Gospel Story Finder

Family was extremely important to Elder Perry. He met his first wife, Virginia Lee, as he was counting attendance for a stake leadership meeting in college. He said later that he did all right in taking the young men’s attendance, but when it was time to tally the young women, his math skills hit a roadblock. “Suddenly my eyes met a charming, beautiful young woman. I completely lost my ability to count.”
Eight months later, on July 18, 1947, L. Tom Perry and Virginia Lee were married in the Logan Utah Temple.4 Together they raised three children. Virginia Lee passed away in 1974. Elder Perry later fell in love again and married Barbara Taylor Dayton in 1976.

Once I did something terrible to him without meaning to. He was coming up the stairs, steadying himself with his hand on the wall. When he got to the door at the top, his hand poked through where the door hinge is. I didn’t see him, and I slammed the door on his finger. He screamed and screamed. Mom and Dad rushed him to the hospital because the end of his finger was badly cut and he needed stitches. I felt awful. But when he came back home, he gave me a hug, so I knew that he still loved me. He was really brave and hardly ever cried about his finger, and he wasn’t even two years old! I felt awfully proud of him.

Before filming at the Mount of Beatitudes, the choir boarded two boats at Tiberias and crossed the Sea of Galilee. About halfway across the sea, which can give rise to sudden storms as it did the night Christ calmed the waters, the boats stopped, a prayer was offered, and the choir and others sang “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.”
“I really felt the Spirit when we stopped out on the Sea of Galilee,” says one choir member. “I’ve really never felt it that strongly before.”

I remember watching other kids reading with delight in class. Everyone in my family could read and did a lot of it. I once asked my brother, Rob, what was so great about reading. He smiled when he told me that when you read it’s like a whole new world opens.
I had heard the stories of Joseph Smith only being 14 when he received answers to his prayers. I wanted to experience this new world of reading. I was 13, living in Arizona with my dad. In early October, I prayed, sobbing into the sheets of my bed, begging the Lord to grant me the gift of reading. I promised that if he would grant me this great blessing, I would read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover.
Amazingly, in less than 18 days, I jumped six reading levels and was up to the same grade level as others my age. Once I had been told that was impossible. The miracle happened. I struggled but kept my promise and read the whole Book of Mormon. I have since moved on to the other scriptures.
Now that I am 15, I bear my testimony that the scriptures are so important that Heavenly Father allowed a girl with a learning disability to read. I know it is important to him that all of his children read his sacred books. The scriptures have changed my life forever.

I have just read a copy of the New Era, which our seminary teacher let me bring home. Never have I known God lived so much as when I finished reading some of the articles. And the Church is really great for giving us this help. My father and mother were formerly active in the Church and went to the temple, but they do not live as they did once. I showed them this magazine and my father said he’d pay half of the subscription rate. He even read some of the articles about things he likes. So I want to take the magazine as much for him and mother as for myself. As a result of reading some of your articles, I am really going to try to live better and to get my parents active again.
Name Withheld—a girl

On a memorable Christmas Eve in 1937, Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, then a full-time missionary, and his companion walked from Salzburg, Austria, to the village of Oberndorf, nestled in the Bavarian Alps. While visiting the village known as the inspiration for the hymn “Silent Night,”1 they paused in a small church to listen to Christmas music sung by a choir.
“A crisp, clear winter night enveloped us as we began our return trip,” Elder Wirthlin recalled. “We walked under a canopy of stars and across the smooth stillness of new-fallen snow.”2
As they walked, the young missionaries shared their hopes, dreams, and goals for the future. In that heavenly setting, Elder Wirthlin renewed his commitment to serve the Lord: “I made up my mind that I would magnify any callings I received in the Lord’s kingdom.”3

Last year, when I was five years old, I wanted to practice being a missionary. I decided to give the family home evening lesson. I prepared the lesson by myself. I cut out temple pictures from old magazines so I could talk about temples. When I showed a picture of a temple, I asked my family to guess which temple it was. Then I read the name that was written on the back of it. I wore my church clothes. On my white shirt, I had attached a little missionary tag that my grandparents had given me. It said “Future Missionary.”
This experience helped me to be more like Jesus Christ because He was a missionary too. He taught and served many people. I want to be a missionary like Jesus Christ.

After a grueling confinement throughout the winter in Liberty Jail, the Prophet Joseph and his fellow Latter-day Saint prisoners were granted a change of venue for trial. Apparently to spare the state from the publicity of a trial, the guards allowed their prisoners to escape while en route to the new venue. They crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois on April 22, 1839, where they joined the Saints from Missouri, who had received a sympathetic reception from the citizens of Quincy, Illinois. That same day the Prophet hired James Mulholland to again keep a journal for him. From April to October 1839, Brother Mulholland recorded the Prophet’s activities in 15 pages of a handmade pamphlet titled “Minute Book.”

When I was about twelve years old, my father became very ill with bone cancer. I prayed and prayed that he would get well, but he grew steadily worse until finally he died, leaving my mother alone to care for ten children. I could not understand why the Lord didn’t answer my prayers or why my father was taken from us. We needed him much more than the Lord did. However, as the years went by I learned that the Lord’s ways are not necessarily the easiest ways. We all missed my father a great deal, but I came to understand that the struggles endured without him made us stronger and helped to build character in each of us. Although it was very difficult for my mother to rear ten children alone, because of her great faith in Heavenly Father and her constant prayers, all of us grew to love the Lord and to be faithful members of the Church.

Naheed drank her breakfast of lassi (a mixture of buttermilk and sugar cane juice), but she did not really want it. She was too excited either to eat or to drink, because today she would go to school for the first time in her life.
Naheed would be eleven years old soon, and as long as she could remember, she had wanted to go to school. But in her small village in Pakistan it was unusual for girls to go to school. Naheed loved to go into the post office to watch Ali Mujuber, the calligrapher, writing letters for the villagers who could not write for themselves. She also listened as he read the replies that came back to those who sent letters.
Ali Mujuber would first ask the person who wanted to send a letter, “To whom is it to go?” and “To what village or town?” Then he would take his bamboo pen, check its point carefully, dip it into the big ink bottle while listening carefully to what the person wanted to say in the letter, and start scratching words onto the paper.
Naheed would watch closely as Ali Mujuber formed the beautiful characters. She liked to hear the scratching sound of the pen. And she enjoyed sniffing the ink smell and hearing the drone of the villager’s voice. More than anything in the world, Naheed wanted to know the mystery of the writing and the reading of the squiggly shapes … and today she would begin.
“Very soon I can do what Ali Mujuber does,” she mused.
Her brother, Bashir, heard her. He smiled, for he had gone to school for a short time himself before Father needed him in the fields. “It is not so easy,” he warned. But he cheerfully helped his sister prepare her clay slate and bamboo writing stick.
Soon Naheed left her home carrying the slate and sharpened writing stick.
“Kuda Hafiz (may the Almighty save you),” Mother called as Naheed started down the path to the great spreading banyan tree in whose shade the pupils would learn from their teacher. The small village had no school building. School would only be held on dry days, for if it rained, the students would have to run home for shelter.
Naheed dawdled on the way home, wondering just how many days it would take sitting under the banyan tree for her to know all that Ali Mujuber knew. Her head was in a spin thinking of the many, many days to come. “Maybe I was foolish to think I could ever do such an important and difficult thing as reading and writing,” she murmured half aloud. Perhaps Mother needs me at home, she pondered. Perhaps school is a waste of the hours.
Mother sat beside the fire in the courtyard making chapati, the bread for the family’s evening meal. She greeted Naheed with a smile. “And how was school?” she asked.
Naheed shrugged and went into the family’s room to put up the slate and bamboo stick.
Mother looked anxious as Naheed came back to the courtyard. “How was school?” she asked again.
“Mother, I cannot do that which Ali Mujuber can do. I can never make even one of the figures that mean so much in the letters Ali Mujuber writes.”
Mother stopped her work and looked into her daughter’s eyes for many beats of the heart. At last she spoke quietly. “Naheed, my daughter,” she began, “many of the duties of a woman’s life are learned easily in a moment or in an hour or a day. When I was a girl like you, I was given only these kinds of tasks. The school was closed to girls. But you … you, my daughter, have the chance of learning words and their sweet secrets. But such precious secrets are not given easily … surely not in one day’s time.”
Naheed’s eyes fell. Mother was right. Naheed had made a big mistake in thinking she would learn everything on the first day of school. She left her mother and skipped to the center of the village. Her heart was light. “I can do it. I know I can do it,” she hummed to herself.
She watched the village boys line up for a game of pir kaudi (tag or tackle game, having a finish line). From where she stood she saw her mother moving gracefully with the big water jug on her head along with the other women of the village toward the well.
Suddenly she was filled with a feeling of hope and gratitude. She was going to school again tomorrow and for many tomorrows to come, but she was not going to go alone. She would take with her every day the young girl her mother once was. And Naheed would learn so much so well that she could teach her mother everything she (Naheed) learned. Everyone in the family would then have a person nearby to read and to write the precious words of the world.

On October 27, 2021, I fell on my morning walk and broke my shoulder. Three days after spending hours in the ER, my husband and I contracted COVID-19, and I became very ill and had to be hospitalized. There were serious complications that resulted in my body going into septic shock and renal failure.
After four months of ICU stays, intubation, surgeries, dialysis, and rehabilitation, I finally was able to come home.
One of the most spiritual events during this incredible journey was three days before I was first intubated. I could tell I was having trouble filling my lungs. Curiously, I got the idea to sing.
I now see that the Holy Ghost was teaching me, before I entered the deep pit of three months of health problems and hospital stays, to praise God in the hard thing. I had often marveled how Nephi was able to praise God while tied to the mast of a ship (see 1 Nephi 18:9–16) or how Joseph in Egypt could praise God for years as a slave or prisoner (see Genesis 39–41). I could understand being grateful for delivery from trials and lessons after the fact, but how do you praise God in the middle of the hard thing?
That night I found a recording of The Tabernacle Choir on YouTube, from when my husband was a member of the choir, and sang these words with them:
Come to us we pray,
Receive our love,
Behold our joy,
And bless our praising.1
I probably sang that song 15 times that night, one of the most sacred nights I’ve ever experienced. Looking back, I know the Lord was helping me build the ark for the coming flood (see Genesis 6–8) and teaching me a lesson I would need and use for eternity.
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that the refining process—who we become in the trial—is definitely a blessing. But the greater blessing is better knowing our beloved Father, His Son, and the Holy Ghost. Elder Christofferson promised, “We can anticipate a growing trust and faith in the Father and the Son, an increasing sense of Their love, and the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Spirit.”2
All three of those promises were realized in this challenging time in my life:
I now trust Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost more than I did before these health challenges. Elder Christofferson counseled: “Allow Them over time to manifest Their fidelity to you. Come truly to know Them and truly to know yourself [see 1 Corinthians 13:12].”3
My prayers became constant, with no formal beginnings or endings—just an endless conversation with my beloved Father in Heaven.
My life was spared so I could witness that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are always with us. Their tutelage during this earthly experience is profoundly personal and intimate. They will leave nothing undone for our good. They were with me every single moment of this unusual trial of facing death, losing all my strength, and relearning every single thing my body once knew how to do effortlessly. My prayers became constant, with no formal beginnings or endings—just an endless conversation with my beloved Father in Heaven, who created me to have this experience so I could learn to trust Him and love Him better.
Depiction of Jesus healing a woman by Mason Coberly
It can be difficult to imagine that adversity, especially pain, is a manifestation of God’s love. But I was spared to witness that God loves us so much, He allows the conditions of the Fall, our own agency, and the agency of others to provide learning opportunities in a world of opposition. We could receive these valuable lessons in no other way.
The most loving instructions I received in the darkest days of complete helplessness were these three words: “Be here now.” I came to recognize that Father didn’t want me to dwell on the “what ifs” or “if onlys” of the past. Nor did He want me to become overwhelmed at the seemingly impossible milestones still ahead of me.
The most loving instructions I received in the darkest days of complete helplessness were these three words: “Be here now.”
The instruction to be here now taught me two valuable lessons: I learned to truly experience all the wretchedness of the experience so I could witness forever that I wasn’t in that place alone. I was succored and supported by Jesus Christ because of His atoning sacrifice.
Even more sacred to me, I learned that if I had wished away that sacred place of here and now, I would miss out on the opportunity He gave me to be here now with Him and to fully be there with the knowledge that in addition to atoning for my sins, His suffering also made it possible for Him to understand my pains and my sickness (see Alma 7:11–12).
Learning to be here now is what has taught me that He truly wants to always be here—with me. Because I sought Him in the wretchedness of that place, I found Him there.
Recognizing the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Ghost has always been one of the most tender evidences of God’s love for me. I’ve always felt profound gratitude for the personal guidance I receive from the Holy Ghost. Because of my illness, I had to relearn to do the most simple tasks, and going through that process meant learning to listen in new, important ways. The Holy Ghost helped me with everything from not eating too fast or taking too big a bite when I was relearning to eat to learning whether to push my limit or back off when relearning how to sit or stand up.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort. I was regularly prompted to say, “Tell me your story.” The Holy Ghost taught me of the heroism of these hardworking, overworked angels and instructed me to testify to them of God’s love for them and to acknowledge their nobility. Focusing on something besides my own miserable condition was important training to think of others before myself when my personal needs were so huge.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort.
God’s love is evident in the lessons learned in each of our personalized curriculums and His unfailing companionship through them.
The most important lesson I learned was to praise Him: to acknowledge unceasingly that He is good; that He has all knowledge, love, light, and power; and that His perfect plan has power to save His children. I rejoice in being a part of it.
Praise is more than gratitude. It implies trust, a sense of God’s love for us personally, and an acknowledgement of His consistent comfort and guidance. Praise saved me from despair.
Elder Christofferson concludes his talk: “In the end, it is the blessing of a close and abiding relationship with the Father and the Son that we seek. It makes all the difference and is everlastingly worth the cost.”4
Francis Webster, a survivor of the Martin handcart company, expressed it perfectly: “The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay.”5 I am a witness: it is a privilege indeed.
The image of praise in the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses my joy that God is my Father, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, and that the Holy Ghost is my teacher and testator—that these three are indeed my truest, most unfailing and faithful Friends.
Finish then, thy new creation; true and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee.
Changed from glory into glory, till in heav’n we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise.”6
This beautiful hymn is referencing Revelation 4:10–11:
“The [faithful] fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,
“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou has created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”
We receive those crowns by virtue of the perfect obedience and generosity of Jesus Christ. He shared His earned inheritance with us, who could never earn it without Him. How fitting that we should cast those crowns at His feet, in eternal praise for His goodness and the goodness of our great Father, who would allow that perfect Son to suffer all our hard things with us so that He could share celestial glory with us.
I was spared to witness that I’ve learned these things by the power of the Holy Ghost. For this priceless knowledge, I praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The author lives in Utah.

I know of a quorum of priests who really demonstrated how to love. Included in the quorum was a young man whose life was lived in a wheelchair because of paralysis. It was even difficult for him to speak so he could be understood. Despite his severe handicaps, the quorum rallied around him as his brothers in the gospel. They included him in all their activities. When they played basketball Eddy was there in his wheelchair, cheering them on. When they went waterskiing, Eddy was there on the bank, enjoying the outing with them. When they went to a movie, they wheeled Eddy into the theater with them. Those quorum members lifted him and his wheelchair in and out of the car wherever they went. He was truly one of them. You should have seen the bond of love that developed in that quorum. They brought meaning and worth into Eddy’s life, but they brought happiness into their own lives. I was very proud of these young men. They honored their priesthood.

Shortly after my daughter, the first of our three children, was born, my wife and I purchased a piano. We hoped she would have musical talent like her grandfather—a fine composer and pianist. I particularly liked to imagine her playing the piano at church, accompanying the congregation. This would please our Father in Heaven, I thought. And the gift of music would bless our family.
Several years passed, with the piano serving no purpose other than decorating our living room. One day my father-in-law offered to teach me to read music. At some point in the future, he said, I might even be able to play a few simple pieces. I considered the very idea a joke—and not a very good one. I had never even considered that I might have musical talent. Nevertheless, he began to work with me. Unfortunately, I found the study of music unpleasant and even painful, and I quit studying about six months later. In time, I forgot what little I had learned.
In 1983 our daughter turned eight, and my wife and I felt she was old enough to begin music lessons. Unfortunately, she did not enjoy the lessons any more than I had. Since we had already paid for a month of lessons, I decided to take the remaining lessons myself. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed the lessons, and after they ended, I continued to practice on my own. My progress was slow, but by the time the Christmas season came around, I could almost play six different hymns.
When the bishop visited us during the Christmas holidays, I played “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, number 206) and asked him to sing along. We had to start over several times because I made so many mistakes, but eventually we finished the carol. The bishop encouraged me to keep practicing and to learn a sacrament hymn. I began to practice very faithfully, and to my surprise, I found that practicing was no longer drudgery. I had a goal for myself—to be able to play at church.
On one occasion while I was practicing I distinctly heard a voice singing the melody of the hymn I was playing. A wave of emotion swept over me, and I felt that my Father in Heaven was pleased with my efforts.
Several months passed, and I continued to practice devotedly. One Sunday I went to church early to practice. The room was quite dark and I couldn’t see well, but I sensed that someone was watching me. Soon the bishop stepped forward. He told me he had been listening, and he felt I was ready to play for Church meetings. I played the piano for the Madrid Second Ward that very day. A few days later, I was officially set apart as the ward pianist.
By this time practicing was exciting, and I was surprised at how quickly I was able to learn the hymns. I worked hard, but I realized that my efforts were being magnified by the Holy Ghost. My Heavenly Father had prepared me little by little for this calling and was now helping me fulfill it.
Today, playing the piano continues to be a great joy. I play for priesthood meetings in the Madrid Third Branch, where I am the branch president. My daughter also eventually resumed her music studies and has served as branch pianist. She is now married and lives in Madrid, Spain.
Often as I play I think of the Lord’s words: “My soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). I am grateful that my Heavenly Father prepared me with a desire and blessed me with the ability to play the hymns of the Church. They are truly a prayer unto him.

Kim was excited about family home evening. Grandma and Grandpa were coming to stay for a visit, and they were going to share a special lesson.
Grandma and Grandpa arrived at Kim’s house on Monday afternoon. Kim, Cody, Kate, and even baby Connor could hardly wait for family home evening.
Grandma started the lesson with a question: “What does it mean to go the extra mile?”
Kim, Cody, and Kate thought and thought. They didn’t know.
Mom spoke up. “If someone asks you to go one mile with them, you would go two miles.”
“If the bishop asks us to help someone, we can do what he asks us to do and then see if there is something more that needs to be done,” Dad said.
“I get it!” Cody said. “If Mama asked me to clean my room, I could clean up the living room too. And go the extra mile!”
“Great examples,” Grandma said. “Do you have any more ideas?”
Kim said, “If Mama asks me to watch Connor while she fixes dinner, I could play with him instead of just watching him.”
“If Mama asks me to water the plants, I could put water in Toby’s dog dish too,” Kate said.
“If Daddy asks me to carry a bag of groceries, I could go back and carry another bag,” Cody said.
“I love your ideas!” Grandma said.
“Grandpa hasn’t said anything,” Kim said. “What could you do to go the extra mile, Grandpa?”
Grandpa thought for a few seconds. “If Grandma asks me to eat one cookie, I could eat two cookies,” he said.
Kim laughed. “Oh, Grandpa, you are so silly,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Grandpa asked. “Don’t you think it would be going the extra mile to eat two cookies instead of just one?”
Kim, Cody, and Kate laughed.
Grandma laughed too. Then she asked everyone to remember the lesson and go the extra mile whenever they could.
After Grandma and Grandpa’s visit was over, they went back to their own home. Grandma called Kim, Cody, and Kate every once in a while to see what they were doing to go the extra mile.

“Melanie and I just celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary with our family, walking in the paths of the land that our Savior made holy.
“Because this was a family trip—and not an official Church assignment—I wanted to be a dad and husband but also fulfill my calling as an Apostle to be a special witness of the Lord, wherever I may be. I prayed that God would put experiences and people in my path so I could be an instrument in His hands—and He heard my prayers.
“One such example was with a group of young humanitarian volunteers. We unexpectedly ran into most of the members of this group at Caesarea Philippi. I testified to them that as the Apostles of old proclaimed there that Jesus was indeed the Christ and the Son of the living God, I too could bear my solemn witness of the same. And I humbly do so!
“The next day, I began my morning with the prayer that if I could be put in the path of anyone who needed my love or testimony, then I would be properly directed. The location where we had planned to go for lunch was closed, so we went somewhere else. Not long after we sat down, the full group of young humanitarian volunteers from the day before entered as well. Their lunch plans had also been rerouted. We learned that one of the young men had cried the night before because he had missed the chance to meet an Apostle. Both of our prayers were heard, and God orchestrated our paths to cross—for the one.
“God hears our prayers. He answers the one. By divine design, He directs the details of our lives. He loves each and every one of us so very much. Just as Jesus Christ ministered to those in the Holy Land 2,000 years ago, He does the same for us today, wherever we are.
“I am grateful to be a witness to His power and His love, to make all things possible to them that believe. May it be so for each of us as we place our lives and hopes in His hands.”

In 1948, the children of Berlin, Germany, knew all about bombs falling from the sky. But miniature parachutes carrying candy bars? That was something new. And it was all thanks to a member of the Church who wanted to send a message of love and hope to those children.
During World War II, bombs had destroyed many homes and buildings in Berlin. After the war, the whole city looked flattened and almost deserted. Now only 2.8 million people lived in a city where 4.6 million once lived.
But now there was another terrible enemy in Berlin—hunger! The people needed about 5,000 tons of food a day, but the city had only about 100 tons. How would the people keep from starving? Several countries sent cargo planes with supplies. They brought flour, milk, dried eggs, potatoes, and other food for people to eat and coal and gasoline to keep them warm.
One of the pilots who flew a big C-54 cargo plane was an LDS young man who grew up on a farm in Utah. His name was Gail Halvorsen. He flew daily missions to Berlin.
One day on his day off, Brother Halvorsen took his movie camera to the runway where the supply planes landed every three minutes. He noticed a group of children at the end of the runway watching the planes land. He talked to them. They were so brave! And they were very grateful for the food the planes brought.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his last two pieces of chewing gum. When he gave them to the children, they broke them into tiny pieces to share. Some only got to smell the wrappers, but none of them asked for more.
Then Brother Halvorsen had a great idea. He knew Heavenly Father loved those children. He wanted them to know that they were important and that someone cared about them. He wanted them to be happy and to have hope. “Watch for me tomorrow,” he said.
“But how will we know which plane is yours?” the children wondered.
“I’ll wiggle the wings of my plane as a signal,” Brother Halvorsen promised.
That evening Brother Halvorsen bought some chocolate bars. He made parachutes out of his handkerchiefs and attached them to the chocolate.
The next day as he neared the runway with his load of food, Brother Halvorsen moved the wings of his plane up and down. Then he dropped his candy parachutes to the children watching below.
Soon Brother Halvorsen received many letters addressed to Onkel Wackelflügel (“Uncle Wiggly Wings”). Other pilots started helping too. Children and adults back home donated handkerchiefs and candy.
In all, about 20 tons of candy floated down on little parachutes to the children of Berlin. And each one carried an important message. Every child is important, and each one is loved.

On February 29, 1828, a baby girl was born in Petersham, Massachusetts. She was the seventh child of David and Diadama Woodward. Named Emmeline, the child soon showed a talent for writing and a desire to learn, so her parents enrolled her in grammar school. Even after Emmeline’s father died, her mother made sure that Emmeline attended school. Later Diadama remarried, and the family moved to nearby New Salem. This move benefited Emmeline greatly. There her mother was able to raise the money needed for tuition to send Emmeline to a good private school, the New Salem Academy.
While Emmeline was away at school, an elder from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to New Salem and converted several people. Among them were Emmeline’s mother, her two younger sisters, and a half brother. When Emmeline returned home from school, her mother encouraged her to join the Church too. Despite the objections of Emmeline’s friends and her older brothers and sisters, she was baptized in the Old Morse Creek on March 1, 1842.
After finishing school, Emmeline began teaching in Orange, Massachusetts, for $1.50 a week. However, her teaching career was soon cut short. Fearing that her daughter, standing alone, might not be able to withstand the persecutions against the Church, Diadama arranged a quick marriage in July 1843 between Emmeline and James Harris, a son of the local branch president. The youngsters were both fifteen years old at the time.
In April 1844 Emmeline left Massachusetts with her husband and his family for Nauvoo, Illinois. Upon their arrival in Nauvoo, Emmeline had the privilege of meeting and shaking the hand of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who was cruelly martyred just a few months later.
Times were hard for the Saints, and James’s parents wanted to leave the Church. They entreated their son and his pregnant wife to join them, but the young couple refused. Emmeline and James’s child, a son, was born in September 1844, but he died several weeks later. After losing their child, James left to find work and never returned.
Grieving and alone at the age of sixteen, Emmeline decided to remain in Nauvoo and teach school. She became acquainted with Bishop Newel Whitney, and on February 14, 1845, they were married. In 1848, Emmeline traveled with Newel and his family to Salt Lake City, Utah. Within two weeks of their arrival in the Valley, Emmeline gave birth to a girl.
After living in Salt Lake Valley for two years, Newel died. Once again Emmeline was left alone, and again she turned to teaching. She taught sixty-five children in a log house without desks, blackboard, or books.
Emmeline’s teaching career ended in October 1852 when she married Daniel H. Wells, a prominent Church leader, who later served as a counselor to Brigham Young for twenty years. Daniel and Emmeline had three daughters, and Emmeline was a devoted wife and mother. Secure in her marriage, Emmeline was able to use many of her talents, especially her writing. She wrote letters and poems to friends and relatives. Writing had become for her a “solace in times of trouble and sorrow, something to turn to for relief, and in a way a pasttime.”
Emmeline’s talent for writing soon led her to contribute to the Woman’s Exponent. Later she became its assistant editor and then editor in 1877. She served as an editor for almost forty years. This nationally recognized publication was the second woman’s magazine to be created in the United States and the first one in the West.
While editor of the Woman’s Exponent, Emmeline felt that its major purpose was to educate women about all subjects and to encourage them to be active in public affairs, particularly politics. Women were encouraged to write their thoughts down and to submit them to the magazine.
Through her work Emmeline became known to the national leaders of the suffrage movement. In Utah she was elected vice president of the Women’s Suffrage Association. Emmeline became a personal friend of Susan B. Anthony and corresponded with her regularly. She attended several conventions in Washington, D.C., and met several presidents of the United States, never passing up an opportunity to speak out for women’s right to vote. In an interview with the associated press in Washington, D.C., she said, “For one, I am proud of Utah’s record in dealing with her female citizens. I look forward with eager hope to the day when woman suffrage shall become universal.”
President Brigham Young also knew the power of the written word and the importance of women in the Church. In September 1876 he met with Emmeline in his office and said to her: “I want to give you a mission, and it is to save grain. … I want the sisters to save the grain and I want. … you to begin by writing the strongest editorial that you can possibly write upon this subject.”
In 1876 Emmeline’s first editorial encouraging all women to save wheat appeared in the Woman’s Exponent. A central grain committee was established with Emmeline as chairman. Money was raised to buy wheat, fields were gleaned, and wheat was saved. Children helped the sisters too. During the first year of the program over 10,000 bushels of grain were saved! In subsequent years the wheat was given to the poor as well as to people in southern Utah who suffered from a drought. Flour was sent to San Francisco after the earthquake and fire in 1906, and a year later China received help from the Church during a famine. During World War I, the Relief Society sold more than one hundred thousand bushels of wheat to the United States government.
Emmeline wrote several songs, including “Our Mountain Home So Dear.” In 1896 she published a book of her poems entitled Musings and Memories. She also wrote for the Deseret News, Juvenile Instructor, Millennial Star, and national newspapers and magazines. Emmeline founded two literary societies in Utah.
No matter what Emmeline was doing in her life she always felt that she was serving the Church. At the age of eighty-two Emmeline was called to be the fifth general president of the Relief Society. She served faithfully in that capacity for eleven years. In 1921, three weeks after her release as president, Emmeline died. For the first time in Utah, flags were flown at half-staff to honor a woman—Emmeline B. Wells.

When you look at Jason Nicholl’s medical history, it’s no wonder he eventually wants to become a doctor. He’s certainly visited enough of them in his life. Even less surprising is the fact Jason worked as an emergency medical technician before leaving to serve a full-time mission in the Nevada Las Vegas Mission. After being helped for all these years, he figures he needs to start giving back and helping others.
“I’ve always been a klutz. On every Scout campout, I’d do something to hurt myself,” says Jason. Let’s see, there was the time he sliced off the top of his finger while closing a pocketknife. There was the speed-cutting contest where he was chopping with an ax that hit a knot in the log, flew up, and embedded itself in his ankle.
He’d like to remember the time he was night skiing when one of his skis came off, hit him in the face, broke his nose and knocked him out. He spent four days in the hospital, but he’s still a little foggy about that episode.
Besides his nose, Jason has broken two of his ribs, his arm, his hand, and his foot. To this day he can’t tell you how many fingers he’s broken. “Countless,” he says. But as the youngest emergency medical technician for an ambulance company in Salt Lake City, Jason began working toward the goal he’s had since he was six years old. “One day when I was six, I was sitting in front of the TV watching this health channel where they were showing some surgical procedure. It fascinated me,” Jason recalls. “That’s when I decided I wanted to be a doctor.”
Jason knows he has a lot of schooling ahead of him once he returns from his mission. However, he’s already learned much about the body because of the training he has received as an EMT. Many EMTs use their training as stepping-stones to jobs in law enforcement or related medical careers.
In fact, when Jason returns from his mission, he hopes to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a paramedic. While EMTs are trained in basic life support, paramedics know advanced life support techniques and are able to perform emergency procedures EMTs can’t. Jason sees this as the next logical step toward his ultimate career goal.
He knows that after spending two years as a missionary, it will take some time to get his skills back when he returns. But it’s a tradeoff he’s willing to make. “I believe in the gospel and I believe in the work,” Jason says.
Besides, when he gets back he’ll have the rest of his life ahead of him.

I grew up in the little town of Mantua, Utah. My mother, Laurine Nielsen Jeppsen, was a very courageous woman. She had an illness called Bright’s Disease, which was incurable. She knew that she was terminally ill, and she had been advised not to have any more children before I came along. My coming into the world hurried her exit from it, I’m sure, but I’m grateful that she decided to have me, anyway.
Mother and I were the best of friends. On my first day of school, Mother said good-bye and I started to walk to school, which was a half mile away. I remember turning back and seeing Mother standing on the porch, watching me go. I was the youngest, and, knowing that she wouldn’t be around very long, she must have had deep feelings about seeing me leave. I ran back and gave her a hug and a kiss four separate times before I finally went to school.
I remember lying on the bed with Mother in the early evenings, particularly the summer evenings. She loved to go to bed early and listen to the birds sing and watch the sun fading outside the window of our home.
Mother taught me the gospel. One time we had a cloudburst, and the ditch out back overflowed its banks. Our house was on a little rise, but there were at least three feet of water around it. Father was farming at a place called Dry Lake. I remember kneeling with Mother and praying that we would not be flooded and that Father would get home. About four or five hours later, the downpour stopped and Father came home. It had flooded where he was too. Water had been up to his waist, but he’d been preserved. I was very impressed with the power of prayer.
Mother was very great on service. Many times I took fresh cinnamon rolls or other baked goodies that she’d made to the school bus driver as he came by our home. His wife had died. That’s just one example of what Mother did even when she was suffering.
She prepared me for her death, too, lavishing love on me. She used to look at her legs that were so swollen that they had cracked open and make jokes about them. She assured me that she would have no pain where she was going. She said, “I’ll see you baptized. I promise.” That brought a great deal of comfort to me.
My father baptized me on my eighth birthday in the dammed up ditch in back of our home. It was the first of November, and I still remember how cold the water was. Mother went into a coma the day after my baptism and died four days later.
I remember crying when I was told that Mother had died. Everyone was crying. My older sister, Mae, who was about nineteen or twenty and was a registered nurse, said, “Malcolm, I’ll be your mother.” She kept that promise.
My father, Conrad Jeppsen, served as a bishop for twenty-two years. He was also a great teacher, and he taught me many things. He taught me the principle of honesty. For example, I remember jumping up and down with joy when I found a dollar bill on the floor of a store. In those days, a dollar was really something. I would be wealthy! I grabbed it and said, “Look what I found!”
Dad said, “Is it yours?”
I said, “No, it isn’t mine.”
“If it isn’t yours, let’s take it to the clerk. Somebody will come back for it.”
I took the dollar to the clerk and learned a lesson. Since then, whenever I’ve found things, Father’s question has come to my mind: “Is it yours?”
My father was also a great one to serve others. He loved to tinker with clocks. People brought their clocks to him, usually mantel clocks that struck the hour. He’d take the inner works out, clean them up, and put the clocks back together. Then he would just touch the mechanisms with a feather dipped in very, very light oil. He kept the clocks for three or four weeks while he regulated them. Sometimes we had twelve to fifteen of those clocks, and then every midnight sounded like New Year’s Eve!
The example of the selflessness of my mother and father will always remain with me. I hope that you will always be respectful and appreciative of your parents and family. The family unit is eternal.
Listen to good counsel from your parents and leaders. Don’t assume that you know more than they do. Learn from the mistakes of others instead of making the same mistakes yourself.

When the Freiberg Germany Temple was dedicated in June 1985, the Area Presidency invited Jirí and Olga to attend. During one of the dedicatory sessions, President Gordon B. Hinckley asked Brother Snederfler to speak extemporaneously. Nervously, Jirí accepted the invitation. He spoke in Czech, and his words were translated into German and English. “I remember saying that the Freiberg temple had been built because of the great faith of the brothers and sisters in the DDR—and that it would also serve many members from Eastern Europe. I did not know then that the Freiberg temple and the prayers of its patrons would contribute to the fall of the Iron Curtain and would make it possible for Saints to come from many nations of Eastern Europe.” Nor did he know he and his wife would later serve as president and matron of that temple and would welcome those Saints to the house of the Lord!