Gospel Story Finder

Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in the Parowan Ward in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father.” It was published in modified form in the old Primary songbook as arranged by Henry E. Giles.

Last October my family moved from Minnesota to my grandmother’s house in Utah. My father stayed in Minnesota to fix up the house before we sold it. Things weren’t going as quickly as we had hoped, so my mother traveled to Minnesota to help him. At 17 and the oldest, I was put in charge of my younger sister and three younger brothers until my parents got back. My grandmother was visiting my aunt, so it would be just us kids for a while.
I had been left in charge before, and it would be no big deal to take care of the children for a couple of weeks. It was summer, so I didn’t have to worry about school or homework, and my parents left the minivan so I could bus my siblings around. The first night, we ate a quick dinner, watched some TV, and I finally managed to get them into bed. I was very tired when I crawled into bed, but I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what I was going to do the next day. I heard a creaking sound, but houses always creak at night. Normally, I wouldn’t have noticed, but I wasn’t used to sleeping in this house. Not only that, but I was in charge of keeping my younger sister and brothers safe. After a few more creaks, I convinced myself that someone had opened the door and was walking around inside. I was wide awake now. I said a quick prayer and tried to dismiss the creaking sounds as regular house sounds.
After a few minutes I was on edge again. This time I sat up on my bed to bow my head and fold my arms. I prayed that my sister, brothers, and I would be safe while my parents were gone and that I would be able to feel peaceful that night. Afterward I was calmer, but I still couldn’t sleep.
I prayed again, and this time I received the impression that I should check the house. I got up and went to the door of my room and stopped. I could picture myself opening it and finding a burglar with a gun. I did not want to open the door but, remembering my impression, I went into the hall and turned on the light. I opened every door and checked every room. Then I checked the door locks. Everything was fine. I went back to bed and fell asleep.
Later I realized the reason for my prompting. I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to know that He was keeping us safe. He wanted me to know that my prayer had been answered. I have a testimony that God will answer our prayers, even over little things like being scared at night. He will take care of us if we trust Him.

Let me give you an example. A mother was diagnosed with cancer. Soon she began treatment, and immediately, the Relief Society sisters went to work, planning how to best help with meals, transportation to medical appointments, and other support. They visited her regularly, providing cheerful companionship. At the same time, the Melchizedek Priesthood quorum sprang into action. They provided labor in adding a remodeled bedroom and bathroom to make it easier to care for the sick sister. The young men lent their hands and backs to participate in that significant effort. And the young women got involved: they cheerfully arranged to faithfully walk the dog each day. As time passed, the ward continued their service, adding and adapting where necessary. It was clearly a labor of love, each member giving of him or herself, unitedly showing caring in individual ways that blessed not only the suffering sister but each member of her family.

After a valiant effort, the sister finally succumbed to the cancer and was laid to rest. Did the ward breathe a sigh of relief and consider the job well done and well over? No, the young women continue to walk the dog daily, the priesthood quorums continue to minister to the father and his family, and the Relief Society sisters continue to reach out in love to ascertain strengths and needs. Brothers and sisters, this is ministering—this is loving as the Savior does!

To illustrate, may I share with you an experience which took place several years ago when Sister Monson had been hospitalized because of a fall. She asked me to go to the supermarket and purchase a few items. This was something I had not done before. I had a shopping list which included potatoes. I promptly found a grocery cart and placed a number of potatoes in it. I knew nothing of the plastic bags in which purchases are normally placed. As I moved the cart along, the potatoes fell out and onto the floor, exiting through two rather small openings in the back of the cart. A dutiful clerk hurried to my aid and called out, “Let me help you!” I tried to explain to her that my cart was defective. It was only then that I was told that all the carts had those two holes in the back and that they were meant for the legs of children.
Next the clerk took my list and helped me find each item. Then she said, “You are Bishop Monson, aren’t you?”
I answered that many years earlier I had indeed been a bishop. She continued: “At that time I lived on Gale Street in your ward and was not a member of the Church. You made certain the girls who were members contacted me each week and took me with them to Mutual and other activities. They were fine young women whose friendship and kindness touched my heart. I want to let you know that the fellowshipping you arranged for me led to my being baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. What a blessing this has been in my life,” she said, “and I thank you for your kindness.”

Reader B: An ancient Arabian fable tells the story of a traveler who met the great and deadly Plague going into the city of Cairo, Egypt. Their conversation went thus:
Reader 5: “Oh, Mighty Plague, bringer of disease, why do you go into Cairo?”
Reader B: The Plague answered with wind and destruction in its voice:
Reader D: “I come to kill 3,000 people. I come to take 3,000 lives.”
Reader B: Weeks passed. Again the traveler met the Plague on his return journey and said:
Reader 5: “Oh, Plague, you told me you would kill 3,000, yet you killed 30,000—people 30,000 instead.”
Reader B: And the Plague answered back:
Reader D: “No. I killed but 3,000. The rest died of fright.”

“Margaret and Neil, take this wheat to the gristmill on City Creek, please,” Mother said.
Neil smiled happily. He was only four years old, but he liked to help Mother as much as he could. He proudly took the small bag of wheat kernels in his arms.
“I’ll carry it,” Margaret announced, snatching the bag from Neil’s arms. “You’re too little. You might drop it, and you know we can’t afford to lose any of it!”
That was certainly true! When the Gardner family had arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on October 3, 1847, they had rejoiced that they had reached this sanctuary for the Saints. But that didn’t mean that everything was perfect. Now it was winter, and Neil was often hungry. Each family received a little wheat given out by weight. They ate sego and thistle roots. Once in a while hunters brought meat to the settlers.
When they got to the gristmill, Neil watched carefully as the wheat was ground. When a handful of kernels spilled on the floor while it was being ground, he and Margaret sprang to gather it up. Margaret wrapped it in her handkerchief. That evening they would parch it on the top of the stove at home. No food could be wasted.
After that cold, hungry winter, spring finally came, and Neil’s family moved to Mill Creek, a few miles from Salt Lake City. They planted a small crop of wheat. When the grain came up, it looked so strong and good. How wonderful it would be to have plenty of flour next winter! But then the crickets came.
Crickets were everywhere. There seemed to be no end to them. They were big and black and ate everything in their paths. Everyone worked in the fields, trying to kill the insects. But it seemed useless. There were just so many crickets.
Finally a day of fasting and prayer was planned. Father and the other men went to Salt Lake to pray for help from Heavenly Father.
While Father was gone, Neil, Mother, and Margaret went into the fields again to fight the crickets. Neil was tired, and the thought of another hungry winter made him want to cry. As they worked, it suddenly became darker. Neil looked up and saw thousands of gulls in the sky. Mother threw up her hands in despair. “What the crickets won’t take, those birds will!” she exclaimed.
Mother sat down and cried. Neil cried too. He didn’t know what would become of his family.
Too tired to fight the bird invaders, Neil and his mother and sister watched the seagulls.
“Mother, look!” Neil shouted. “The gulls aren’t eating our wheat. They are eating the crickets!”
“I believe you are right!” Mother said.
Mother, Margaret, and Neil held hands and danced in a circle. They hugged and laughed. The gulls were saving their wheat!
Suddenly, Mother stopped dancing and dropped to her knees. “Come, children,” she said. “These gulls were sent by Heavenly Father to save His children. Let us give thanks to Him.”
The three of them prayed right there in the wheat field. Neil never forgot the miracle of the gulls.

Thelma Taylor was happy with her calling at her local family history center in Mesa, Arizona, USA. For 17 years she assisted, guided, and supported men and women in their quests to find their ancestors. A move to Coolidge, Arizona, in 2005, however, put 40 miles (64 km) between her and the family history center whose patrons she had faithfully served.

Nearly blind and unable to drive, the 83-year-old woman feared her inability to travel to Mesa would mean the end of her family history service. Then a thoughtful leader offered a solution to this problem in the form of a Church-service mission Sister Taylor could perform from home. Since 2006 she has served as a FamilySearch Support missionary for the Church, using her home computer to help people do their family history work.

“It has blessed me beyond my ability to count all the blessings,” she says of her experience. “I’ve grown so much in that area in family history and in my ability to serve.”

Though her eyesight is poor, Sister Taylor—who now supports six fellow missionaries—can increase the font size on her computer enough to read patrons’ e-mails and respond to their questions.

Sister Taylor didn’t learn how to operate a computer until she was 66 years old, but she says it is a beneficial, useful skill. “Your age doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re not too old to learn how to use a computer.”

“This is an ideal situation for me because I can continue to learn and serve,” Sister Taylor said. She said her Church-service mission has helped her to feel useful at an age when her options are limited.

The work is fulfilling and contagious. “The spirit of this work gets into you and doesn’t turn you loose,” Sister Taylor said. “No matter your age, you can be of real service as a FamilySearch Support missionary.”

1833. Jackson County, Missouri, USA. Mobs forced the Saints living there to leave their homes.
Joseph Smith wondered what to do. Soon a revelation came. Joseph was told to recruit men to travel to Missouri and help the Saints regain their homes.
Joseph left for Missouri with a group of volunteers. The group later became known as Zion’s Camp.
The journey was hard at times, but many enjoyed it.
After a month of marching, the camp stopped near a river.
They heard that men on the other side were waiting to attack them.
What will we do?
Stand still …
… and see the salvation of God.
Soon a storm came.
God is in this storm!
The rain caused the river to rise so much that the camp’s enemies couldn’t cross it.
After a few days, Joseph received a revelation that it was time to return home, even though they hadn’t helped the Missouri Saints return to their homes.
The Lord has accepted our efforts.
We have been brought this far for a trial of our faith. (See Doctrine and Covenants 105:19.)
Some thought the journey was a failure.
We came all this way for nothing!
Why are we going home before helping the Saints here?
Most saw it as a privilege to be with the Prophet and to learn from him.
Zion’s Camp helped prepare future leaders of the Church. Eight men who marched with Zion’s Camp were called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Less than a month ago, two missionaries visited a widowed lady who had expressed interest in the Church. She was ill and had been advised by her physician that a kidney was to be removed. The elders comforted the woman, heeded the whisperings of the Spirit, and pronounced a blessing. Another miracle happened. The operation was cancelled, and the missionaries began teaching their friend the gospel. A baptismal date has already been set. This particular woman will never forget the blessing and teachings of the elders. They will be held in cherished memory and regarded as “saviors of men.”

Susan (name has been changed), like many adoptees, had a great curiosity about her birth parents. She was sealed as an infant to her adoptive family and felt the power and confirmation that these were her people—the ones she was meant to be with forever. She felt blessed by doing family history and temple work for this family. However, that didn’t take away her curiosity or her desire to offer the saving ordinances to the people on her birth line. She worried that she was being somehow disloyal to her adoptive family for having that desire. But after a loving conversation with her parents, she was assured that feelings of love and loyalty would not be diminished by pursuing the sacred work for her birth line.

One family that has felt the effects of following this counsel is that of Bishop Richard Auger of the Banbury Ward; his wife, Gill; and their two daughters, Hannah and Charlotte, both recently married in the London England Temple. Bishop Auger, an inspector with Thames Valley Police, is very aware of the world’s poor standards and their effects on youth and their behavior. “Gill and I used For the Strength of Youth to learn about parenting so we could be consistent and based on the scriptures,” he says. “Throughout the girls’ teenage years, we used it as a ready guide and in many different ways. When the girls wanted to shop for their own clothes, it was a worry to us, so we sent them out with the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could refer to it when making choices.”
Hannah, 21, says, “We kept the booklet in our purses as it states clearly what is and what isn’t appropriate.” The sisters learnt they could make some clothing more modest with a little sewing or by adding accessories. Charlotte, 19, adds, “Hannah and I never felt that our parents made decisions for us. We knew that our parents followed the prophet and the Savior, and so by following our parents, we would always be living the teachings of the Savior too.”

When Grandpa took Moni out to the garden, she couldn’t believe it! The bushy green foliage was faded and wilted. “What happened to your garden, Grandpa?” asked Moni.
“It’s done for this year,” said Grandpa. “Tomorrow’s Halloween. Look!” He pointed to something glowing at the garden’s edge. Moni ran to see what it was.
“Pumpkins!” she cried. Scattered among the dried vines were bright orange pumpkins that had looked like dark green balls all summer. “They look happier now,” said Moni.
“That’s why I like pumpkins so much,” said Grandpa. “When the rest of the garden is dying, the pumpkins are still there, looking bright and cheerful.”
“They get to stay around for Halloween,” said Moni.
“That’s right,” agreed Grandpa. “Better pick out the best one for your jack-o’-lantern.”
When Moni finally decided on the biggest pumpkin a four-year-old girl could lift, Grandpa cut it off at the stem and put it in her arms. Moni could feel its cold, smooth skin as she carried it to the house.
Later, Grandpa cut a neat lid in the pumpkin’s top, and Moni scooped out the seeds inside.
“It doesn’t smell very good,” said Moni, wrinkling her nose. “But it’s still the best pumpkin, isn’t it?”
“You bet!” Grandpa laughed. He helped Moni draw triangle eyes and a curvy smile with three teeth in it. When he took his pocketknife and started to cut on the lines, Moni wanted to help. Grandpa let her hold the knife handle while he held her hand, and they carefully cut out the pumpkin’s face.
“Who’s your new friend, Moni?” Grandma asked from the living room.
Moni thought for a minute. “Jake,” she said.
“That’s my name!” declared Grandpa.
“I know,” said Moni. “That’s why I like it. It’s the best name for the best pumpkin.”
“All right,” said Grandpa. “I guess we have two Jakes this Halloween.”
On Halloween night Grandma’s kitchen smelled like apples and popcorn. Moni kept taking off Jake’s lid and looking inside. “How are we going to plug Jake in?” she asked. She remembered seeing jack-o’-lanterns glowing in the dark last year.
“Jake’s not electric,” Grandma said. “We have to light him the old-fashioned way.”
After they had affixed a candle inside Jake, Moni followed Grandma to the stove. She was surprised to see what was going into the oven. “What are those stinky pumpkin seeds doing on your cookie pans, Grandma?” asked Moni.
“I’m roasting them for a treat,” said Grandma.
Moni frowned.
“You’ll like them,” said Grandma.
Grandpa helped Moni into her panda costume. “You’re one of a kind, Moni,” he told her, smiling.
Moni carried Jake to the brick porch railing for Grandpa to light. Jake’s big, golden smile warmed the whole neighborhood.
The next day when Mother and Daddy came to take her home, Moni noticed a puddle of wax and some smoky places inside Jake. “Don’t worry. I still love you,” she said, hugging him good-bye. “See you next weekend, Jake.”
“I doubt it,” said Grandma. “I’ll probably turn Jake into pumpkin pie!”
“No!” said Moni. “I don’t want Jake to be a pie.”
“OK,” said Grandma. “Jake will be here when you come back next weekend.”
When Moni saw Jake that weekend, she was worried. His teeth had withered. His cheeks were caving in. Even his triangle eyes had gotten puckery, and his lid didn’t fit right anymore. Inside were black, fuzzy places that smelled funny. “How come he’s getting all wrinkly?” she asked Grandpa.
“That’s what happens to jack-o’-lanterns, Honey,” said Grandpa. “Once they’ve been carved, they don’t last long.”
“Next year when I pick the best pumpkin, we won’t carve it, and it won’t get old,” she said with a frown.
“Old isn’t so bad,” said Grandpa. “I’m old, and you like me, don’t you?”
“You bet,” said Moni, squeezing Grandpa’s hand.
“Remember where we put the leaves you helped me rake?” asked Grandpa.
Moni nodded.
“Tomorrow we’ll take Jake out to that compost pile with the kitchen scraps. By spring Jake will have turned into good humus to help grow more pumpkins next year.”
Moni didn’t like to think of Jake going out with eggshells and moldy leaves. “I don’t want Jake to go to waste,” she said.
“Nature never wastes anything,” said Grandpa. He gave Moni a handful of roasted pumpkin seeds. “Try some of these,” he said.
Moni carefully tried a few, then ate some more. The seeds tasted good. Then she remembered helping Grandpa poke seeds like these into the dirt and watching the plants that had grown up like magic. “Grandpa, will these seeds turn into more pumpkins?” she asked.
“No, Honey. Grandma roasted these seeds to eat. But she saved some seeds to plant. Next spring you can help me plant Jake’s seeds and watch his ‘children’ grow in the garden.”
“Will they all have champion smiles like Jake?” Moni asked.
“You bet!” replied Grandpa. “If you keep saving your jack-o’-lantern seeds, someday Jake’s great-great-grandchildren will be growing in your garden.”
Moni patted Jake’s sunken face. “You’re still one of a kind, Jake,” she said.

Jacqueline Soares Ribeiro Lima of Brazil related how two visiting teachers blessed her life and family after she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and felt unable to attend church regularly: “My husband, Vladimir, did everything he could to help me through the worst phase of the illness. … He faced the worst moments alone—until two wonderful women were called as my visiting teachers.”
Those two women, Rita and Fátima, demonstrated their love by learning more about the disorder and supporting Jacqueline’s family. She constantly felt their true interest in her. Their service included hosting a small party for Jacqueline and sewing a dress for her daughter. Ultimately, the heartfelt concern of Rita and Fátima helped Jacqueline spiritually, and she resumed regular church attendance, buoyed by their strength.

In 1989, Markus, Karen, and their three-year-old son were granted permission to leave their home in East Germany to go on a holiday to Hungary. While they were there, Hungary opened its border to Austria, providing thousands of East German refugees a way to freedom. Markus and Karen recognized their unique opportunity. They could also leave.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
I said, “Let’s leave for Austria.”
“Oh no, you can’t,” Karen said. “Your parents are left in Germany and my parents as well.”
“They will understand,” I replied.
“We’ve already started to build a house,” Karen told me. “Let’s finish that.”
“No, let’s start again,” I said, “somewhere else, in western Germany.”
Again I tried to tell her we should leave. She said, “No, because you have just been called as bishop and you said yes, you would serve.”
This is why we did not leave Germany. Some weeks later the Berlin Wall was falling. We were blessed for staying. This was Heavenly Father’s way for us.

The stake’s program, called Adopt-a-Block, was developed over a period of months as they consulted with Mary and with the city council volunteer program. To lend support, the city donated 2,000 gallons of paint, plus rollers and brushes, and convinced a waste management company to donate the use of a dumpster, a land fill company to donate space at a dump site, and a grocery chain to donate trash bags.
“The point of the program was to expose the youth to a different environment and life-style, within 20 minutes of where they live,” said David Garrett, East Millcreek North Stake Young Men president. “We need to provide service for those in our own community. These are our brothers and sisters, and they need our help.”
By the end of the day, the dumpster was full, several houses had fresh coats of paint and new lawns, and grass, trees, and bushes looked neat and trimmed. But far more important, the youth of East Millcreek had learned about serving others.
“I felt like Mary’s block was my block, too,” said Andrea Ence, 12.
Adopt-a-Block wasn’t an earth-shattering event. It didn’t even last the entire day. But ask Mary Allen if it helped, and her smile will tell you immediately.
“It may not have changed the world,” she said. “But I think it changed some hearts. And that’s the beginning of changing the world.”

One of my earliest memories is of sacrament meetings held in our home in Warrnambool, Australia. Between 10 and 15 people attended our branch, and my father, one of three priesthood holders, regularly had the opportunity to bless the sacrament. I remember the feelings I had as he humbly and carefully read the words of the sacrament prayers. Often his voice trembled as he felt the Spirit. He sometimes had to pause to control his emotions before completing the prayer.
As a five-year-old, I could not understand the full meaning of what was being said or done; however, I knew something special was occurring. I could feel the calm and reassuring influence of the Holy Ghost as my father contemplated the Savior’s love for us.

When Heber J. Grant was a young man, he worked for an insurance agent, Mr. H. R. Mann. He treated Heber like a son.
Mr. Mann: Heber, why don’t you go to the baseball game this afternoon and then come tell me about it during supper?
Heber: Thanks, Mr. Mann!
Besides working for Mr. Mann, Heber earned money writing greeting cards and wedding invitations. He stayed at the office late into the evening, spreading his greeting cards on his large office desk to let the ink dry.
On New Year’s Eve, Mr. Mann’s partner, Mr. Wadsworth, found Heber still busy at the office writing greeting cards.
Mr. Wadsworth: Heber, what on earth are you doing?
Heber: Getting my cards ready to sell tomorrow.
Mr. Wadsworth: You are the only one I’m going to give a New Year’s present to. You seem to enjoy work while most of the other boys watch the clock to see how soon they can leave.
Heber: Wow! A hundred dollars?
Heber later said that knowing he had earned the confidence of his employer meant much more to him than the money. It inspired him to succeed in business and in the community.
As prophet, he taught young people to be hard workers, too.
Heber: Be inspired with a desire to labor and learn, and you will achieve success in the battle of life.

A convert since May 1970, twenty-one-year-old Linda Lee MacArthur lives in New York City, is a member of the Manhattan Ward, New York Stake, and has been part of the New York City Ballet Company for eight years. Although she had no burning desire to join a church two years ago, she became friends with “a very special Latter-day Saint girl, Diana Bradshaw,” who was also in the ballet company.
“At that time in my life,” said Linda, “the most important thing to me was a new dress. I had my own apartment and wanted to be chic in all I did. Things were fine until I became very sick and began to feel a religious need. Then, coincidentally, my Mormon neighbor invited me to a parent-youth night production and I became interested in the Church.”
Linda likes to tell of her ballet career and what means the most to her.
“I’ve been in ballet a long time. I started to learn when I was three years old and living in Dorchester, Massachusetts. As a child I also took up drama and singing and performed in off-Broadway productions such as Peter Pan. It was my mother who prompted me, but I didn’t begin to study ballet seriously until I moved to New York when I was eleven. I was asked by the New York City Ballet Corporation to be an apprentice for The Nutcracker, but I didn’t appreciate the honor and wanted to go home for the summer to enjoy swimming and have fun. The following year I was given the same opportunity; I accepted and began my professional career. I apprenticed until I was thirteen because it was unheard of to have anyone so young in the company. But when the company went to Europe, I got a chaperone and became an official member of the team.
“My European tour taught me a lot. I saw extreme luxury and poverty side by side. I gained an appreciation for my country and our way of life. It was all very exciting, and other neat opportunities came my way, such as an interview for Ladies’ Home Journal, because I was the youngest in the company.
“A great deal of self-discipline is needed in ballet. Having been an actress, dancer, and singer, I find dancing the most demanding profession of all because it takes so much of one’s time and is physically exhausting. I didn’t realize this when I first began studying. My main concern was to get into the company, but once I had made it, I found it even harder, especially since I was still in school. It was very difficult for me to keep up in school even though I went to a professional children’s school in arts and theater. I was still very young to be absent so much because of performances and rehearsals.”
Linda has a special feeling for theater and arts in general because she feels that it’s the best way she can express herself. Dance involves her total movement and expression of emotion, and she advises everyone to find the field of personal exposition that suits him best.
“My life has changed most drastically since I’ve been a member of the Church. Had I not found the truth, I wouldn’t now have the things that are important, like spirituality and the gospel. I’m not dancing very much anymore because dance takes up so much of my time that I’m not able to do the church work I feel I need to. The MIA program in particular means a lot to me, and I’m privileged to work with youth that I love dearly. Living the principles of the gospel is now my daily goal. The worst conflict between the Church and my profession is the time schedule. If I were performing, I wouldn’t be able to go to church on Sunday or to MIA. Being a new convert, it’s important for me to be there. Spiritually there is no conflict. I haven’t found the people in the theater to be wild and mysterious as they sometimes are portrayed. I think you get more of that in show business and musical comedy. Girls in our company range from sixteen to twenty-five years of age. They’re just out of school and are very dedicated. They don’t have time for the outside world, so it’s not a very wild kind of crowd.
“I often question whether I can be a Mormon and remain successful in my field. I hope it will be possible, yet I feel it’s important to have a family and raise them in the Church. That means more to me than my career. A couple of years ago I wouldn’t have given up dance for anything, but my idea of a good Latter-day Saint woman is one who is dedicated to her home and family. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to completely stop dancing after having been in the theater so long. I probably will always have the desire to perform. That’s the kind of conflict I haven’t yet resolved. I hope that if I live the gospel, the Lord will bless me with enough time to do both the way I want to.”

Emma probably first learned about the restored gospel while living with John and Nanave Rosenquist, a Latter-day Saint couple who treated her like an adopted daughter. She was baptized at the age of 12 on November 3, 1895. A missionary who attended the service testified of the powerful spirit felt at the baptism.

A few months later, John W. Beck, the president of the Samoan Mission, received approval from the First Presidency to send Emma and other Samoan children to Utah for schooling. She departed from Apia, Upolu’s main port, with President Beck and other missionaries on April 23, 1896. Although her biological parents consented to her leaving, they were in tears as they said goodbye.

It took Emma nearly three weeks to travel by steamship and railroad to Salt Lake City. The city was far bigger than her village on Upolu, and she must have felt overwhelmed by its busy streets and unfamiliar sounds. At the time, Utah had relatively few Polynesian residents. Most days, she would have seen no one who looked like her.

In Utah, Emma lived in the Salt Lake City Thirteenth Ward, received a good education at Church-owned schools, and kept in contact with returned missionaries from the Samoan Mission. Early on, her bishop recognized her potential and counseled her to prepare to serve a mission to her homeland.

Emma took his words to heart, and when the call came in early 1901, she was ready.

Some 900 miles (1,400 km) north of Salt Lake City is the beautiful city of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, home of the famous Calgary Stampede, one of Canada’s largest annual events and the world’s largest outdoor rodeo. The 10-day event features a rodeo competition, exhibits, agricultural competitions, and chuck wagon races. The Stampede Parade, which occurs on opening day, is one of the festival’s oldest and largest traditions. The parade follows a nearly three-mile (5-km) route in downtown Calgary, with attendance reaching 350,000 spectators, many dressed in western attire.

Several years ago, a marching band from a large high school in Utah had auditioned for and had received one of the coveted entries to march in the Calgary Stampede Parade. Months of fund-raising, early-morning practices up and down the streets, and other preparations were undertaken in order for the band to travel to Calgary and participate in the parade, where one band would be selected to receive the first-place honor.

Finally the day for departure arrived, with the eager students and their leaders boarding the buses and heading north for the long journey to Calgary.

While en route, the caravan stopped in Cardston, Alberta, Canada, where the group remained for an overnight stay. The local Relief Society sisters there prepared sack lunches for the band members to enjoy before departing again. Brad, one of the band members, who was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, was not hungry and decided to keep his lunch until later.

Brad liked to sit in the back of the bus. As he took his usual seat there in preparation for the remainder of the journey to Calgary, he tossed his sack lunch on the shelf behind the last row of seats. There the lunch sat by the rear window as the July afternoon sun shone through. Unfortunately, the sack lunch contained an egg salad sandwich. For those of you who don’t understand the significance of this, may I just say that egg salad must be refrigerated. If it is not, and if it is subjected to high heat such as that which would be produced by the sun beating through a bus window on a sunny day, it becomes a rather efficient incubator for various strains of bacteria that can result in what may commonly be referred to as food poisoning.

Sometime before arriving in Calgary, Brad grew hungry. Remembering the sack lunch, he gulped down the egg salad sandwich. As the buses arrived in Calgary and drove around the city, the members of the band grew excited—all except for Brad. Unfortunately, all that grew within him were severe stomach pains and other discomforts associated with food poisoning. You know what they are.

Upon arriving at their destination, the band members exited the bus. Brad, however, did not. Although he knew his fellow band members were counting on him to play his drum in the parade the following morning, Brad was doubled over in pain and was too sick to leave the bus. Providentially for him, two of his friends, Steve and Mike, who had recently graduated from high school and who had also recently been ordained to the office of elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood, found that Brad was missing and decided to look for him.

Finding Brad in the rear of the bus and learning what the problem was, Steve and Mike felt helpless. Finally it occurred to them that they were elders and held the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood to bless the sick. Despite their total lack of experience in giving a priesthood blessing, these two new elders had faith in the power they held. They laid their hands on Brad’s head and, invoking the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood, in the name of Jesus Christ uttered the simple words to bless Brad to be made well.

From that moment, Brad’s symptoms were completely gone. The next morning he took his place with the rest of the band members and proudly marched down the streets of Calgary. The band received first-place honors and the coveted blue ribbon. Far more important, however, was that two young, inexperienced but worthy priesthood holders had answered the call to represent the Lord in serving their fellow man. When it was necessary for them to exercise their priesthood in behalf of one who was desperately in need of their help, they were able to respond because they lived their lives righteously.