Gospel Story Finder

I have such fond memories of the power and blessings of prayer in the mission field. We prayed so many times—at the start of every day and over everything we did. I remember asking my first companion, “How many times can we pray?” His response taught me so much: “We really need His help, so we ‘pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart’.”9 We prayed and prayed and prayed and we were blessed.

One day when I was a freshman in high school, a person who is not a member of our Church visited our seminary class during a lesson on Joseph Smith and the First Vision. To close the lesson, our seminary teacher bore powerful witness that through Joseph Smith the Lord restored the true Church of Jesus Christ. He then asked if anyone else could add a second witness. With a nonmember present, I knew this would be a perfect time to bear my testimony. I stared down at my desk, waiting for some sign or feeling to prompt me to testify or share my thoughts. Yet, to my surprise, the opposite happened. I realized that although I knew what words I would say if asked, they didn’t yet mean anything to me personally. I’d learned about the First Vision ever since I was a child, yet now the real test had come and I didn’t know if any of it is true. After two long, silent minutes, the bell rang and our discouraged seminary teacher dismissed us.
Before heading home, I sat alone on the steps in front of the seminary building and pondered what had happened. I felt like I had failed in some way, and I knew I needed to know for myself. So I prayed and then asked myself: “Do I know that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and restored the true Church?”
Remarkably, the answer came instantly and powerfully. Yes. My prior discouragement was completely gone as the Spirit testified to me of the truthfulness of the Restoration. The more I pondered about what I believed, the stronger I felt that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored. Right then I resolved to bear my testimony of the First Vision when future opportunities arose.
A while later I was sitting in seminary when the same teacher again bore his testimony of the First Vision. He again asked if anyone would bear a second witness. I was instantly reminded of the resolution I had made after the previous experience, and my heart leaped at this second chance. I was grateful that my previous inability to bear my testimony had motivated me to learn for myself that Joseph Smith did indeed see Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and was instrumental in restoring the true Church. I was filled with joy and did not hesitate to stand and proudly bear my testimony of the First Vision, because I had learned for myself.

I share with you an example of two individuals who let their lights shine and whose good works were recognized and appreciated. Several years ago I received a letter from a lady whom I did not know but who chose me, for whatever reason, to write to concerning the example of two members of the Church who had had an influence for good in her life.

Her letter began, “Dear President Monson,” and then she wrote:

I would like to commend two of your church members for their extraordinary compassion and faith. I am a practicing Catholic and grew up in Salt Lake City. Oftentimes, as a youth, I remember feeling ostracized by the other children who lived on our block because I was not a member of the LDS Church. I must admit that this impression has stuck with me for many years, until my encounter with Rick and Dan McIntosh. Last year my sister’s husband, Tom Brown, was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and was given one year to live. He passed away last week. Of course neither my sister nor her husband are members of your church. For the past year, Rick, who is the bishop of the ward close to my sister, and Dan have spent countless hours with my sister and her family. They have prayed numerous times for Tom, and their wives have brought food to the house. They shoveled the walks in the winter. And each time they have come they have asked my sister if there was anything she needed or that they could do. And they meant it. It was not important to them that my family was not LDS. Tom was their neighbor and their friend, and they were there to do whatever they could to help. These two men truly live their faith, and I felt deeply moved by their compassion and example. From one who used to indulge in Mormon bashing, I am writing this letter to tell you that through the example of these two men, not only will I never again criticize the LDS faith, but I will not allow it to be criticized in front of me. Your church has my deepest respect.

When I got my first paycheck for my first real job (at a sandwich shop), I rewarded myself with a shopping spree. I bought some music and a cute outfit. After spending every dollar I’d earned, I thought about my purchases.
“There goes two whole weeks of work,” I thought. And a sick feeling started to grow in my stomach.
As I thought about all those hours of hard work making sandwiches, my superficial purchases hardly seemed worth it. I vowed to be more careful with my money.
So from then on, I saved every penny for college and a possible mission and never bought anything I wanted ever again.
Yeah, right.
I was still a normal teenager who wanted stylish clothes, good music, and fun activities with my friends. But coming from a big family, I knew that if I wanted those things, I would have to save money to pay for them myself.
It might sound impossible, but I found ways to be financially prepared for the future and have fun at the same time—even with a part-time job that didn’t pay very much. Here are some tips on how you can increase your “money smarts.”

Ashley* sweetly said good-bye and walked inside.
I still couldn’t believe my luck. Beautiful Ashley was my girl.
We were the perfect pair. Everybody said so. Late night walks, secret gifts … it was perfect. And nothing could ever tear us apart.
There was one tiny problem: I was 14 and she was 13.
But this was love! We were in love, so did age really matter?
Besides, it’s not like we were really “dating.” We were just two kids who happened to like each other and express it. It started with flirting and shy smiles, and then we held hands. But we were in control. And we were the cutest couple. Everyone said so.
I spent every waking moment with Ashley: at school, at Mutual, and at church. She lived only a few blocks away, so I even sneaked over to her house to spend more time with her. Everything was fantastic—but really, it wasn’t.
Our leaders and parents warned us not to date before we were 16, but I just figured they didn’t really understand our situation. We were good kids, and we were keeping the law of chastity, so the whole “no dating” thing wasn’t really for us, right? We were meant to be!
Turns out, we weren’t. Before long, Ashley found someone else and left me shattered. She stopped talking to me and lied about me to my friends, and I was heartbroken. So heartbroken that it threw me into a deep depression.
My thoughts turned dark, and I cried almost every night. I started ditching church to avoid Ashley. I refused to talk to my parents, ignored my friends, and drifted away from Heavenly Father. I felt completely alone and hopeless. It took a year of struggling, but slowly I began to feel better and happier, and I began to return to God as well.
No matter what I’d believed, I wasn’t an exception to the rule. I’d ignored the prophet’s counsel to not date before 16 or pair off exclusively or get physical too early, and there were consequences. I unlocked my heart and got too attached before it was time for me to love someone in that way. I became too emotionally dependent before my emotions were fully developed. I missed out on a lot because I was so caught up in “love” and then too caught up in my sadness.
My life would have been much easier and happier if I had just lived the dating standards. Maybe my leaders didn’t know about my situation, but the Lord did. The Lord perfectly understands every situation we are in. And He is the one giving us standards to live by. He is the one advising us to not date before we are 16 and to not steady date until we’re ready to consider marriage.
Even after I turned 16, I was careful to get to know lots of people and to not steady date. And sometimes it was still tough! It’s hard to resist the urge to jump into a relationship, especially when you find out your crush likes you back! It’s even harder to do the right thing when you’re already in a relationship. But now is the time to lock your heart. I know that no matter how hard it is to end or stay out of romantic relationships, it is always worth it to keep the standards the Lord has given us.

Big “wanted” posters were used as invitations for a super evening activity for the Young Women of the Hyrum Utah Stake and their dads. The event, which by request will be an annual event, was set to a western theme with over 350 in attendance.
A dinner of Navajo tacos and all the toppings was served. Then after a short program, the chairs and tables were shoved aside and the dancing began. Everyone had a great time learning to square dance and picking up a little bit of the western swing.
The girls were excited to have their fathers as escorts, and the evening was termed a great success with comments like, “This evening has been fabulous. I’ve never had such a good time.”

While I was stationed at an air base in Wyoming during World War II, it was announced in our branch sacrament meeting that the following week a branch conference would be held and that there was a good possibility that the mission president would bring a visiting authority from Salt Lake City with him. As we came to branch conference the following Sunday morning, we were introduced to that visiting authority—a man whom none of us had ever seen before. It was Elder Spencer W. Kimball, the newest member of the Twelve out on one of his very first assignments. His manner was kindly, his testimony so sure, but he expressed concern that such a high calling should come to one such as he.
Then with renewed confidence, he said in effect, “Brothers and Sisters: I don’t know exactly why the Lord has called me, but I do have one talent to offer. My father taught me how to work; and if the Lord can use a worker, I’m available.” Yes, the Lord could use a worker! In fact he needed a hard worker who might possibly be ready to assume prime responsibility at a most significant time.

I have been blessed with much. But one blessing always seemed to escape my grasp—a sense of self-worth. I know it did not help that I constantly compared myself with others. Often I would contrast my greatest weakness with another’s greatest strength. I was competing against the combined population of the world, and I wasn’t winning.
One day at school I had a particularly hard battle. My opponents were classmates who I felt were succeeding marvelously in ways I felt I was failing miserably. Frustrated and depressed, I wandered away from them and sat down in a secluded school hallway. I did everything in my power to fight back the tears trickling down my face.
Finally, I pulled out my Book of Mormon and started reading. I came across a scripture in 1 Nephi 19:9 [1 Ne. 19:9]: “And the world, because of their iniquity, shall judge him to be a thing of naught; wherefore they scourge him, and he suffereth it; and they smite him, and he suffereth it. Yea, they spit upon him, and he suffereth it, because of his loving kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men.”
The Spirit of the Holy Ghost came upon me and filled my whole being with understanding. Never had a scripture meant more to me than that one did at that time. More tears fell from my eyes.
The world viewed Jesus Christ himself with enmity and spite. Yet he triumphed. He knew who he was and what he had to do. He did not let the world’s rejection affect his self-image, destroy his relationship with his Father, or stop him from doing what he knew was right. I left my secluded hallway determined to succeed no matter how I am—or think I am—received by the world.

Carl (names have been changed) had recently been assigned to minister to Gus. Trying to find some common ground, Carl learned that Gus shared his interest in writing. So Carl invited him to go to the meeting of a local writers’ group. In the end, neither of them ever had time for the group, but the invitation led to a great conversation, which led to going to lunch together every few weeks—which helped form a friendship that Gus could rely on when later he needed help.

Our family has a personal interest in the massacre at Haun’s Mill because Sister Wirthlin’s great-grandfather, Joseph Young, was there. He had just arrived in Caldwell County, Missouri, from Kirtland, Ohio, when a small group of armed men told him he could proceed no further because he was a Mormon. He eluded the group and joined some of the Saints. He later saw the advancing mob of about 240 armed men fire into the mill where many of the Saints had taken refuge; he saw the robbing and looting. He fled to preserve his own life and then returned to help care for the wounded and bury the dead.

Recently a young ex-convict joined the Church after years of trouble and searching. His story is best told in his own words. Only the names have been changed. The following is taken from an address he taped while in prison. We publish it with his permission.
Brothers and sisters: I’m honored on this occasion to be able to speak to you about my life and to give some suggestions in regard to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The gospel has truly been restored in our time through Joseph Smith and all the other great souls who have been instruments in the hands of God and his Only Begotten Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
For those of you who don’t know who I am, it might be best for me to start by telling you a little bit about myself. My name is Bill, and I am twenty-one years old. Up until a few years ago, I was very unfortunate spiritually. Indeed, my present situation somewhat reflects this fact. I guess by now you know that I am housed in the prison system of this state.
I was born in a Baltimore suburb to a fine family consisting of my mother, father, two brothers, and two sisters. I was raised in the Roman Catholic Church and even attended a parochial grade school. I started out as a relatively good child and continued so up until around the fourth grade. Yes, as early as the fourth grade I was on my way to a long road of filth of every kind. I started by getting involved with others who had the habit of stealing anything and everything. By age eleven I found it quite amusing to obtain entry into private premises in order to steal and vandalize. Of course, eventually I was caught and brought before a judge. I was fortunate this time not to receive any punishment for my crimes.
Time passed, and soon I was involved in every kind of unlawful act a person my age could get into. Time and time again I was caught and punished accordingly.
Of course, this kind of behavior caused my parents and loved ones much sorrow. Even with all their efforts to help me, I just seemed to get worse. As time passed, I was introduced to many of the radical, subversive factions of our society and the things that went along with them. It seems I went from one extreme to another trying to find a purpose in life. I was, of course, eventually introduced to one of the strongest underminers of all that is good—drugs. I experimented and tried to find myself using all the inventions of man. However, as time passed, I sensed my degenerated position. I soon realized I must pull myself from this hell on earth; so with all the courage I could muster, I managed to get accepted in the United States Army.
Once in the army and away from my old surroundings, I was able to muster some faith in God, of which I always had a little portion. I remember reading in the Bible and pondering the true meaning of the many prophecies. I even tried to get reactivated in the Roman Catholic Church. That, however, soon subsided, and I was on my way seeking and looking. I remember pouring out my soul in prayer much more frequently during this period, but I would always manage to find myself reunited with one of my various vices. Eventually I was transferred to another area. There I found a small group of seekers after the truth who interpreted God in their own way. I remember it was there that I thanked God for my restoration of faith, but I still was not satisfied.
Finally I became discontented and discouraged with the army. I was due to be transferred to Vietnam, so I decided to go absent without leave. Leaving the army behind, I traveled from the west coast to the east. Eventually I ended up back at my home. My parents were disappointed in me, of course, but they sympathized with me and consented to let me stay at home.
Well, before too long I was back in trouble, and I was getting worse. One night I happened to come across a gun. This led to other things, and I soon talked myself into using it for gaining money. Leaving details aside, I did use it and was caught. I was detained in the county jail to await trial. While awaiting my trial, I had occasion to visit a library they had there. There were a number of books dealing with religion that I asked to see. One of these was entitled Religious Truths Defined, by Joseph Fielding Smith, Jr. To this day I don’t know how that book got there. But praise be to God for allowing a sinner like me to even read it.
I commenced reading the book, which compares the doctrine of many contemporary religious establishments to those of the church called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To me it seemed that even a blind person could see the obvious truths the book professed. After all this I had found the true church. That night I prayed to God, and I told him I believed. I didn’t ask if it were true; I told him I knew it was true.
Brothers and sisters, there are no words I know that can describe the tremendous joy and will to do good continuously that I received from an enormously gigantic outpouring of the Holy Ghost the next morning. I was dazed. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Why God led me to that book and what he has planned for me, I don’t know. But I do know that I have found the true church and the true God. I know that God is real, that Jesus Christ is his Only Begotten. I know the Holy Ghost does exist and that he works on the hearts of men.
Well, I was eventually punished for my wrongs and crimes. I thought that God had let me down at first. However, I stayed in contact with his church continuously and was strengthened more and more. Eventually I quit smoking and drinking, and all my vices and bad habits have almost completely vanished. I have managed to get my high school equivalent and now I’m close to graduation from junior college with a degree in business administration. I have almost two years in seminary work completed and have managed to read the standard works a number of times. I have read many of the other books related to the Church and have followed the Church as closely as possible. To my regret, however, I did receive an undesirable discharge from the army, for which I am really sorry. I surely will try to make it up.
I recently started receiving the missionary discussions and anxiously await the opportunity to be baptized, to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, and to get my patriarchal blessing. I believe in everything the Church says and does and can’t wait to be active in God’s work.
That is an extra-short version of my life’s story. Indeed, I could probably fill a couple of volumes with the complete version. But all in all, I have no doubts whatsoever concerning God’s church and work. How I look forward to the day I can be in it.
As for advice and suggestions, brothers and sisters, what can I tell you that hasn’t been told you by the prophets and authorities? I will say, Beware of the ways of the world. Be not concerned with societal standards or resulting sub-societies. “Fear God and keep his commandments, for that is the whole duty of man,” the Psalmist said. Please, trust God. Be pure. Don’t go through what I did, or even a minute portion of what I did. There’s no pleasure in it, only grief. So with that I will end my speaking. I give thanks to God above for bringing me this far, and for the change in my heart and the chance to tell someone my story so that maybe they can avoid what I went through. I also give thanks for all the great people I’ve met since my affiliation, for truly you are saints. May the Lord God of Israel be with you always and forever. Amen.

We vividly remember our own experience in marrying each other and having our first baby. After we became parents, we began to discover what Lehi had been talking about when he said that if Adam and Eve had remained in the Garden and had had no children, “they would have remained in a state of innocence, having no joy, for they knew no misery” (2 Ne. 2:23).
That scripture seems to say that if they had had no children, they would have known no misery. Only the parents of two-year-olds and teenagers can understand that! But it also says that without children and misery, they would have had no joy. How important is joy? Within two verses, Lehi tells us that “men are, that they might have [that very] joy” (2 Ne. 2:25; emphasis added).
In our case, here is what all that meant in a very down-to-earth sense. During her first pregnancy, Marie was sick—an odd way to be showered with joy. For part of each day for several months, she felt just terrible. It was morning sickness ad nauseum.
Then about four weeks before delivery she threatened to miscarry, which sent her to bed for several days, causing serious complications in the classes she was taking and those she was teaching. But when the big day finally came, even the hours of labor were worth it as she lay there in the hospital bed holding that beautiful baby boy.
Nothing could be more wonderful than this, she thought. Surely the world stops for such a beautiful baby.
The day after the baby was born, she was cuddling him happily in her hospital room when her doctor came in. A plain-spoken man, he looked at them and said cheerily, “How does it feel to have the easiest part over with?”
“Easiest part?”
“Why sure,” he replied. “It’s the next twenty years that are going to be tough.”
Now, more than twenty years later, we have discovered, right there among mortality’s thorns, the sweet fruit of having joy in our posterity. After all the diapers, the bruises, the washing, the cheering, the cleaning up, the pleading, the nail biting, the crying, the laughing, the pacing, and the praying, we understand. We feel about raising children the way Ammon felt about missionary work:
“And this is the account of Ammon and his brethren, their journeyings in the land of Nephi, their sufferings in the land, their sorrows, and their afflictions, and their incomprehensible joy” (Alma 28:8; emphasis added).

Last summer, my family and I were on vacation in California. While shopping at a local grocery store, we decided to eat hot dogs for dinner. I was starving, and I love hot dogs, so the first bite that I took was a huge one. I swallowed it wrong and started choking. I had to get my mom’s attention by making the universal sign for choking for her to notice. When she saw me she jumped up and started the Heimlich maneuver. After she tried a couple of times, the hot dog popped out, and I could breathe again. It was a really emotional, scary experience. For a few months after that, I wouldn’t even wear the shirt I had been wearing when I choked, because of the bad memory.

These brethren are not alone in their commitment to serve. I am reminded of a sister in Peru who has been called by her bishop to be a “special proxy” at the Lima Peru Temple. Her day begins at 3:00 A.M., and she begins her trek to the temple at 4:00 A.M. She has to take three different buses to get there. The cost of the bus takes more than one-third of her small monthly income. During a bus strike in Lima, she still came. Once she arrived in the back of a truck headed in the direction of the temple. What marvelous devotion to service!

The temple was as beautiful inside as it was outside. Everyone there was so nice, and there was a warm and peaceful spirit there. It was different than anything I had felt before. Everything was exactly perfect. My aunt brought names of some family members who hadn’t been baptized yet. As we were waiting, my mom and aunt and I imagined what these women were like when they lived on earth 300 years ago. It was special to have my dad baptize me for them.
Seeing everyone in white made me feel like I was surrounded by angels. The temple is like heaven on earth.

Not long ago, a dear friend had an impression to visit a woman in her ward. She brushed off the prompting because she hardly knew her—it just didn’t make sense. But since the thought kept coming to her, she decided to act on the prompting. Because she was already feeling uncomfortable about the impending visit, she determined that taking something to the sister would help ease her anxiety. Certainly she couldn’t go empty-handed! So she bought a container of ice cream, and off she went to begin what she worried might be an awkward visit.
She knocked on the woman’s door, and shortly the sister answered. My friend handed her the ice cream in a brown paper bag, and the conversation began. It didn’t take long for my friend to realize why the visit was needed. As they sat together on the front porch, the woman unveiled a host of challenges she was facing. After an hour of talking in the warm summer weather, my friend noticed the ice cream melting through the brown paper bag.
She exclaimed, “I am so sorry that your ice cream melted!”
The woman sweetly responded, “It’s OK! I’m lactose intolerant!”
In the case of the melted ice cream, what mattered most? The ice cream? Or that my friend simply did something?

When we went back to Boston we took with us an eight-year-old daughter. Our other two were attending Brigham Young University, and we left them here. We went from a family of five to a family of three in one evening, never again to be brought together as a family because both of my older daughters married while we were on our missions. That’s a great experience, but here now my little eight-year-old became an only child overnight—quite a frustration. And then, to top it off, we moved to a new area; and she was lonesome for her friends and her acquaintances at school.
We signed her up in the Russell School in Cambridge. The Russell School was built in 1888; and it is not a very imposing looking school, except to an archaeologist. It had lots of weeds in the yard, and a terribly musty smell greeted one as he entered the building. The floorboards buckled, and you got an eerie feeling as you walked the halls.
We tried to prepare this little girl for her first day at school just as soon as we arrived. Because it was a long way off, she didn’t panic; but as the day drew closer her concern increased. We took her shopping for new school clothes, had a family evening organized around how to adjust and what to do and how to turn yourself out to adjust to the new environment. She could handle that all right, because it was still theory. And then the night before, we planned a special program around helping her for the special day. She retired to her bed all right but seemed quite restless.
The next few hours passed, and then she suddenly appeared at the door where I was studying. She was rubbing her stomach. She said, “Dad, I’m sick.” Now, you know what kind of sickness she had, don’t you? Not physical, not mental, but emotional. “Can’t sleep, sir.”
Well, I invited her over, put her on my lap, and we chatted for a moment. Then I put on some music that we liked to listen to together and rubbed her tummy. She finally drifted into never-never land and seemed pretty well under control. I took her body, with its dangling legs, upstairs and put her back to bed. I turned to go out, got as far as the door, and she said, “I’m still awake.” I went back and lay down on the bed and stroked her head for a few moments, and she finally went to sleep.
The next morning while I was at breakfast she came down dressed only in her slip. She said, “Dad, I just thought you ought to know I don’t think I’ll go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Now, you know what she’s trying to tell me, don’t you? “I’m nervous. Will my teachers like me? Will I be accepted?” Oh, she was not capable of asking those kinds of questions, but these were the concerns of her heart. She was lonely; she didn’t know how to fit in. She was concerned about making new friends.
And I said, “Well, you know the answer to that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I guess we’re going.”
I said, “How would you like your mother and me to drive you over?” She liked that, so we did.
We got in front of the school, and the tears started to well up. The warning bell sounded; I got her out of the car, and she grabbed hold of my leg like a tackle I hope we’ve got this year for BYU. I had to drag her, literally, to the door. The door opened, and now she clung to both legs. I shall never forget the expression on the face of that eight-year-old. She looked at me, and she said, “Dad, if you really love, if you really do, you won’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may sound like a strange philosophy: it’s because I do love you that I am sending you in there.”
We went in. The tears really came now, without shame. Then it happened. Then the little miracle. Around the corner came the only other Latter-day Saint in the whole student body. Thank God, another eight-year-old girl. And she had seen her a couple of times at some stake functions. And this little girl was an extrovert’s extrovert. Even though only eight, she had learned to lose herself in the interest of others. She came around the corner, and she said, “Oh, Kellie! How are you? Gosh, it’s good to see you! What’s your home room number?” And Kellie told her. “Great! That’s mine, too. Come on, I’ll show you where.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go, got about ten paces out in front of me; and then I’ll never forget this lesson. She turned and said, “Oh, Dad, you can go now. I don’t need you anymore.”

Time after time, in meetings or by myself, my soul has been filled with joy at what I have experienced. One sacred occasion occurred during and after a high council hearing to consider a recommendation to rebaptize a brother who had been excommunicated. I was in the stake presidency then. During the hearing, we listened to the man bear testimony and express his desire to be rebaptized. I understood his longing to come back, and my soul was filled with joy to hear of his faithfulness in making his situation right. When he finished, he was excused from the room, and the court deliberated briefly, deciding to recommend rebaptism. The stake president asked me to inform the brother of the decision.

I went through the side door into the waiting room where he was seated alone, anxiously awaiting the decision. I took him by the hand as he stood and said, “My dear brother, the decision of the court is that you be rebaptized.” He fell into my arms, and we wept. How can I describe the joy that filled our souls as we benefitted from the loving influence of the Spirit?

In a recent letter to the editor, I read:
“One is continually hearing about the ‘Terrible Teenagers’ with their obnoxious dress and deplorable actions. How refreshing it was to have a most thrilling experience with—yes, four teenagers.
“One evening I was hosting a special guest from New York City. We were on our beautiful Temple Square, admiring the Seagull Monument. As we turned to go, four teenagers approached us. I immediately felt the [in]security of my gentleman guest, when one of the group stepped forward and said, ‘Lady, we would like to present you with this rose to make you happy, and hope that you will have a nice evening.’
“There clutched in his hand was a beautiful, long-stemmed American Beauty red rose, with a spray of fern, artistically wrapped in cellophane.
“‘We bought this rose to give to someone, and when we saw you, we thought you were the one.’
“As they turned to leave, I quickly got their names, expressing my most profound appreciation and admiration for their thoughtfulness and kindness to me, which was so unusual, and how I was quite overwhelmed to think that four teenagers would have the desire for such a gracious act, and that no one would appreciate it more than I would, a little grandmother, as I gave each one a big hug.” (Irene E. Staples, Deseret News, 22 Sept. 1985, p. A-19.)

Have you ever dreamed of camping in a winter wonderland, or building your own igloo, or touring across snow-covered meadows and hills on cross-country skis? Well, we did. The Scouts and leaders from Azusa Third Ward and Glendora Fifth Ward of the Glendora California Stake planned and worked together to make that dream come true.
On the first day of the year, we packed up and headed for Sequoia National Park. There we were issued backpacking stoves, cook kits, and other gear to prepare for our climb to high country which was covered with nearly four feet of snow. We made sure each Scout was adequately prepared with heavy sleeping bags, pads, wool socks and mittens, and layers of clothing plus skis, poles, and boots.
Most of us had never skied before. Boy, were we in for a surprise! Boy Scouts and leaders were down in the snow everywhere along the trail. When we reached camp and learned how to tramp down the snow to set up tents, the boys got busy digging paths to each other’s tents and sculpting places for stoves and kitchen equipment.
We spent the days exploring on skis or building traditional igloos with blocks of snow and enjoying each other’s company in the tops of the mountains. We received training in avalanche patrol and learned how to find a buried skier. We gained a new respect for avalanches and the tremendous power they have.
On the last day, we organized an impromptu “Olympic” competition. As the whistle blew, we were off through the meadow, doing a herringbone step up a hill, then down the mountain and over a few small jumps to the finish line.
It was a good way to end our dream come true. We enjoyed good comradeship as we learned to work together with some new skills.