.
Dad put the saw down for a moment. He reached his arms above his head to stretch his back. He flashed a smile at Lissa. Her return smile fled when his expression changed to a look of horror. “No!” he yelled.
It happened too fast to even think. Without the weight of its limbs to hold it down, the trunk of the tree had risen from the ground and its heavy ball of dirt and roots smashed back into the hole with a thud that shook the earth. The trunk quivered for a moment. No movement or sound came from the hole.
“Spencer!” Dad and Lissa screamed at the same time. They raced for the hole. Tears streamed down Lissa’s cheeks as she and Dad shoved at the trunk. It didn’t budge. They kept trying.
“What’s the matter?” Spencer’s voice came from behind them. “How’d the tree stand up again?”
Lissa and Dad whirled around. Spencer watched them calmly from beside a clump of azaleas.
Dad’s face collapsed with emotion as he grabbed Spencer to him.
“Where were you?” Lissa asked. Her voice sounded strange.
“Behind the bushes,” Spencer said into Dad’s shirt.
“We thought—we thought you were down in the hole!” Lissa put her arms around both Dad and her brother.
“You thought I got squished?” Spencer asked, pulling away from them.
They nodded.
“I was down there,” Spencer said, “but Dad told me to get out.”
Dad looked at him. “I didn’t.”
“Yes you did,” Spencer insisted. “You said, ‘Get out of the hole right now.’”
Dad shook his head. “It wasn’t me. Was it you, Lissa?”
“No.”
Spencer’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m glad you listened,” Lissa whispered.
“And obeyed,” Dad added.
Spencer gave a shaky grin. “I guess I always will from now on.”
“Me, too,” Lissa said. And she meant it with all her heart.

In July 1939 the Gestapo arrested four missionaries; they lived on bread and water for 40 days until President Toronto was able to negotiate their release. On 24 August, Church headquarters directed the few remaining missionaries to evacuate. President Toronto sent his family first, then stayed behind a few days to arrange the departure of the missionaries and conclude other mission affairs. He set apart 21-year-old Josef Roubícek to preside in his absence. In Denmark Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, assured Sister Toronto that the war would not start until her husband and the missionaries were all safely evacuated. President Toronto found passage on the last train to leave before war engulfed Europe.

One final story: William Tyndale, who translated the Bible into the language of the common person--English--in the sixteenth century--and was martyred for it--stated to a cleric who opposed his efforts: "If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough, shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost!"[43] In a parallel some three hundred years later, Nancy Towle, a famous itinerant preacher in the 1830s, visited Kirtland. While there, she sharply criticized the Church. The emotional Sidney Rigdon responded in kind, and accused her of being "in the gall of bitterness, and the bond of iniquity!" According to Towle's record, Joseph said nothing during this heated exchange until she turned to him and demanded that he swear to her that he had seen an angel. Ever gregarious, Joseph good-naturedly replied to her that "he never swore at all." Having failed to rattle him, she tried to belittle him: "Are you not ashamed, of such pretenses?" she rejoined. "You, who are no more, than an ignorant, plough-boy of our land?" Joseph calmly responded: "the gift has returned back again, as in former times, to illiterate fishermen."[44]
Joseph compared himself to an "illiterate fisherman." In this, Tyndale's words were prescient: certainly a plough-boy did grow to know more of scripture than that cleric, and probably more than any man that ever lived, save the Savior only.

I rushed to the time clock, found my card, and quickly punched it in. The time, 4:01, blared out at me in red. One minute late! After all that hurrying, I was still late. I had a class at the university that ended at 3:30, and it was always a hectic rush to make it to work on time. I worked as an evening receptionist at one of the larger convalescent centers for the elderly in Salt Lake City, Utah.
As I walked to my desk, I heard a voice singing “There’s Sunshine in My Soul Today.” The voice was bellowing the song out at the top of its lungs. Curious, I followed the sound of the voice. At the end of one of the corridors, I found a husky old man sitting up in his bed. The cords on his neck stood out with the strain of singing.
“Hello!” he called out to me cheerfully. He didn’t seem surprised to see me standing there. He just grinned brightly at me. The windows were wide open. The air and sunshine poured in. It seemed to be one of the most cheerful rooms that I had ever been in, yet it was similar to all of the other rooms in the building.
“I heard you singing,” I remarked to him.
“Good!” He nodded his head courteously at me. “I sing because it makes me happy!”
As duties awaited me at my desk, I said good-bye to him. As I went down the hall, I heard him singing “High on the Mountain Top” as if he were yodeling it from the hilltops. For the rest of the evening I found myself humming, “High on the mountain top …”
The next day I managed to arrive a few minutes early. Again I heard the cheerful voice singing. Irresistibly pulled, I went down to his room.
“Well, hello, young lady!” His eyes and toothless smile welcomed me as if I were a queen.
I greeted him and asked if I could listen to him sing.
“Sure!” He invited me to sit down on the only chair in the room. He sang through all the verses of “How Firm a Foundation.” His off-key voice charmed me.
I asked him if he knew “The World Has Need of Willing Men.” This was a favorite song of mine. I had taught it to my youngest brother when he was just four.
Not only did he sing it for me, but he sang it with such force that I couldn’t help but join him and sing too. I caught his enthusiasm and sang much louder than I normally would. A nurse passed by and glanced at us curiously.
As I left, I asked him when he had taken time to memorize all of the hymns.
“Oh, that’s easy!” He clapped his hands together. “I memorized them as I sang them in church. Once I knew them, I never opened the hymn book again!”
I made an inward resolve to do the same.
It became regular routine to stop in at his room before I went down to my desk. He always greeted me brightly. I found myself humming Church hymns between my classes at the university.
Christmastime came and my classes were over for three weeks. As I had made arrangements with someone to take my place at work during that time, I was free to go home and visit my family in Ephraim, Utah.
Before I left, however, I stopped in to see the old man. We sang through countless Christmas carols together. I was more in the Christmas spirit than I had ever been before. I left him singing a rousing version of “Silent Night.”
As I walked back down the corridor, I passed a nurse who frowned at me. I didn’t recall seeing her before. I puzzled about it for a minute and then shrugged it off. I was too happy to let a frown bother me. Later, I found out that she had just recently been hired as the head nurse.
Christmas vacation, as always, flew by too fast for me. Soon it was time for me to reluctantly go back to my studies. I said good-bye to my parents and houseful of brothers and sisters.
When I stepped through the doors at the convalescent center to go back to work, I expected to hear a cheerful voice booming out some song down the hall. As I punched in my time card at the time clock, I cocked my ear for his voice. All I could hear was the confusion of a few televisions tuned to different stations and the conversation of a few patients who were sitting near me in the hallway.
“He’s probably asleep,” I said to myself. But, to reassure myself, I walked down to his room.
I peeked in the door, expecting to see him curled up in bed sound asleep. However, he was sitting up with his back supported by a few pillows. The windows were half shut and the curtains pulled. He sat listlessly in the half gloom.
Hearing my step, he slowly turned his head and saw me. He grinned the ghost of a smile.
I was shocked. His wrinkled skin hung in loose pouches around his face as if he had lost a great amount of weight.
“I … I thought you’d be singing,” I stammered out.
He shook his head and tears slid down his cheeks. “Can’t sing anymore. Nurse said it bothered too many people.” He looked at me earnestly. “I don’t want to bother anyone. Singing just made me happy.” There was a long pause as he thought. “No, I don’t want to bother anyone,” he repeated.
I blinked back tears as I walked over and took his hand. “Why don’t we sing together right now?”
He looked at me anxiously, “Oh no, please don’t. I don’t think she would like it.”
“Well, then,” I said softly, “I’ll sing. I’ll sing so quietly that no one will hear me but you.”
I softly sang the first song that came to me. I sang all the verses of “I Am a Child of God” for him. His wrinkled lips mouthed most of the words with me.
After singing, I talked softly with him for a while and rubbed his brow. As I needed to get to my desk, I told him I would be back tomorrow. He called me when I had reached the door. I turned to look at him questioningly. His leathery cheeks wrinkled deeply as he gave me a smile. His eyes had a hint of their old sparkle.
As soon as I got out into the hall, I was fighting mad. I couldn’t wait to find the nurse who had done this. Angry words were close to the surface of my thoughts.
I didn’t have to search long. The new head nurse was waiting for me at the end of the hall. Before I could even say a word, she demanded, “Young lady, what were you doing there?” I explained that I worked at the center as a receptionist and that the old man was a friend of mine. I tried to go on and explain about his singing, but she cut me off.
“Well, if you’re the receptionist here, then go do your work. You have no right to be back here with the patients.” She planted her feet in front of me and folded her chin firmly into her neck.
“I just wanted to tell you that you’re making the old man sick by not letting him sing! It makes him happy to sing!” I said this in a rush before she could stop me.
She thrust her face in front of mine. “The old man is dying from an incurable disease. Not from the reason you state.” She checked her watch. “Now, if you’re the evening receptionist, you’re already 15 minutes late. If you still want your job, I advise you to go immediately to your desk and leave this part of the building to me.”
I walked through the building to my desk. I made a resolve to see the old man tomorrow regardless of the nurse. Even if I had to crawl through the window, I would go to him and sing for him until he was well enough to sing like he used to.
The next afternoon I arrived at work early so I could spend more time with the old man. I stepped cautiously into the center watching for the head nurse. There was no sign of her. I reached his room without having an encounter with her. Relieved, I turned to go into his room. The drapes and windows were wide open and sunshine spread through the room. The bed was tightly made and the floor appeared to be newly waxed. There was no sign of the old man or his personal possessions. I was filled with dread at the sight of the well-cleaned room. My footsteps dragged as I walked down to the nurse’s station to inquire about him.
“Room 67?” she repeated after me. I nodded. The nurse aide then turned to a chart and examined it for a minute. She looked up at me. “He died last night about 2:00 A.M.”
Tears blinded my vision as I stumbled down the hall to my desk. I wished with all my heart that I had done more for him. All I could think of was the smile he had given me before I left him yesterday. It had been a grateful smile.
When I reached my desk, I laid my head down and cried helpless tears for the old man. The telephone rang. As I composed myself to answer it, I thought I could hear the faint echo of “There’s Sunshine in My Soul Today.” Suddenly I felt strongly that the old man would be singing at the top of his lungs today. Maybe I was hearing the faint echo of his voice from heaven. I smiled through my tears and started to softly hum the tune.

Amanda and I have been married for 15 wonderful years. Yet I can still remember, like it was yesterday, the conversation we had in the first few weeks of our young marriage. I had just graduated from Ricks College with an Associate's degree in business and enrolled at Idaho State University to finish a bachelor and master's degree. I was ready to take on the world and I had a beautiful, loving and supportive wife by my side.
Our discussion of the future drifted to children and when that process would begin. It became very clear to us then that what we wanted more than a promising career in business was to raise a righteous family, and that we didn't want to wait until we completed our schooling. From that moment on, we embarked on a journey of ups and mostly downs and a multitude of doctors' visits and procedures from Pocatello to Rexburg to Phoenix and back.
For six years, we rode the rollercoaster of infertility until one day Amanda finally convinced me that if I wanted to be a dad and raise a family, we needed to adopt. This was not easy for me. At that moment, I viewed adoption as giving up and I had not given up on anything in my life that meant so much to me. However, the decision to adopt was not giving up, it was heeding the promptings of a loving Heavenly Father. We were soon blessed to adopt two boys in three years. I love being a dad, and having the opportunity to raise my boys.

In Wisconsin it gets so cold that you can drive to an island. And that’s exactly what some young people from the Duluth District of the Minneapolis Minnesota Mission did. The “Isle of Happy Days,” Birchwood, Wisconsin, was the site of a Super Saturday for 150 home-study seminary students, leaders, and nonmember friends.
The 21-acre island boasts a 17-bedroom home that was built in the early 1900s, complete with a wood-burning stove and a one-lane bowling alley. In the recreation hall of the home, old and new friends joined in for pool, Ping-Pong, a ski movie, and lots of conversation. Dinner consisted of tacos and watching the flickering shadows from the huge fireplace jump on carved overhead beams.
The next day brought with it a scripture chase and gospel discussion. There were also more activities, long talks, and good food. For the young people from Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Canada, it was better than they’d hoped for and something for them to live up to next year.

Star tugged at her clothes. It still felt strange to wear a dress to church. In her old church the girls wore pants or shorts on Sunday. But not in her new church. She and her mom had just been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Star sighed as she looked in the mirror. She was excited to go to church for the first time as an official member, but she was also nervous. Before, she stayed with Mom the whole time at church. But this time she was going to Primary.
Star blinked at her reflection. What if she didn’t fit in? What if the other kids didn’t like her?
“Star? Are you ready?” Mom called.
Star walked downstairs. “Do I look OK?” she asked.
Mom smiled. “You look beautiful.”
Star made a face. “You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
“You’re right. I do have to say that. Because it’s true.”
Star gave a small smile. Mom always had a way of making her feel better. But there were still butterflies in her stomach. What if none of the other kids wanted to talk to her? She had friends at school, but they weren’t members of her new church. She wished she had even one friend going to church with her.
“I just remembered something I have to do,” she told Mom.
She ran back upstairs and knelt by her bed. “Dear Heavenly Father, please help me make friends. I believe what the missionaries taught is true, but I’m scared.”
Star stayed on her knees and listened. After a moment she felt a sweet, peaceful feeling, and she wasn’t so nervous anymore.
At church Star and Mom sat by a family with three little girls. The parents introduced themselves and started talking with Mom before the meeting started. Star helped the girls color a picture of Jesus.
Bishop Andrews made his way toward them. “Sister Cunningham! Star! It’s good to see you today.” He gave them each a warm smile and a handshake. Star had forgotten how nice everyone at church was. Maybe she would make a friend after all.
After sacrament meeting Star went to the Primary room. She glanced at the other kids nervously as she sat down. They were talking to each other and didn’t seem to notice her. Star’s heart sank. She’d be on her own after all.
Just then a girl Star’s age walked into the room. She looks nervous too, Star thought. I could go talk to her.
Star took a deep breath, then walked over to the girl. “Hi, my name is Star. I’m new. Would you like to sit by me?” Star held her breath. Would the girl want to be her friend?
The girl’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “I’m Sarah. I’m new too. My family just moved here from Ontario.”
“My mom and I were baptized two weeks ago,” Star said. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
Sarah’s smile grew wider. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Star and Sarah sat with their class. Sometimes Star caught Sarah’s eye and smiled. Sarah smiled back. Star felt calm and happy. She knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer and helped her find a friend.
In class the teacher asked Star and Sarah to introduce themselves.
Think About It
How can you help someone who’s new at church feel welcome?
Star stood up. “My name is Star Cunningham. My mom and I were baptized two weeks ago.” She paused, and a smile grew on her face as she looked at her new friend. “And this is my friend Sarah.”

A young piano student once became very discouraged by her mistakes. Each time she learned a piece, her teacher assigned a new and more difficult piece, and the student would begin playing wrong notes all over again. She concluded that she wasn’t learning anything, because she would always make mistakes in her new pieces. Then her teacher explained that nobody ever learned to play the piano without making many, many mistakes. The successful students are those who learn from their mistakes.

The first time I ever said that I was going on a mission for the Mormon church was at the intermission of the New York Philharmonic Annual UNICEF concert. I was standing beside my parents as they discussed the performance with their friends and a Mr. Blaiseworthy turned to me and said, not that he really cared, “And what are you going to be doing after your graduation next spring?”
My mother immediately began to explain that we, meaning she, had sent off applications to Princeton and Harvard and New York University, that we would probably be studying business. I had heard this “we” answer before. But I swallowed once hard and without looking at my mother replied, “I will be going on a mission for the Mormon church, sir.” Then I smiled.
My mother, not smiling, smoothed things over carefully and explained that I have a wonderful sense of humor but that Harvard was really our preference. Mr. Blaiseworthy gave me a peculiar stare and politely hurried off. In minutes my mother was back laughing with some woman in blue hair. I believe they were discussing how we had loved Eaton.

W hen I was 12 years old, my father was in the bishopric. There were benefits, such as being able to give my tithing to my father, but there were also some unexpected downsides. For example, people expected more of me. And there was another downside that was much more treacherous.
One day, as I sat at the computer, typing up an assignment, my father sat down beside me and started asking about my day. Not seeing a trap, I answered his questions. Then, he asked a question no one had ever asked me before.
“Zachary, will you give a talk next Sunday?”
I felt the color drain from my face. I frantically searched for a reason to not be there, but my father knew that I would be. He rambled something about it being a short talk and that I needn’t worry, but my mind was moving too quickly to actually comprehend what he was saying.
I had stage fright. How could I give a talk? I had never given a public speech outside of the Primary room! Tears welled up as I felt the weight of a seemingly impossible task. My father wrapped his arms around me and told me that if I was too scared, I didn’t have to do it.
However, just then, I began to feel something that I had never felt, or maybe never noticed, before. All of a sudden, I had a small glimpse of myself, slightly older, giving a powerful speech in front of a large crowd. I felt the Spirit whisper that one day, I would have no stage fright and could become a public speaker.
Three years later, I was at my first speech and debate meet. I confidently gave a persuasive and powerful speech convincing people to vote for me.
God knows us. He knows our weaknesses and he knows our strengths. I know that the promise in Ether is true: If we simply believe, and act on that belief, God will turn our weakness into strength (see Ether 12:27).

One way we can increase our help to the poor and the needy is to pay a generous fast offering. President Brigham Young (1801–77) said:
“The first year that I came into this valley I had not flour enough to last my family until harvest … , and persons were coming to my house every day for bread. I had the blues about [it] one day; I went down to the old fort and by the time I got back to my house I was completely cured. I said to my wife, ‘Do not let a person come here for food and go away empty handed, for if you do we shall suffer before harvest; but if you give to every individual that comes we shall have enough to last us through. …
“I intend to keep doing so, that my bread may hold out, for if I do not I shall come short.
“Do you believe that principle? I know it is true, because I have proven it so many times.”2

A few years ago Jeremy Kearns and his family were on a bow hunt in the La Sal Mountains in southern Utah. One drizzly morning Jeremy and his younger brother Daniel saw a deer near their camp. They shot at it with their toy bows and arrows, then ran after it, not realizing how far from their tent they had run before they lost sight of the deer. Finally they stopped to catch their breath before starting on their walk back to camp. However, they soon realized that they were lost. All afternoon they walked and called out for help, but no one heard them. They began to be afraid. It was raining hard, and they tried to make a shelter under a big tree. They huddled together to keep warm. All night they prayed to Heavenly Father for help.
After walking for three hours the next morning, the boys saw some cows. Just then Jeremy heard a voice in his mind. He was told to follow the cow’s path to the stream, go up the stream, around the mountain, and then someone would find them there.
Jeremy and Daniel heeded this answer to their prayers, and when they reached the other side of the mountain, they heard people calling for them. Soon they were back with their family, grateful for the answer that they had received to their prayers.

For some reason, the last month or so, my mind has turned to a colleague of many years ago at the University of Utah. Dr. Reed Merrill was a distinguished educational psychologist. He had, for instance, done pioneering work in establishing the process of licensure associated with clinical psychology, as well as important work in educational psychology. However, he had been inactive in the Church and inattentive to spiritual things, though a good person. Then, in the early 1980s he was stirred spiritually by the Lord. I could see it when he came to visit me twice. He wrote two powerful letters regarding the comparative emptiness of his secular discipline with the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. These observations meant a lot because they came from a man of unquestioned intellect and integrity. Other catalytic things were happening, unbeknownst to me, including his daughter’s service on a mission, to say nothing of a wonderful wife.

Reed called me sometime before his daughter’s sealing, asking if I would perform her sealing. I said, “I would be delighted.” I think I had an intervening trip overseas, but asked, “Reed, will you be there?”

With his typical integrity, he said, “Neal, you know me well enough to know I won’t be there unless I am fully worthy to be there.” When the morning came for the sealing in the Salt Lake Temple, I waited with particular anticipation. Then Reed came down the corridor of the temple. We embraced, and he said, “Neal, I made it!” He had come home! Subsequently, he taught in his high priests group and in various classes. It was a spiritual renaissance in his life, a marvelous thing to see. How wonderful it is when anybody comes home!

Yesterday, when I reviewed my handwritten notes used ten years ago at Reed’s funeral, they included words of gratitude for what I called, even back then, “the intersections of our lives”—Reed’s and mine. The most important thing to be said about Reed Merrill when he departed from this life was that he exited “in spiritual crescendo.” Such things bring joy!

I try to always be available to help others in my ward, but on occasion I have been the one in need of service. Once when I needed to paint a room in my home before moving, I was in the middle of final exams and also had to leave town for a wedding. When I mentioned these circumstances to a sister in my ward, she told me she would get some other sisters together to paint the room. Their service saved me lots of time and money.

When my sister Janalee and I built our cabin, we decided it would be a hunter’s cabin. We found a big rock up on a hill and leaned some branches up against it and covered the two openings with old gunnysacks. We could go in and sit real quiet, and no one would ever know we were there.
We built our cabin because we wanted to catch a cougar. We knew there were cougars in the mountains because our neighbor, Brother Poole, caught one. He keeps its pelt on the floor in his house and says it’s a rug, but he doesn’t ever let anybody walk on it.
Ever since seeing that old cougar skin, though, I wanted to catch my own cougar, and Janalee said she would help. Dad made me the neatest flipper—that’s what most people I know call a slingshot—and I have my own BB gun. I can shoot that BB gun better than anyone. Well, almost anyone. Janalee is probably just a little better, but she keeps quiet about it.
My sister can shoot straighter, play ball better, and run faster than me or any of my friends. Since I don’t have a brother to do things with, it sure is nice to have a sister like Janalee.
Well, one morning Janalee and I took my BB gun and flipper and headed up to our cabin to hunt cougars.
“Do you really think we’ll catch a cougar, Jonathan?” Janalee asked as we puffed up the mountain.
“Brother Poole did,” I said. “If he can, we sure can.”
“It’ll be nice to have a pet cougar to take care of.”
“A pet?” I grunted. “He isn’t going to be any pet. We’re going to make him into a rug like Brother Poole’s.”
“A rug? What good’s an old rug that nobody can walk on? A pet would be lots better.”
“Whoever heard of a pet cougar?” I said, rolling my eyes. “But before we catch any cougars, we need to practice hunting smaller things.”
We crawled into our little cabin and rested for a minute and ate some oatmeal cookies Mom had given to us.
“What are we going to hunt first?” Janalee asked as she picked the raisins out of her oatmeal cookie and dropped them on the ground. She doesn’t like raisins.
“There are some magpies in those maple trees behind us,” I said. “Maybe we should try shooting them.”
Just then my friend Joe poked his head in and grinned. “What’re you doing?”
“We’re going to go hunting,” Janalee told him. “Want to come?”
“Sure. I even have my flipper.”
I handed the BB gun to Janalee, saying, “You take this.”
Joe and I filled our pockets with rocks. We could hear those old magpies talking a mile a minute. We started sneaking through the bushes and trees so that we could take those noisy old birds by surprise.
“There’s one,” Janalee whispered. “Isn’t he pretty? He has such a beautiful long tail and such shiny black feathers.”
“OK, Jonathan,” Joe said, “let’s kill it.”
“Kill it!” Janalee cried out, jumping up and scaring the magpie away. “Why do you want to kill it? It hasn’t done anything to anybody.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Joe growled.
“What’d you think we were going to do with it?” I asked. “That’s what hunters do—kill birds and cougars and things.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” Janalee said, putting her hands on her hips. “What good’s a dead magpie?”
“What good’s a live magpie?” Joe asked. “My dad says they’re no good at all.”
“Well, I think they’re pretty. That’s a good enough reason not to kill them. Besides, the prophet has asked us not to shoot the little birds.”
“Oh, brother!” Joe muttered. “Why’d you bring her along? Girls don’t know anything about hunting, Jonathan. Maybe she ought to go back to the cabin so she won’t get hurt.”
I looked at Janalee and then at Joe and then down at the ground. “Maybe Janalee’s right,” I said. “We don’t have to kill the magpies. There are other things.”
“You too?” Joe groaned. “I’m not hunting with a girl. Girls can’t shoot.”
There was an old tin can lying on the ground. I picked it up and set it on a fallen tree trunk. “Back up a few steps,” I called to Joe and Janalee. They moved backward. “Now, let’s see which one of you can knock the can off the tree trunk.”
Joe snickered. “She’ll miss it a mile.” He put a rock into his flipper, pulled back hard, chewed on his tongue a little, aimed, and let the rock fly. It came close, but it didn’t hit the can. “Let’s see you come that close,” Joe challenged Janalee.
Janalee didn’t say anything. She got my flipper, looked around until she found a round, smooth rock, then went back to where Joe was standing. She tucked the rock inside the flipper’s leather pouch, pulled back, aimed, and let the rock fly. It hit the can and knocked it off the tree trunk.
“Lucky shot,” Joe muttered, his face all red.
“Do it again, then,” I said. And they did. In fact, they did it three more times. Janalee didn’t miss once. Joe nicked the can on his second shot, but he didn’t knock it off.
“Do you want to try the BB gun?” I asked.
Joe glared at me and shook his head. “I guess she can stay,” he mumbled. “But let’s get to hunting. We’re just wasting time here.”
We started tromping through the trees, and just past a clump of cedar trees we spied a skunk. Right behind it were three baby skunks. I’d seen skunks before, but not a family of them. Joe and I reached for our flippers.
“Which one shall we shoot,” Joe whispered.
“How about the big one?” I whispered back, loading my flipper.
“The big one?” Janalee gasped, grabbing my shoulder. “That’s the mom!”
“Do you want us to kill one of the babies then?” I asked, shaking off her hand.
“I don’t want you to kill any of them.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, brother!” Joe grumped. “I bet she thinks they’re pretty.”
I looked at Janalee; she had her hands on her hips again. I looked at the skunks. A couple of them were sniffing around in some weeds. They really were kind of pretty.
“What’s the use of hunting if you can’t kill something once in a while?” Joe asked.
“We can watch them,” Janalee said. “That’s lots more fun.”
So we sat and watched the skunks for a while. I didn’t tell Janalee, but it really was kind of fun watching those babies follow their mom and play around in the weeds. And when they finally ambled off, I was glad we hadn’t hurt them.
“Let’s go back to the cabin for a while,” I said. “I still have two oatmeal cookies. We can split them and plan our next hunt.”
“If we want to have a real hunt,” Joe grumbled, “we’d better split with your sister.”
Just as we got to the cabin, we saw a squirrel scrambling out the other side. It had been eating the raisins Janalee had picked out of her cookie.
“Let’s get it.” Joe mouthed the words. He looked at Janalee and groaned, “Oh, boy.”
The squirrel scampered over to a pile of rocks, sat up on its hind legs, and watched us.
“Now you scared it away,” Janalee said, shaking her finger at Joe.
“So? You wouldn’t have let us kill it anyway,” he said.
“Of course not. Who’d want to hurt a little squirrel?”
“I could still get it from here,” Joe said to me. “It’s just sitting there.”
I looked at Janalee.
“Give me a cookie,” she said.
I handed her one, and she crumbled it onto a rock a few feet from us. Then she said, “Let’s go back in the bushes and watch.”
Joe grumbled, but he went with us. We’d hardly gotten settled before the squirrel scampered over to the rock and started eating the cookie crumbs.
Just then Zeke, Brother Arnold’s dog, bounded into sight. That squirrel saw the dog, dropped to all fours, and made a mad scramble for the rocks, with Zeke right behind it.
I just sat there staring, but Janalee didn’t. She grabbed my flipper and a rock, took aim, and let the rock fly. It made a beeline for Zeke’s behind. He let out a yelp and tore out of there.
“No old dog is going to hurt our animals!” Janalee yelled.
“Some hunters we are,” Joe moaned. “We can’t shoot at birds or skunks or squirrels, and when a good hunting dog comes around, we chase him off. I’ve never heard of hunters like that.”
“Well, we’re not ordinary hunters,” Janalee said, handing the flipper back to me.
“What kind of hunters are we?” I asked.
Janalee said, “We’ll make this an animal preserve. We’ll protect the animals, like policemen, making sure nobody or nothing hurts them. And we’ll bring food to them. That’s the kind of hunters we’ll be.”
Joe frowned. Finally he said, “If we’re policemen, who’s going to be the captain?”
“Whoever will protect the animals and birds and treat them right,” Janalee told him.
Joe picked up a rock and tossed it at a bushy cedar. “I can do that.”
“Then you can be the captain of our preserve,” Janalee told him, beaming.
“Really?” When Janalee and I nodded, he said, “All right then. You two go home and get some bread crumbs, and I’ll get some lettuce and things from Mom. Meet me back here as soon as you can. We can’t leave this place unprotected very long. Zeke might be back.”
“What about my cougar?” I wanted to know.
Janalee grinned. “Well, if he’ll behave himself, we’ll let him come too. We might even be able to find a piece of meat for him.”
As we headed down the mountain, I was glad I had a sister like Janalee. She’s as good as a brother any day.

Years ago, in search of adventure, my two sons and I accompanied a Young Men group to the Moaning Cavern, so named for a sound that at one time echoed out of its mouth. The cavern is a chimney cave which opens into a 180-foot-deep (55 m) vertical chamber, the largest single-cave chamber in California.
There are only two ways down: the safe circular staircase or rappelling to the cavern’s floor; my sons and I chose to rappel. My older son went first, while my younger son and I purposely went last so that we would descend together.
After our guides instructed and secured us with harness and belay gear to a strong rope, we inched backward until we stood on a small ledge and gathered our confidence, as this was the last place to turn around and the last place we could see any sunlight from the mouth of the cave.
Our next step backwards plunged us into a cathedral cavern so tall and wide that it could swallow the Statue of Liberty. There we dangled in a slow spin as our eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. As we continued our descent, the glow of electric lights illuminated an amazing wall of glistening stalagmites and stalactites.
Without warning, the lights suddenly went completely out. Suspended above the abyss, we were engulfed in a darkness so profound that we could not even see our hands on the ropes in front of us. A voice instantly called out, “Dad, Dad, are you there?”
“I’m here, Son; I’m right here,” I responded.
The unexpected loss of light was designed to show that without electricity, the darkness of the cavern was impenetrable. It succeeded; we “felt” the darkness. When the lights did return, the darkness instantly surrendered, as darkness must always surrender, to even the faintest light. My sons and I have been left with a memory of a darkness we had never known, a greater appreciation for light we will never forget, and the assurance that we are never all alone in the dark.

Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.

My first real job was with a computer company in my native New Zealand. It afforded me all the opportunity I needed. The company would pay all my training expenses while providing me with an admirable salary.
I had worked in the clerical division for some months when the management announced they were to admit a female operator to the main computer room, until now a bastion of male dominance. All interested women were invited to sit the exam necessary, and one would be chosen for this honour.
My name was subsequently announced as the successful applicant. I was excited and determined to amaze the senior operators with my wonderful work.
How surprised I was to find that I was to be the main source of entertainment for the males in the computer room. It was great sport to tell off-colour jokes in my presence, put obscene pictures in the tape cupboards, and send me to those cupboards to fetch tapes. I had torn some of the offending pictures up, only to be given some form of punishment in the form of a task not desired by the other operators. Thus I spent a lot of time on menial tasks rather than furthering my computer education as I had hoped.
There was a shift diary in the room intended for leaving messages between shifts. However, this book contained primarily obscenities and very little pertaining to work. For this reason I decided not to read it.
Then came the day I arrived for the four o’clock shift.
“Why didn’t you come to the meeting?” asked the senior operator.
“What meeting?” I asked anxiously.
“The one the manager called for three this afternoon.” I knew he was enjoying this. They had caught me this time. “It was in the diary,” he finished almost sneeringly.
I felt ill. This time I was in real trouble. It wasn’t long before I was summoned to the manager’s office. My mind was in turmoil. What would I say? If I told the truth the teasing would likely become worse, and the others would declare all out war on this Mormon and her old-fashioned ideas. If I didn’t, I would have to lie and take the blame. Either way I felt my career was in jeopardy.
“Why didn’t you attend the meeting?” came the stern voice of the manager.
I had said a prayer on the way to the office, and my mind recalled the sticker on my bedroom mirror: “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly.” These were my standards and I had to adhere to them, whatever the consequence. I explained to the manager my standards and why I hadn’t read the diary. I also told him about the pictures in the tape cupboard. He understood and appreciated my values.
The manager cleaned out the tape cupboard, the diary, and anything else offensive. He then spoke to the operators and turned their behavior around.
I enjoyed many happy years with the company and progressed to head operator. The most thrilling thing, though, was the fact that the manager began hiring other LDS employees. During the interview prior to starting their job he would say, “Stick to your church standards and you’ll be the sort of worker I want.”
It was a matter of standards, and my decision regarding my stand did matter, as does any decision we make concerning our relationship with our Father in Heaven and the world in which we live.

I was at my friend’s house, and we were riding our bikes. My friend’s neighbors were riding their bikes too. We all decided to play cops and robbers. We played and played for about an hour. It was fun! Finally we were tired, so we put down our bikes and sat in the grass. I was so excited. I had made some new friends!
Then a kid picked up his cell phone. He scrolled through it. Then he said, “Hey, guys, look at this!” He showed us a funny video. It was really funny! And then he showed us another video. All of a sudden, I felt a bad feeling. They watched the video over and over. I felt worse every time. Again and again. Worse and worse. I was scared. If I left, my friend might not be my friend anymore. But if I kept watching, I wouldn’t be having faith.
Finally, I whispered to my friend, “I need to go home.”
He said, “Why?”
“I don’t like these videos.”
“OK, bye,” he said.
As I rode my bike back home, I felt the bad feeling slip away. An amazing feeling replaced it. I got the gift of the Holy Ghost a few years ago, and I felt it that day.
I had followed the Holy Ghost.