Gospel Story Finder

Here’s a riddle: What do Boy Scouts pledge to do, prophets counsel Saints to do, and weathermen warn people from Portland, Oregon, to do?
The answer? Be prepared. For Scouts it’s a motto, for Saints it’s a commandment, and for Portlanders it’s a necessity. Anytime they plan something, they need to be prepared, because at least a few sprinkles of rain, affectionately known as “Oregon sunshine,” are bound to fall.
But rain isn’t the only thing the youth in the Portland region are preparing for. They are also preparing to stay close to their Heavenly Father and meet life’s challenges with his help. And at a recent youth conference, teenagers learned a lot about preparation—from the first planning stages of the conference to the lessons they had learned when it was all over.
It started months before the event. Painting posters, writing songs, planning decorations, and organizing workshops took the time of all the members of the conference committee. They knew that a successful conference depended on careful preparation.
Matt Baldwin, of the Cedar Mill Oregon Stake, was the chairman of the conference committee. “We talked about everything,” he said. “Should the kids bring a change of clothes for the games? How many workshops should we offer?” These and other questions guided the committee until they ultimately determined what their goal for the conference was: “for each youth to go home feeling a little bit closer to our Heavenly Father,” said Matt.
“It was fun to work on the committee,” said Amber Ganir, a committee member from the Oregon City Stake. “We’d worked on it for so long, I couldn’t believe it when the day finally came.”
All of that preparation paid off for the committee, though, and for the youth who attended the conference. They spent two days getting to know each other, talking about things they needed to prepare for, and checking the sky for rain.
The clouds threatened, but the spirits of the teenagers couldn’t be dampened. They divided into 23 teams and competed in a mock Olympics in events such as Radical Relays, People Processor, and Be-Boppin’ Balloons. The teams, even though they were made up of teens who had never met each other, worked well together, and cheers could be heard throughout the field. “That was our objective in organizing games,” said Amber. “We wanted to get everyone motivated and excited—to get to know each other and make new friends.”
The rain that had threatened all day started to fall as the games ended, but no one seemed to care. They were prepared for the change in weather and trooped inside for dinner and an early evening dance in their socks while high tops, sandals, and worn tennis shoes lined the walls to dry.
It was still drizzling on Saturday morning when the youth reunited to attend workshop sessions. They hurried to the classes they’d chosen, hoping they would hear something to help them prepare for their individual challenges. Classes offered a variety of topics—with something worthwhile and helpful in each—from “the last days” to dating.
Brett Gassaway said he was going to attend a session called “Choosing to Serve a Mission” because he planned to leave on a mission soon. Brett is taking every opportunity he has to learn about missions so he will be prepared when he leaves.
“I signed up for a wide variety of classes—things I have problems in, or things that are interesting,” said Crista Cowan. The preparation of the youth conference committee made it possible for Crista to take advantage of many classes. And when the youth were ready to listen and learn, it was possible for them to become more prepared, too.
After lunch and more workshop sessions, everyone assembled in the gym for “The Main Event.” The things they had learned and the spirit they had felt in the workshops set the tone for the meeting, and they listened to Brother David Thomas talk to them. He reminded them how much they needed a close relationship with Heavenly Father, and how they should avoid all things that would jeopardize that relationship. He said he hoped they would remember the things they had heard and felt during the past two days, and the audience seemed to nod in agreement, as if to assure him they would not forget the preparation they had received.
Listening to Brother Thomas, Matt Baldwin knew that the months of preparation were coming to fruition as the youth of the Portland area were touched by the Spirit. To close the conference, they were divided into groups of 30 for testimony meetings.
That was Heatherly Humphrey’s favorite part. “The Spirit was so strong in the testimony meetings,” she said. “Many people said they were trying to cultivate a better testimony, that they were reading and praying to do it. Others said they had been in that stage too—of wanting a testimony and working for it. Several of them said attending seminary and reading the Book of Mormon had made their testimonies twice as strong. It was clear it takes work to develop and keep a testimony.”
Yes, it definitely takes work to keep something so precious, even more work than it takes to plan a spectacular youth conference. But because of the preparation before this event ever began, by both the youth and the conference committee, it was a great event for learning and growing. And the people who participated in this youth conference left more prepared to capture the most precious thing of all—a strong testimony of the gospel.
By the time the dance ended on Saturday night, the rain was no longer just a drizzle. It was falling steadily, but it didn’t seem to matter. Umbrellas were raised and heads were covered, and the young people went out into the night—more prepared to face both the weather and the challenges of life than they were when they had come.

At times the performance of duty, the response to a divine call, or the reaction to a spiritual prompting is not overwhelming. On occasion, however, the duty to respond is downright overpowering. I experienced such a situation prior to the general conference of April 1966. That’s 35 years ago, but I remember it vividly.
I had received my assignment to speak at one of the conference sessions and had prepared and committed to memory a message entitled “Meeting Your Goliath.” This was based on the account of the famous battle waged by David and Goliath of olden times.
Then I received a telephone call from President David O. McKay. The conversation went about like this: “Brother Monson, this is President McKay calling. How are you?”
I took a deep breath and answered, “Oh, I’m fine, President, and looking forward to conference.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Brother Monson. The Saturday morning session will be rebroadcast on Sunday as our Easter message to the world. I will be speaking to an Easter theme and would like you to join me and speak during that important session to that type of theme.”
“Of course, President. I will be happy to do so.”
That’s when the extent of this brief conversation really dawned on me. All of a sudden “Meeting Your Goliath” didn’t quite measure up to an Easter message. I knew I must begin to prepare all over again. There was so little time. Indeed, my “Goliath” stood before me.
That night I cleared the kitchen table and placed my typewriter on the tabletop along with a ream of bond paper, with a trusty wastepaper basket by my side to hold all the false starts that accompany such an assignment of preparation. I began at about 7:00 p.m. and had not written a satisfactory line by 1:00 a.m. The wastebasket was filled, but my mind certainly was not. What was I to do? The clock was running—indeed, it was racing. I paused to pray.
Soon thereafter there came to my mind the sadness of my neighbors Mark and Wilma Shumway in the recent loss of their youngest child. I thought to myself, “Perhaps I could speak directly to them and peripherally to all others, for who hasn’t lost a dear one and had occasion to grieve?” My fingers raced over the typewriter keyboard but could barely keep up with my thoughts.
As the first dim light of morning peered through our kitchen window, I had finished the message. The task remained to learn it and then deliver it to the world. Rarely have I struggled so hard to fill a prophetic assignment. However, Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. I shall never forget the experience.

Frédéric, a research biologist from Sandy, Utah, was born in France but his roots are in India. In 1854 his great-great-grandfather, Arokium (he had no last name and his name has become the family surname), left his village of Thanjavur in Tamil Nadu and sailed from Chennai with his parents to Mauritius. His father was an indentured servant contracted to work in the sugar cane fields there.

After the death of his own father two years ago, Frédéric began to wonder about his family history. “We could trace all our family in Mauritius, but the connection to India was lost,” he explained. “I was curious about this great-great-grandfather Arokium, whose first name became my last name, so I asked my aunt for his picture. I had tears in my eyes when I saw it. I took a copy to the National Archives [in Mauritius] to find out where he came from.” That is where Arokium’s quest began.

More than 150 years after his ancestors left, Frédéric returned to India to find out more about them. “Being in Chennai,” he said, “is very emotional for me. This is where all my ancestors boarded ships at different times to come over to a strange land. I believe that it was heart-rending to leave, but they kept moving forward with hope in their hearts. They have sacrificed a lot for us to be where we are today.”

He added, “It is important to know their story to better appreciate my life now and understand the amazing legacy they left to me: courage, hope, hard work, hospitality, strong family values and faith in God.”

Frédéric wants to help others find their Indian roots. For this reason, he has created the Indian Diaspora Genealogy Group on Facebook.

His message to Saints in India is to get a temple recommend; start talking to family members and gather names, old photos and stories; get in touch with a family history consultant; download the FamilySearch app and create an account; enter your ancestors’ names and get their temple work done.

After the fireside in Chennai, Frédéric talked excitedly with a young woman from the audience. It appears that they have ancestors from the same village in Tamil Nadu. Perhaps her research can help him find another generation of family. They exchanged contact information.

“This is a labor of love,” Frédéric said. “After all they have done for me, this is the least I can do for them.”

Carie Nielson (11) and Kandace Eral (12) of La Verkin, Utah, love exploring the area where they live. “The desert has many interesting things to discover,” said Kandace. “You just have to be willing to get out and look for them.” The lava hillside behind their home is a perfect place to start. The girls have found ancient arrowheads and fossil vertebrae. Not far from their home on Hurricane Hill they found petroglyphs made by the Anasazi Indians.
The girls like to include their younger sisters on some of their exploring trips. Julie (9) and Nila (8) Nielson and Stacha (8) and Tausha (6) Eral are thrilled when they get to go. “Our favorite places have always been Pah Tempe Hot Springs and Bear Cave,” said Carie. “There aren’t really any bears in Bear Cave. We just call it that. There are a lot of bats, though. Stacha and Nila think that they’re cute!”

Suddenly Jody’s muscles tightened. From out of the sky darted Sir Lancelot, his satiny black plumage glinting in the sun like a feathery jewel.
Sir Lancelot was the name Jody had given the big raven the first time he had seen it, nearly six months before. Any bird that could appear so regal had to have an important name, he’d decided.
He stood and hurried to the rock where he’d laid the brass button, picked it up, and sat on the rock with it in his open hand. This time the bird would have to come to him for his prize.
Jody had come up to Raven’s Roost nearly every week since he had moved with his family to Tucker Springs, and he’d gotten to know Sir Lancelot quite well, at least from a distance. “If you want this button to add to your collection of shiny things, you’ll have to take it from my hand!” he told the bird.
The huge bird alighted on a limb of the scrub oak. He cocked his glossy black head and eyed the lustrous object. “Come on,” Jody encouraged.
The raven cawed noisily, his high, harsh cry echoing off the red rocks. At length, he hopped to the ground, advanced a step or two, and came to a stop.
“That’s the best you can do?” Jody questioned. “All right, but next time it’s all the way or nothing, understand?” He tossed the button a few feet in front of him. The raven, cawing at Jody and eyeing the treasure, stretched forward and plucked the button up in his long bill. Then he flew back to the limb.
He regarded the boy a moment, as if saying thanks. Then, just as Sir Lancelot was about to fly off with the precious gift, Jody heard a whizzing sound, followed by a soft thud. The raven toppled lifeless to the ground, the brass button rolling from his slack bill and disappearing into a crevice in the rocks.
For an instant Jody just stared, disbelieving. “Sir Lancelot!” he choked out. Then his attention turned to the direction of the sound.
Hollis Fletcher stepped out of the brushwood about a hundred yards away, a rock flipper in his hands. “I told you I’d get even, Farnsworth,” he sneered. “You should have dropped out of that spelling contest, like I told you. Outside of the Fourth of July and the county fair, it’s the biggest thing that happens around here. And I would have won.
“I’ve lived in Tucker Springs all my life,” Hollis went on. “Every time I earned a hundred on spelling at school, I rewarded myself with getting a new marble for my collection. I probably have the best marble collection in the whole state, but there aren’t any trophies for that, like there is for the spelling contest. I worked hard to win it—it wasn’t right for some nobody from nowhere to come into town and take the trophy that should have been mine. Especially some kid two years younger than I am.”
“I won fair and square,” Jody retorted through his tears, dropping to his knees beside the dead bird and touching its blood-spattered plumage. “Besides, you won the trophy in last year’s contest.”
“I could have had two, Farnsworth!” Hollis growled. “Around here, two is better than one, especially at my house. With one, it can be just luck. Nobody questions or forgets a two-time winner—especially my father! He would have given me a horse, Farnsworth, just like he did my brother for his two-year win at the county fair for his Jersey cows!”
Hollis turned and started down the path, then paused and burned a look over his shoulder at Jody. “Maybe now you’ll know how it feels to lose something.”
Jody scooped up a rock, jumped to his feet, and hurled it at Hollis’s retreating shape. “I hate you!” he screamed, his face twisting with grief and rage. “I hate you!”
Hollis turned back toward the screaming youth and smiled. “That’s good, Farnsworth. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At home, Jody poured out the story to his father. “He killed Sir Lancelot to get back at me!” he sobbed. “Sir Lancelot was just a good old bird who didn’t do anything except make music.” Jody wiped at the tears that burned his eyes. “It wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard, but it was music to me. I hate Hollis for what he did.”
His father sighed. “It was wrong what he did, Son, no doubt about it. But you can’t go around with all that hate in your heart. For one thing, it isn’t healthy; for another, it’s—”
Jody pulled away from his father. “I hate Hollis Fletcher, Dad. I wish he’d move away!”
In the weeks that followed, the resentment and bitterness in Jody Farnsworth’s heart grew.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy, Jody,” his father commented one day as they walked down the dirt road toward Hennesey Lake, their fishing poles over their shoulders.
Jody didn’t look at his father. “Is it wrong for a kid not to be happy all the time?” he blurted, kicking at a pebble in the road. “Even Jesus got mad at the moneychangers in the temple. And when Lazarus died, He wept. Is it wrong to be like Him?”
“No,” his father returned, “but this is the first time we’ve gone fishing that you haven’t been happy.” After a long silence, his father continued. “You know, Jody, if harboring all that spite for Hollis was right and proper, you’d be feeling pretty good inside. But I’ve never seen you look so poorly.”
Jody’s eyes fired up like smoldering coals rekindled. “I’m just supposed to forget about what he did, is that it?”
“It would be hard to forget what happened,” his father admitted. “But you can forgive him for what he did.”
Jody’s eyes widened. “What? Forgive Hollis Fletcher for shooting Sir Lancelot? How am I supposed to do that?”
His father stopped and eyed the boy. “You have to want to. That makes it a whole lot easier.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
Jody’s father set his fishing pole aside and squatted down to the boy’s level. “There are a lot of things in this life we don’t like doing that need doing. Your mother dreads wash day, especially in the middle of July. It’s a hot, exhausting, all-day job. But what do you think would happen if our clothes didn’t get cleaned on a regular basis? We’d go around looking and smelling like Amos Twigg’s cow barn. And last fall I dreaded having to shoot Jack. That old horse was in constant great pain, and nothing more could be done except put him out of his misery. It was the hardest thing I had to do in my life. But it needed doing. And that brings me to you, Jody.”
“Me?”
“For the past month you’ve been carrying around such poisonous thoughts that I worry about your soul.”
“I just can’t forgive him, Dad,” Jody said angrily.
Later that morning, as they sat fishing, Jody accidently snagged his finger on his hook while baiting his line. “Shall we leave that hook in your finger?” Jody’s father questioned.
“Of course not!” Jody winced, at the smart.
“Why not?”
“I want to get the hurt out so it will heal, of course.”
“It might be a good idea to let that other, bigger, hurt out, too, Jody.” His father helped dislodge the small hook from the boy’s finger, then dug in his fishing box for some ointment and applied it to Jody’s finger. “The best medicine for resentment is forgiveness. It lets out the poison so that the wound can heal.
“You know,” he added, “I was thinking about what you said earlier today about being like the Savior. There’s a lot to that. He loved everybody, didn’t He? Even His enemies. Don’t you suppose He was the best example of forgiveness, too, Jody?”
Jody’s eyes fell, then lifted. “You mean, while He hung suffering on the cross He forgave the soldiers who crucified Him?”
“Yes. And in Gethsemane He suffered for all our sins.”
Jody was silent a long spell. Then he stood up. “Can we go home now, Dad? There’s something I need to do. Something I want to do.”
Jody was halfway up the little rutted lane that led to the Fletcher farmhouse, when Hollis spotted him. Jody’s heart was pounding. He never imagined that something he wanted to do could be so hard.
Hollis met Jody a short distance from the house, his countenance as dark as a storm over the tablelands. “You came to tell my father what I did, didn’t you, Farnsworth?”
“No,” Jody answered. “I just came to tell you that I forgive you for what you did. I’m not saying it was right; I’m just saying that I don’t hate you.”
“What?”
“Staying mad isn’t going to change anything,” Jody said. “It just makes things worse.”
After an awkward silence, Hollis wondered aloud, “Why are you doing this?”
“It was just something that needed doing. Well,” Jody concluded after another uncomfortable silence, “I still have a few chores to finish up at home, so I guess I’d better be going. See you later.”
A few days later he returned to the mesa and searched the skies for another raven. “I know there are more of you up there somewhere,” he said out loud. “I don’t have any shiny stuff to give you—I’m all out—but—”
“I do,” a voice behind Jody said. Hollis stepped out of the brushwood. He pulled out a leather pouch he’d brought with him and displayed its contents to Jody. “Now we have a lot of shiny things to give those ravens!”
Jody stared at the multitude of shiny aggies, taws, glassies, cat’s eyes, and other bright-colored marbles. “Why are you doing this, Hollis?”
The older boy’s smile grew as big as Jody’s wonder. “It was just something that needed doing.”
Hollis set a bright yellow glassie on a rock, then sat next to Jody beneath the scrub oak, where the two boys waited and watched.

A small note on the keyboard read, “This computer is reserved for Samuel at 5:00 a.m.” In response to his stake president’s challenge for the stake to index one million names, 14-year-old Samuel B. of Utah started getting up at 5:00 a.m. so that he could index before school. With one computer in the home and seven siblings with homework to do, Samuel had to sacrifice some sleep in order to get time on the computer.
But Samuel’s enthusiasm spread to the rest of his family. Soon his brother Nathan sacrificed basketball time and his sister Ivyllyn sacrificed reading time in order to index. “I’ve never been challenged as much by my children,” Samuel’s father says. “Until they got involved, I thought indexing was hard. They taught me that it could be easy and fun.” The following New Year’s Eve, the children were rushing to finish their yearly indexing goals before midnight.

It was the girls themselves who decided that Mormons ought to be involved in doing something for people in underdeveloped lands. So after discussing it with their MIA teacher, the girls of San Jose (California) Ward wrote to a nonprofit foundation that specializes in collecting medical discards, packaging them, and sending them all over the world. The girls decided to make Johnny coats (hospital gowns) and torn-sheet bandages, and to gather soap to send to those in need. They asked two motels in their area to save soap for them. One motel also volunteered to save old sheets from which the girls could make bandages. The first load of soap from one motel weighed 500 pounds. Then one Saturday nineteen girls got together and knitted, made bandages, and boxed soap. Their own ward Relief Society donated dozens of men’s shirts for Johnny coats. Now they want to learn how to make leper bandages …

“This past year Christmas was very special to me. It was completely different from past Christmases. This year I engaged in helping many people during the pandemic.
“Though we couldn’t attend church or participate in some of our normal Christmas activities, helping others was still uplifting and made me feel the joy of Christmas. My family exchanged gifts with each other. We also made delicious food and served it to many of our friends of other faiths.
“I took the Light the World initiative diligently and served people. Doing so brought me peace and great happiness. I know Heavenly Father loves me and all His children. I know that Jesus Christ came to this world to love and to save us.”
Ruthwik V., 14, Bengaluru, India

I begin by describing an event that happened here on campus. About fifteen years ago, a group of newspaper editors from various western states came to Salt Lake City to learn more about the Church. They visited with Church authorities, went to Temple Square, saw the welfare program in action, and then came to BYU.

At dinner in the Wilkinson Center, I sat with an editor from California. He was immensely impressed with what he had seen. “You Mormons really know how to do it,” he said. Then he praised the various things he had seen. I enjoyed his positive reactions to everything.

Later, he asked the location of the nearest rest room and excused himself. When he returned he had a triumphant smile on his face. “Well, I found out that you Mormons are just like everyone else,” he said. In response to my question, he explained.

“When I go into a rest room in another public place, I find there are things written on the wall. When I went to the rest room here in the Wilkinson Center, I found it was just like other rest rooms. There was something written on the wall.”

Sorry that the man’s gleaming impressions had been tarnished, I began to apologize about how difficult it was to keep current on the maintenance in a public place. He smiled and raised his hand to stop me. “Oh, I’m just kidding,” he said. “It’s true there was something written in there, but I’ve never seen anything like that written on the wall in a public place. It was just one word: repent.”

President Hunter has always had a special love for the Holy Land. The First Presidency assigned President Hunter to spearhead two special projects in Israel. One was to work with Elder LeGrand Richards in raising money to build the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden, which was dedicated in 1979. The other was to negotiate for a site for a center to house the Brigham Young University semester-abroad program, which had started ten years earlier. Sites in Jerusalem were at a premium, and when at last a choice one was found and a lease obtained, the representative of the land authority received the lease payment and said, “This is a lot of money.” Joseph Kokia, the Church’s distinguished Israeli attorney, responded, “Yes, it is a lot of money, but my family has lived in Jerusalem for fifteen generations, and the property that you have is beyond price.” Upon that special site the magnificent Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies was built, despite much opposition. President Hunter’s close personal relationship with Mayor Teddy Kollek and other leaders helped make possible the building of the center. President Hunter dedicated the Jerusalem Center on 16 May 1989.

In July 2018, I received a temple recommend for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After that, I thought that living well was good enough, and I did not feel the need to go back. Last year, in June 2023, I had some situations in my life that gave me the desire to return. Deep in my heart, I knew I should not postpone it any longer. I strongly felt the Spirit during general conference urging me to return to the temple, and I knew it was one of the things that God truly wanted me to do. I decided to put it on my to-do list for 2024 and made plans to travel to the Rio de Janeiro Brazil Temple.
After informing my husband of my intention to return to the temple and to receive my own endowment and fully committing to this decision, I encountered multiple obstacles. Through the months following, my financial situation weakened. Not only did I want to receive my endowment, but I also wanted to be sealed to my parents. This would require them to travel to the temple with me, which would require even more financial support. My finances continued to decline.
I also faced challenges at work that were beyond my control. I knew what was going on, but I made a conscious decision not to let it bother me. I kept praying for courage to continue and drew strength from the scriptures.
On the day of departure, my daughter’s airline booking was not confirmed. The travel agency had made a mistake, which added another problem. Just before we left for our temple trip, my children became sick. When they are sick, they want to be with me. As I was leaving, my children were crying, which was yet another difficulty, making it hard to leave. But with each obstacle, I believed that things would work out. How, I did not know, but God would help me.
My experience in the temple was truly miraculous. I had never felt Christ’s love so strongly before. I felt close to Heavenly Father and forgiven for my mistakes. I felt peace, strength, and wisdom to navigate my life and to make the right choices. I was blessed with more wisdom on how to be a better woman and mother, how to interact with people, how to deal with others’ imperfections, and how to be more patient.
I then had the opportunity to be sealed to my parents. Even though I missed my sisters at that moment, I had a very loving and miraculous experience. After leaving the temple, every problem I had placed in Heavenly Father’s hands was resolved.
I am very grateful that, despite every obstacle, I never gave up. Even though I felt weak and wondered why this happened, deep down, I knew I had to learn from these experiences and stay strong. I did stay strong and kept pushing through. I did it, and today, I have received my endowment and am sealed to my parents.

Back to South America. I met one day a young Peruvian, way back in the hinterlands of Peru, beyond the trains and beyond the bus lines, where we had to go in a car, and he said to me, “I think I heard you the other day on my transistor.” He was in Peru; I was in Salt Lake City, in the general conference. But he heard my talk, which had been broadcast, I think, to the Telstar, and then to Buenos Aires, and then back to Lima, and then out into the wilderness. From this remote settlement, about as far away as you could get, he had heard, through this little pocket instrument, some of the general conference; and I realized that transistor radios would come smaller and smaller and would cost less and less money, until the people behind the curtains would hear it, and everybody in the world, nearly, could afford one of these little transistor radios, which would be pocket size.

After they reached Clay County, Missouri, news arrived that a mob of nearly four hundred men were preparing to destroy them. When Joseph heard the news, he knelt beneath the clear blue summer sky and prayed for divine protection.

Not far off, gunfire sounded. The men of Zion’s Camp wanted to fight, but Joseph counseled them to wait and see what God would do.

Suddenly a small black cloud appeared in the west. It moved eastward, growing bigger as it moved, until it filled the heavens with darkness. The first ferryboat of mobbers had crossed the Missouri River south of Zion’s Camp and was returning for another load, when a violent burst of wind hit the boat. Rain poured and the wind soared so hard that the members of Zion’s Camp ran from their tents and found shelter in an old Baptist meetinghouse nearby. Safely inside, Joseph told them that God was in that storm.

The horizon filled with the snaking of lightning bolts—not one after another, but atop and beside each other so that the sky was continually lit, and the thunder roared without stopping. Large hailstones broke branches from trees and destroyed crops. Torrents of rain soaked the mobbers’ ammunition and made it useless. The sights and sounds of the storm frightened the mobbers’ horses away, leaving the mobbers to find their way home, wet, horseless, and frightened.

The next morning, Fishing River, which had been only ankle deep, was more than forty feet (12.2 m) deep. One of the mobbers told Joseph Smith that he knew that God was protecting the Mormons.

In Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice finds herself coming to a crossroads with two paths before her, each stretching onward but in opposite directions. She is confronted by the Cheshire Cat, of whom she asks, “Which path shall I take?”
The cat answers: “That depends where you want to go. If you do not know where you want to go, it doesn’t really matter which path you take!”

I can still see the home in my mind’s eye that cold, gray December day in Illinois, USA. Its roof was above the ground, but most of the house was below the ground. “Probably, no one lives there,” my companion and I concluded.
We knocked. After a few moments, a lady opened the door a crack. We told her we were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we had an important message for her. She hesitated but let us in.
She motioned us to sit on two wobbly wooden chairs. The room was dimly lit. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed that the home had a dirt floor. No pictures hung on the walls. Suddenly, four sad children dressed in colorless clothing appeared.
Christmas was two weeks away. Where was baby Jesus in a manger? Where were the colorful decorations and Christmas tree?
After we delivered our message about the Restoration, the mother invited us back to talk to her husband. Before we left, we asked about Christmas. She said times were tough and that they would not have anything for Christmas that year.
After we left, my companion and I appealed for help from local ward members. A great act of love followed. Members donated food, clothes, toys, and a Christmas tree with ornaments.
We returned to the home a few days later. We knocked, and again the door opened a crack. “Merry Christmas,” we said as we greeted the father, mother, and four wide-eyed children.
We carried the tree, the gifts, and the food into the home. The family looked stunned. We set up the tree, placed gifts under it, put food on the table, and enjoyed a short visit. As we prepared to leave, I looked at the children. They all had big smiles on their faces.
We continued to teach the family, and eventually they joined the Church. As the light of the gospel brightened their home, the father developed faith and received a new vision for his family. He found a better job. The family grew closer. Soon they moved into a new home.
More than 60 years later, I still thank the Lord for allowing us to bless six of His precious children, reminding me that “inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

“Congratulations, Marcus,” Mom said as we walked to the car. “You sure played a great game!”
“When you played your first game, did you think you’d be your team’s starting pitcher in the regional finals?” Dad asked as we started home.
“I guess I dreamed about it some,” I answered honestly, “but I didn’t really think it’d happen. I thought the Pirates would end up going again.”
Dad, Mom, and I relived the game, especially the ending with the Pirates close behind and their star player, Gary, up to bat. Everybody on his team was counting on Gary to win the game and send them to the regional finals. But Gary swung and missed each of my three best pitches, and we won the game.
“Oh, before I forget, Marcus,” Mom told me, “Sister Anderson wants you to give a talk in Primary a week from Sunday.”
Usually talking in Primary wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but this time I knew immediately what I was going to talk about. “I think I’ll talk about baseball,” I said.
“This is Primary, you know,” Mom pointed out, “not another baseball game.”
I grinned. “I know, Mom. I’m not going to talk about the game of baseball.” I explained, “I’m going to talk about how Heavenly Father has helped me this season. It hasn’t been easy to be the only member of the Church on the team. But I’ve tried really hard to do what’s right, and He’s helped me.” I paused. “I could feel Him helping me this afternoon. I wasn’t nervous, even when it was Gary’s turn to bat. I just said a little prayer, asking Him to help me do my best, and I knew everything was going to be all right. That’s what I want to talk about—how the Lord can bless us when we work hard and choose the right.”

Several years after the difficult trial the Alvarez family faced, I witnessed how another faithful family dealt with great adversity. Several members of the Quero family had died in a terrible car accident. Brother Abraham Quero lost his parents, two sisters, his brother-in-law, and his niece in that accident.
Brother Quero showed an admirable attitude when he said the following:
“This was the time to show loyalty to God and to acknowledge that we depend on Him, that His will must be obeyed, and that we are subject to Him.
“I spoke to my brothers and gave them strength and courage to understand what President Kimball taught many years ago, that ‘there is no tragedy in death, but only in sin’ (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Spencer W. Kimball [Melchizedek Priesthood and Relief Society course of study, 2006], 18) and that the important thing is not how a man died but how he lived.
“The words of Job filled my soul: ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord’ (Job 1:21). And then from Jesus: ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live’ (John 11:25).
“This was one of the most spiritual experiences we had as a family—to accept the will of God under such very difficult circumstances.”
In both of the experiences that these good families endured, pain and sorrow left because of the light of the gospel, which filled them with peace and comfort, providing the assurance that everything would be well.

I was given an assignment to prepare an entry for my school’s social studies fair. The title of my project was “How Does The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Teach Its Youth to Live Their Religion?” I interviewed 40 members of my ward. Then I charted their answers and wrote my research paper. I also narrated a slide show that showed many of our church activities.
My project won “Best in Fair” at the school, county, and regional levels. I did not win at the state level, but that was OK because my project taught people how the Church works. I even got to teach the judges about the Church. I think it was a good missionary project.

I have also witnessed and felt gratitude’s heavenly touch through other people, like an elderly Catholic nun my wife and I met in the city of Bethlehem. From 2007 to 2009 my wife and I had the privilege of working and teaching at the BYU Jerusalem Center. During that time we met a host of wonderful people (Christians, Muslims, and Jews) who influenced our lives in profound ways. On one occasion we were invited by one of the Jerusalem Center service couples—who oversaw the Church’s humanitarian program in the Holy Land—to visit an orphanage in Bethlehem. The purpose of their visit was to determine needs and the appropriate assistance from the Church.

The orphanage was located in a residential neighborhood in Bethlehem near the Church of the Nativity. As we entered the building, the first sounds I heard were those of little children. We passed several rooms filled with small beds and noticed newborn infants lying in cribs and small children playing with one another. I also noticed a shortage of adult staff compared with the number of children I could see.

Our meeting was with the director of the orphanage—one of the most impressive people I have met in my Middle East travels: a diminutive, elderly, Catholic nun from France. Though small in stature, she was large in heart and spirit. As we visited with her we learned about the history of the orphanage, the number of children cared for, and the challenges of feeding and clothing so many precious children. There was no doubt the orphanage had its challenges. I noticed, however, that as she described the needs of the children and the problem of the shortage of staff and materials, there was not one word of complaint. Her speech was often punctuated with “Thanks be to God; thanks be to God.”

After the humanitarian couple had assessed needs, they asked this little nun if the orphanage could use supplies like powdered milk, newborn kits, and other necessities for older children. She excitedly replied, “Anything will help us; anything will help us.” As arrangements were being made for shipping and delivery of the needed goods, she sat quietly in front of us with hands clasped, as though she were in the act of praying, and repeated the words “thank you, thank you, thank you.” Her gratitude was real and heartfelt. Her expressions of thankfulness touched me deeply, and I often think of this experience when I want to relive a moment when I saw gratitude’s divine nature.

This time things were different. President Spencer W. Kimball asked the members of the church to fast and pray about the weather situation, the bitter cold and snow in some areas and the drought in others. It was an inspiring feeling to know that I was joining hundreds of thousands of people in doing what a prophet of God asked, and that feeling motivated me to succeed.
But even though I did not eat or drink for twenty-four hours, I was not really satisfied with my effort. The day hadn’t been much different from most Sundays, and it seemed to me that if fasting were important, it should make a difference. I knew that it was important, so I concluded that I must not be doing it right.
I decided to study the scriptures concerning the principles and practices of fasting.
Then, to supplement my scripture reading, I read some fasting guidelines given us by modern-day prophets. They were clear in saying that a proper observance of fast day means abstaining from food and drink for two consecutive meals, attending fast and testimony meeting, and paying a generous fast offering.
With this information and an intense desire to really do what was right, I was ready to experiment upon the words I had studied. I knew the law of the fast, and I knew that I could observe the outward letter of the law. But it is the spirit of the law that can really change our lives. I decided to concentrate on the following five areas in trying to obtain the spirit of fasting:
1. A spirit of love for God and for my fellow beings. These two most important goals need constant work and attention. Not only is it difficult for me to love some people some of the time, but it is also sometimes difficult to want to love them. And when I think of loving God, I am overwhelmed to know that even my best love at this point is a weak and meager gift.
2. A spirit of sacrifice and service. Fast offerings are one sign of this spirit. Another is a willingness to share my testimony with others. I must also diligently seek other opportunities to give and to share my abundance of blessings with others. Sometimes I feel that I don’t even begin to understand what real sacrifice is.
3. A spirit of brotherhood and fellowship with the Saints. It gives me a wonderful feeling of joy to realize, when I fast, that I am joining the rest of the Church membership in this opportunity, and that we can gain power through unity.
4. A spirit of communion with God. For one day in each month I have an opportunity to put aside all distractions (except my three children, who cannot yet fully support me in my effort) and with “simplicity of intention” try to purify my heart to be one with God as I purify my body temple.
5. A spirit of self-control. To me, the exercise of my will in fasting is a sign of humility, that I submit my will to the Lord’s will, that I desire to strengthen my spiritual power and bodily discipline, and that I am willing to repent of wanting to do or doing other than what the Lord would desire.
With all of this in mind, I fasted. The first time, I fasted and prayed that I might withstand a particular temptation that had been bothering me. The results were miraculous. Not only did I withstand the temptation, but it ceased to be a temptation! Not only did I resist the sin, but I did not want to sin. And so I was immediately blessed.
I decided that it was important to my growth to fast again soon, and not wait for a whole month. This time I fasted and prayed about a decision I was having difficulty making. The pros and cons of the major alternatives seemed nearly equal, and I had been puzzling about it for several weeks. After fasting and praying about it, I suddenly knew what to do, and there was never another moment of wondering if it was the best choice.
After fasting I was intensely aware of what food I put into my mouth. Somehow my body seemed more sacred to me, and I did not want to eat anything that was impure or unnecessary. It almost seems as if fasting can help us sense what foods are really nourishing to us, and which ones pollute our physical system.
I seemed to be able to think more clearly and concisely. I was more able to concentrate with singleness of purpose when I went to the temple. Although I felt physically weak when fasting, it seemed that I was able to accomplish more and work with greater endurance afterwards.
I also felt an increased tenderness toward my husband and children, an overflowing of love and appreciation. And it seemed like I cried more during sacrament meeting, and appreciated it more. I’m sure that the meetings had not changed; instead, I was more emotionally and spiritually receptive.
Another important blessing I have received as a result of fasting is an increased ability to recognize evil influences and temptations—and to dismiss them without consideration.
As I have renewed my efforts to fast as the Lord would have me do, I have discovered some practical aids to help me. The following list contains some of these ideas.
1. Be united in fasting as a family. Take strength and motivation from the priesthood example and support each other in the effort. Those who are not yet old enough to abstain from eating and drinking can still participate in the spirit: praying, learning scripture stories, singing, counting blessings, planning service to others.
2. Plan specific service and sacrifice for others. Always give a generous fast offering and seek inspiration concerning other service the Lord desires.
3. Prepare carefully so that physical work can be held to a minimum. For me this means planning in advance what the children will wear and what they will eat. I also try to prepare appropriate Sunday activities for them before my fast begins on Saturday.
4. Prepare carefully so that my patience is not strained. Allow plenty of time to get ready for church meetings so that we don’t need to hurry.
5. Plan time for intense prayer. This is especially difficult for me now, with my three little girls always wanting to be involved in everything. Sometimes we can pray as a family; sometimes my husband and I can pray together while they are napping or sleeping; sometimes one of us can concentrate on them while the other prays alone. My best time for intense private prayer is in the middle of the night.
6. Fast and pray for a specific purpose or blessing. This might be a personal need, a family problem, a blessing for someone else, or something involving the whole Church or country, such as fasting for a change in the weather conditions.
7. Repent of sins. Seek strength to change and inspiration on how to change. Seek ways to make restitution and to receive forgiveness from those I have wronged.
8. Read, study, and ponder the scriptures. Seek to understand depths I have not yet understood. Use my husband’s resources to help answer my questions. Read topically as well as consecutively. Try to develop ways of teaching my children to know the scriptures and to love them.
9. Praise God. Show gratitude for his blessings. Sing hymns of praise to him. Rejoice in my relationship to him. Bear testimony of him and his goodness to others.
10. Avoid social conflicts and distractions. Saturday night wedding receptions, parties, dinners, sports, and Sunday dinners may not contribute to fasting and spiritual communion.
11. Record my experiences in my journal. Include praise to God, what I repent of and my plans for change, commentary on the scriptures I have read, service I plan to do, the purpose for which I fast each month, and my testimony. If we regularly make such entries in a journal, it can be a powerful tool in keeping our testimonies strong, providing direction and motivation for change, and inspiring our children and our children’s children. The miracles in our lives are quickly dimmed in our memories, but our journal entries can bring them clearly back and make us hunger for eternal life, a life of constant miracle.
Even though my fasting still cannot perfectly be called “rejoicing and prayer,” I feel much closer to that ideal than I did a year ago. I am grateful that I know that God lives, that we are his children, and that he desires that we find joy. And now I’m convinced that fasting is an integral part of that joy. It is a crucial element in our effort to eliminate every weakness, strengthen every talent, become perfect so that we can rejoin our Father in heaven. I am thankful to him for revealing fasting as a powerful tool that can help us find our way back to him.