Gospel Story Finder

While in Canada recently, I was happy to meet a young man serving as a missionary whom I had interviewed some years before. He had wanted so much to serve a mission, but his parents were against his doing so. He felt torn, knowing the prophet’s counsel that every worthy young man should serve a mission, yet also knowing the Lord’s commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother.” He wanted to do what was right, and he wanted me to tell him what to do. I counseled him to go home and live worthily for a mission call and to honor his parents by abiding by their wishes. And that is what he did. I didn’t hear any more from this young man until I saw him on my visit to Canada. Now he was a missionary, serving with his parents’ approval and support. “Elder Pinegar is a prophet,” he said to the stake president. “He promised me my parents would some day consent to my coming on a mission if I would honor and obey them, and he was right.” Now I want to be quick to assure you that I make no claim of being a prophet; but I can promise you, as the prophets have promised, that the Lord’s words are true. His commandments are for our good. His promises are sure to those who love him and keep his commandments.

Jetta Pearl Stewart pulled off her bonnet and plopped down on the porch next to Father. “What’s a pearl?” she asked him.
Eight-year-old Jetta knew what a pearl was, but she loved hearing Father’s answer. Like always, Father explained how pearls grow in oysters, layer upon layer, until they become bright and beautiful.
“Pearls shine like you, my little Jetta Pearl,” he said, smiling. Jetta smiled back. She liked being his Pearl.
At dinner that night, Father told Jetta he had an important question for her.
“Ever since you were little, you have had a special way with music,” Father said. “Would you like to learn the piano?”
Jetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”
“It would mean traveling far away and staying with your teacher for a while,” Mother said. “No one here in Milburn can teach you.”
Jetta’s smile faded. She had never been away from her family for more than a day. And to be far away …
“But it’s important for us to develop our talents, even when it’s difficult,” Father said.
Mother nodded. “You would have to work very hard.”
Jetta loved music. And she had always wanted to play the piano. Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “I’m going to play the piano!”
But the next morning, as Jetta watched Father hitch the horses to the wagon, she didn’t feel excited at all. Today she was just scared. She hadn’t expected to be leaving home so soon.
Jetta slowly climbed up into the wagon next to Father.
“You ready, Jetta Pearl?” he said.
She didn’t feel ready, but Jetta nodded. The wagon lurched forward.
After a while, Father glanced over at her. “Do you know how proud your mother and I are of you?”
Jetta nodded. “But what if you need my help at home?”
Father smiled. “We’ll sure miss you, but this is a way only you can help. You’ll be serving Heavenly Father by developing a gift He gave you.”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. Could her musical talent really be a gift from Heavenly Father?
Father continued. “It will take time, but little by little you’ll get better at playing piano. And then you’ll be able to serve lots of people.”
Jetta felt her fear start to fade. She was going to learn the piano and serve Heavenly Father. It would be scary, but she knew that He would help her.
Father winked. “Layer by layer, my little Pearl is getting bright and shiny.”
Just like Father had said, little by little Jetta learned to play the piano. She even learned how to play the organ.
After a few months, Jetta returned home. That Sunday she became Milburn’s very first organist! Her heart raced as she sat at the huge organ the community had worked to buy for her to play. It was so beautiful that Jetta was almost afraid to touch it. She had to sit on a book to reach the keys.
She took a deep breath and started to play. The notes soared across the room, full and beautiful.
Jetta sneaked a peek at the congregation. People were smiling as they sang. Jetta smiled too. Her playing was far from perfect, but she was using her talents to serve.
She remembered Father’s words: “Pearls shine like you, Jetta Pearl.”
Little by little, layer by layer, Heavenly Father was making her into a true pearl.

President Brigham Young first became aware of the perilous situation of these companies on October 4, 1856. The next day he stood before the Saints in Salt Lake City and said, “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains, … and they must be brought here; we must send assistance to them … before the winter sets in.”
He asked the bishops to provide 60 mule teams, 12 or more wagons, and 12 tons (10,886 kg) of flour and proclaimed, “Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
The combined number of pioneers in the Willie and Martin handcart companies was approximately 1,100. Some 200 of these precious Saints died along the trail. Without the timely rescue, many more would have perished.
The winter storms began nearly two weeks after the first rescuers left Salt Lake City. The accounts of members of the Willie and Martin companies describe devastating challenges after the storms began. These accounts also depict the great joy when the rescuers arrived.
Describing the arrival scene, Mary Hurren said: “Tears streamed down the cheeks of the men, and the children danced for joy. As soon as the people could control their feelings, they all knelt down in the snow and gave thanks to God.”

Imagine you are visiting Africa. As you look at wild animals through your binoculars, you notice a shape coming toward you. It’s an eagle owl! As it gets closer, you hold up your arm to defend yourself. But instead of attacking, the owl gently lands on your arm, making little noises and looking at you for a moment before taking flight once more. This really happened to President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He loves animals, and especially birds.

The first time I heard my big brother Allan play the piano in sacrament meeting, I wanted to do the same thing. It became one of my Children and Youth goals to play a hymn in sacrament meeting.
Since then, I’ve been studying piano with my uncle Ken. Each day I try to practice for at least 30 minutes. After 10 months, I was able to play the hymn “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26).
Then came COVID-19. Church leaders canceled Sunday meetings. They said we should have church at home. Mom and Dad gave us each an assignment. They asked me to play the opening song, and I played “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer.” I was able to accomplish my goal of playing a hymn in sacrament meeting! I could feel the Spirit in our home.

David loved to sit on the front porch and think, and that was exactly what he was doing one warm summer day.
“I want to be very, very smart like my dad,” David said to the postman who delivered the mail. “I’m going to read and learn everything!”
The postman smiled. “That’s a very good ambition,” he said, “but that will take a lot of time and study.”
“Ambition,” David repeated to himself after the mailman left. “That’s a big word. The mailman is smart and uses big words.”
This gave David an idea. “That’s what I’ll do to become smart. I’ll learn smart-sounding words.”
Just then David’s little brother, Bobby, came around the corner of the house carrying a baseball and mitt. “Hi, David. What are you doing?” he called.
“Thinking,” David answered.
“What about?” Bobby asked.
David sat up tall and answered, “Ambition.”
“Ambition?” Bobby looked puzzled.
“Yes, ambition. Everyone has to have it you know,” David said with authority.
“Oh, but how do you think about it?” Bobby wanted to know.
“I’m thinking about how smart I am when I use ambition,” David said proudly.
“I’d rather play ball,” Bobby said as he ran off to do just that.
David went into the house and took the dictionary from the bookshelf. He put it on the table, closed his eyes, opened the book, and then with his finger he pointed to a word.
“There,” he said to himself. “This is where I’ll start.”
He looked at the word his finger had found. “Ex—ex—a exa—I can’t even say it!” David exclaimed. “How can I become smart if I can’t even say smart words?”
“What’s that, David? Is something wrong?” his mother asked as she came into the room.
“It’s this word,” David replied. “What does e-x-a-s-p-e-r-a-t-i-o-n spell?”
“Exasperation,” she answered.
“Exasperation,” David repeated with a smile. “That’s a good, big, smart word.”
“It certainly is,” Mother agreed.
David felt better now. He walked back outside and down the street. Mrs. Smith was sweeping her sidewalk and stopped to say hello to David.
“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” he answered.
He held his head high and tried to look very smart as he said, “Exasperation. Ambition.”
Mrs. Smith looked puzzled. “Oh my, David,” she murmured. “How perplexing!”
“Per-plex-ing. Perplexing,” David repeated after her. “That’s a very smart word to remember.” He went on down the street until he came to the corner grocery store. Mr. Packer, the grocer, was David’s friend.
I’ll show Mr. Packer how smart I have become, he thought.
David walked into the store and stood very tall in front of the counter and said, “Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“What?” Mr. Packer asked rubbing his head in a curious way.
“Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.” David repeated the words loud and clear.
“My, my,” was all Mr. Packer could say.
David left the store and hurried home. “Oh, Mother,” he said. “I have become so smart. And it didn’t take much time at all!”
“Smart?” Mother wondered.
David stood very proud and tall, and said, “Yes, just listen to me. Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“What?” Mother asked.
“Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” Mother said.
“It has to mean something?” David questioned.
“Yes, or no one will understand you. Do you know what those words mean?”
David hadn’t thought about that. He slumped down in a chair feeling quite silly while his mother explained.
“Ambition is a strong desire to achieve. Exasperation is a feeling you get when you are irritated or annoyed. And perplexing is when you are confused or puzzled.”
“Those words mean all that? I guess I’ll never be smart,” David sighed.
“Yes, you will. But you have to learn the meaning of words before you can use them,” she replied.
“That’s a lot of work!” David said.
“It certainly is,” Mother agreed.
David thought very hard. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll just have to do it. I’ll study and work until I learn the meanings too.”
Mother smiled and said, “Now that’s the smart thing to do!”

During an interfaith event in October, I was asked by Mrs Lynda Ford-Horne, Chair of the Poole and Bournemouth Holocaust Memorial Committee, if I would be willing to accept the invitation to be one of the volunteers to light one of the seven candles for the Holocaust Memorial Service that was being held on Sunday 26th January at The Poole Lighthouse Theatre.
The six candles represent the six million Jews that were murdered during the holocaust, with the seventh candle representing the other million victims from groups that were also murdered.
I am the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew and when Lynda asked me, I felt that I was being given this honour to represent my Jewish ancestors and my heart was very full.
On the day of the Memorial Service, tears fell as I stepped forward to light the candle and my heart and soul felt very close to my Jewish family that have passed through the veil. I gave thanks that I was able to do this task in their name.

What are some of the ways that we can become peacemakers?First, we must confirm our individual commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Inward manifestation of this commitment includes obedience to the Lord's commandments, and striving daily to strengthen our testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Outward manifestation of our commitment to living the gospel includes serving others in our wards and reaching out beyond our own comfort zone to serve in our communities. This requires viewing one another as brothers and sisters of the divisions the world creates. In the BYU-Hawaii group on the website Facebook, one of our students posed the question "What does it mean to have the most diverse school representing over 70 different countries?" Another student responded, "It means that there is no room for prejudice, racism, or narrow mindedness." Imagine if we could take that simple and powerful lesson with us from this place and apply it globally, in every community that we become a part of.
We are in a place where we can see and experience the fruits of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ preached to the ends of the earth. In the dedication of the Aloha Center, President Marion G. Romney called BYU-Hawaii "a living laboratory in which individuals who share the teachings of the Master Teacher have an opportunity to develop appreciation, tolerance, and esteem for one another. For what can be done here interculturally in a small way is what mankind must do on a large scale if we are ever to have real brotherhood on earth." As students, you must recognize the hand of the Lord in bringing you to this place, and to live worthily in order to help fulfill the mission of this university. I realize that this is a heavy burden. Maybe this is why the Lord decided to place us here, in Hawaii, to sweeten the deal a bit. Make no mistake, you are part of this living laboratory. You are not standing outside of it, looking in. By virtue of your presence here, the Lord has big plans for you. Be worthy, in every way, of the blessings He has in store for you.Second, we must erase the artificial divisions that exist between us. We must see one another as the Lord sees us. While our cultural, national, and regional identities are important, emphasizing our identities as Latter-day Saints can overcome the temptation to focus on our differences at the expense of our one similarity-that we are sons and daughters of our Father in Heaven and brothers and sisters here on this earth. The artificial divisions that we create are irrelevant to the Lord. When they become irrelevant to us, we move closer to becoming that city on a hill.
Third, we must search for practical ways to bridge these worldly divides. I will use two examples from this campus to illustrate what I mean. In 1987, the citizens of Fiji were torn by political strife. A military coup had brought ethnic tensions between indigenous Fijians and Indo-Fijians to a violent head. Here at BYU-Hawaii, representatives of both the Fijian and Indo-Fijian community worked together to set an example of unity to their brothers and sisters at home. Fijian Club members, along with associated faculty and community members, met informally in the days immediately following the coup and decided that they would not succumb to the bitter strife that engulfed their nation, but would, in the words one participant, "use Christ as our guide" and stand united in faith. The next meeting of the Fijian Club was a forum that proclaimed their commitment to the Christian principles of love and brotherhood in the face of political turmoil. They had become a city on a hill.
Second story: In 2006, tensions between India and Pakistan made global headlines. The two countries, both with nuclear arsenals, appeared to be at the brink of war. During the height of this escalating conflict, BYU-Hawaii students from India and Pakistan created a library display that highlighted their shared cultural heritage. Photographs, beautiful clothing, and other items laid side by side bore testimony that the commitment of these students and their advisors to the gospel of Jesus Christ could overcome the political differences that divided their homelands. Here at BYU-Hawaii, these students decided to do something to communicate their commitment to peace. They too had become a city on a hill. These are just two examples of the kinds of actions referred to in Mosiah 15:14-16 "And these are they who have published peace, who have brought good tidings of good, who have published salvation; and said unto Zion: Thy God reigneth! And O how beautiful upon the mountains were their feet...how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those that are still publishing peace!"

When Lynn Parsons was called as the disability specialist in the Hurst Texas Stake, she wanted to fulfill her calling in a way that would bless the lives of members of her stake, especially members with disabilities and their families.
One of the first things Lynn did was to review information on her calling at LDS.org (lds.org/callings/disability-specialist), and she used Handbook 2: Administering the Church to understand official Church policies regarding those with disabilities. The Disability Resources website (lds.org/disability) also served as a resource. It helped her understand various disabilities and served as a resource to share with members of her stake.
Handbook 2 states, “The bishopric or stake presidency may call a ward or stake disability specialist to help individuals and families.”1 LDS.org gives further information about this calling, explaining that “the role of the disability specialist is to help facilitate increased participation and inclusion of Church members with disabilities.”2
With this understanding, Lynn says she wanted to “help leaders fulfill their callings by finding the tools they needed to serve those with disabilities.”
Lynn also found information through community and national resources, the Internet, and ward and stake members who have a background working with people with disabilities. Lynn uses these resources as she looks for solutions to some of the challenges leaders and families face in her stake. She doesn’t always know where to turn for information or help, “but if you really seek the answer through prayer,” she says, “you will be inspired where to look to find your answer.”
Lynn also works to understand the disability-related needs of leaders in her area. To do this, she asked her stake leaders to send a letter to bishops informing them of her calling and that she was available to help. She also met with the stake Primary presidency to understand challenges, and she made plans to meet with other groups of leaders. “I wanted to get the word out,” she said. “I wanted people to know where they could find some help.”
By letting members of the stake know she was ready to serve, Lynn soon found opportunities to help leaders. Within the first few months of being called as the disability specialist, she was invited to meet with a ward council to talk about characteristics of a specific disability. She served in other ways, such as helping a teacher understand how to teach a child with autism and suggesting that an assistant Primary teacher be called so a child with a disability could attend class.
Moving forward, Lynn plans to help leaders fulfill their callings. As she does this, she is helping members of her stake follow the example of the Savior in loving and reaching out to others, including those with disabilities.

And let’s be sure that our reaching out is not marked with any feelings of superiority. I will always remember the first time I went subbing for Santa. We had collected a number of toys, small Christmas trees, and baskets of fruit. Being high school seniors, we felt we finally understood the importance of giving at Christmas.
We went into one particular dark and dingy home. Several broken chairs were the only furniture. There was no food on the shelves. The children obviously would not have had any toys for Christmas had we not been there. I looked around the darkened living room, and there sat a television set. I thought to myself, “Why are we giving gifts at Christmas when these folks have spent their money on a television?”
After subbing for Santa that night, I went home and asked my father, “Dad, why would those people have a television set when they didn’t even have food or furniture?”
My father looked at me as if I really needed to understand. He said, “Hugh, that is all those people have. Perhaps for an hour or two a day it gives them some of the happiness you feel with your family and friends so much of the time.”
I think I grew up a little that Christmas. At least I was never again critical of what other people did when it came to those types of decisions.

The BYU Cougar Marching Band members had one of their great experiences when they marched in President Nixon’s Inaugural Parade. At the same time they brought honor to Mormon youth the world over. Of their part in the parade one network announcer said the band was “one of the ten best collegiate bands in the United States and possibly the best in the western part of the country.” Dr. Ralph G. Laycock, member of the Music Department Faculty at BYU, had composed a special number for the occasion entitled “Inaugural Procession.” As the band approached the bullet-proof reviewing box, they broke into the new composition with zest and were met with smiles of approval from the President.
But this was not the end of their challenges for the day. Once they reached the end of the parade route and moved toward their waiting buses, they were confronted by hundreds of anti-Nixon protestors who had just completed a noisy rally at the Washington Monument. As band members moved through the crowd, some of the protestors began to taunt them. Just when trouble looked inevitable, the drum major blew his whistle and the band struck up a medley of popular songs. Hostility melted; the demonstrators moved aside.
During the tour, band members made special efforts to exhibit Church standards to all they met. Stanley Miller, band advisor, echoed the feelings of many when he said, “We are proud of our people, not only for their performance for the President, but for their entire conduct during the four days.”

About a month after first stepping into the Angoulême chapel, I decided to be baptized. I was 18 and didn’t need parental permission. But when I called my family in Australia with the joyous news, I was shocked and disappointed to discover they had a negative attitude about the Church and opposed my desire to be baptized.
This weighed heavily on my heart. Should I go ahead against the wishes of my family, whom I loved dearly? Or should I delay baptism until I returned to Australia, where I faced the possibility of greater opposition?
Matthew 19:29 helped me make the decision: “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” Was I willing to put the Savior first—even before my family? The answer was yes, and on December 16, 1989, I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My remaining time in France was filled with a peaceful joy I had never known before.

“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was an open place called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. One of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The holler was truly a paradise for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”

Five years ago, Sister Amy A. Wright was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. The only way her family made it through her aggressive treatments, she said, was by focusing on the Savior Jesus Christ.
“When it was all about me, the world became a really dark place,” she recalled. “But when my focus turned outward, when I would strive to serve others and walk the way Christ walked, there was light and joy, even during the greatest pain and suffering.”
Sister Wright described her battle with cancer as a “polishing and refining experience”—one that was “uniquely tailored” to help her come to know the Savior in a deeply personal way. It also taught her that additional strength comes in seeking to learn and understand others’ diverse challenges.

A summer rain in the Sierra Mountains usually lasts only a few hours, so I wasn’t worried when the rain began. I told the boys to pack up and we’d hike during the rain to the high secluded lakes in Bench Valley that promised good fishing. We were unaware, after four days of camping and hiking, that Tropical Storm Norman was lashing at California. In a rage of rain, wind, and ship-shoving waves, “Storming Norman” would make itself felt across the state. But that first Monday in September, we merely enjoyed the cooling rain.
A week in the Sierras had become an annual trip for me as bishop and the Explorer-aged boys in my ward. I had been on many hikes in the Sierra Mountains as a teenager. Now as bishop I felt the hikes brought me close to the boys as nothing else could. This was my sixth trip as a leader and one of my easiest so far. In the first place, two other adults, Brother Rich and Brother Christiansen, were helping me. Secondly, seven of the boys had been with me before. Only two 14-year-olds were on their first Sierra hike. Steven Knight had planned on this since his brother Jim came back a year before with enthusiastic accounts of the fishing, camaraderie, and glories of nature. He and Kurt Moody, the other first-timer, were excited. I found their inexperience creating the usual slight problems any beginner presents. They made occasional mistakes. They complained about the difficulties of backpacking and suffered from sore ankles and stiff muscles. But generally, we all enjoyed the 11 kilometer hike that day. We crossed several small streams, walked through one large meadow, and managed a stiff climb into Bench Valley.
“Don’t set up camp yet, boys,” I instructed. “We don’t want wet tents if we can help it. Stay under your ponchos and wait for the storm to end.”
I still thought the rain would soon stop, as it had every other time I had been there. But when the rain hadn’t stopped by midafternoon, we set up our camp.
“Split some logs for dry wood and let’s start a fire,” I instructed.
“Won’t the rain just put it out?” Jim asked.
“Build the fire next to that rock face. It will provide a little protection from the rain. We’ll keep the fire big enough to burn in spite of the rain.”
After a wet but warm supper, we went into our tents to wait for the end of the storm. The wind began blowing. And the rain came down.
“Bishop Brown!”
I woke up. It was still night, and it was still raining. Steven was standing outside my tent, shivering and wet.
“Our tent leaks. I’m all w-w-wet and freezing.”
I got Steven in with Steve Rich, who was sharing my tent. I didn’t know that Steven had left his own tent flap open. For the rest of the night the rain came in on his tent-mate, Kurt.
Several hours later I awoke again, with a feeling of wet suffocation. The wind had pulled the tent stakes out of the ground which was too wet to hold them. One end of the tent had collapsed, dumping its load of water on us. I struggled out and reset the stakes. While I was up, I built up the fire again. By the time I got back to my tent, the other end had blown down. I put it back up and got back in. It took a long time before I felt warm again.
Dawn came, showing a very wet camp. Keith and Mark Nelsen woke to find a pond forming next to their tent, within 15 centimeters of them. A new stream ran between two other tents. The rock overhang used to protect the packs had sheets of water flowing down it, soaking the packs. Most of the boys had wet sleeping bags. The rocky cliffs surrounding us were covered with waterfalls pouring water into the valley. It was spectacular. It was also frightening.
“We’d better leave here,” Brother Christiansen said. “We might get trapped by some flooding.”
Aren’t we up pretty high?” Steve Young asked. “This rain could turn to snow. We might get trapped in a snowstorm.”
They were both right. We decided to start going down for more shelter and less cold. We hurriedly packed our camp equipment.
“How much of this food should we take? We don’t need to carry it all back out do we?” Steve Rich asked.
“No, let’s just take what we need,” I agreed.
“Let’s go all the way out to the cars today. I’m sick of this rain,” Cornell Hansen grumbled.
The boys all loudly agreed. But I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know if we can hike the full 32 kilometers today in all this rain,” I said. “We had better take food for four meals in case we’re delayed.”
“Oh, bishop, do we have to?” “We have to. Now let’s start.”
The hike soon became a nightmare. Our fears of flooding were well-founded. Small streams we had walked through without wetting our pant cuffs became turbulent rivers, tearing at us and trying to pull us under. Waterfalls were everywhere. The trail itself became a stream and difficult to follow. The wind whipped branches in our way. We missed our turnoff and went down the longer trail to Maxon Meadows. I remembered a Ranger cabin in the meadow from last year. Maybe we could take refuge there. We walked slowly on through the chilling wind and rain. When we finally reached a spot where we could look over the meadow, we stopped in dismay.
“Look, it’s a lake!”
Yes, the meadow was covered knee-deep in water. The cabin looked like some sort of strange ark. The rising water was lapping at its base. We hiked through the lake and kept going.
The trail was now often waist deep in water. We were all cold and miserable.
“Just keep going, boys,” I encouraged. “Then we’ll be out of this mess.”
But I hadn’t taken into account Fall Creek. It was a small creek we had waded through on the way in. Then it had been about 3 meters wide and 30 centimeters deep. Now it was a raging torrent of churning water 30 meters wide and well over our heads.
We had to cross the river. Our situation was becoming critical. We were wet and chilled, with no way to dry shelter, and all the wood was soaked or underwater. It was hard to comprehend the quantity of water around us.
We had to cross the river. But we couldn’t cross the river. It was too deep to wade, too rough to swim, and too wide to bridge. Upstream, the river came down a deep gorge between cliffs. We couldn’t cross there. I prayed to our Heavenly Father that, like Moses, I could somehow part the waters. We started downstream, hoping to find a way across.
After hiking about 400 meters Brother Rich discovered a huge pine tree that “happened” to span the river. We had often seen pines crossing streams before, but never one the dimensions of this huge patriarch. While it didn’t reach from shore to shore, both ends were on ground high enough that we could reach them by wading waist deep.
Brother Rich started across first to test if it was safe. As he climbed on the pine, it bobbed in the water, but stayed where it was. Carefully he made his way safely to the other side. There he climbed off and waded out of sight through the trees to higher ground.
I was the third one to attempt the crossing. I had gone only a few steps when I stopped. I had a feeling that the two younger boys would not be able to get across without help. I turned around, but others were on the log behind me.
“Keith,” I called. The big blond boy looked up. “Cross with Steven and help him if he has trouble.” He nodded in agreement.
“And, Jeff, you go with Kurt.”
“I will do that,” Jeff answered.
Keith and Steven started across the slippery tree. Branches, twigs, and other debris washed down by the flood were trapped by the tree. The fallen tree’s own branches impeded their progress.
“Step there,” Keith instructed.
Steven stepped, but he had misunderstood Keith’s directions. The branch disappeared under the foaming water. Steven followed it. His pack pulled him down, completely under the water. The current started pushing him under the log. He was in danger of being trapped and drowned. Acting quickly, Keith reached in and grabbed Steven’s pack. With one strong pull, he pulled him back onto the log.
Scared, but with no other choice, they continued across the tree. But danger wasn’t through with Steven yet. He stepped on some branches that snapped underneath him. Again he went in over his head and started being pulled under the huge tree. Again Keith reached in and pulled him out.
By now, Steven was afraid to take another step. Keith helped him off with his pack and carried it. Without its added weight, Steven made his precarious way to safety:
When Steven reached solid ground he began shaking. He was thoroughly chilled and apparently in shock as a reaction to his near drowning.
“Let’s get you some dry clothes,” I said heartily, trying to get his mind off his past peril. I gave him the shirt and dry wool sweater I was wearing. One of the boys gave him some dry pants from his pack.
While he was changing, the rest of the boys came across the tree.
“Be careful,” Jeff told Kurt. “You’re bigger than Steven and I’m not sure I can lift you.”
They began to carefully walk across. But the slippery tree moved—Kurt lost his balance and fell in, He caught himself and didn’t go completely under. However, with the force of the current and the weight of his pack, he couldn’t climb back on the tree and Jeff couldn’t lift him. They struggled futilely for several minutes. Jeff almost lost his balance himself. Finally Jeff helped Kurt off with his pack. Now Kurt was able to get back on the tree and continue across the river.
A new danger was now apparent. Kurt was soaked after his icy bath, I had given up my own dry clothes, and Steven was still shivering. In spite of his dry clothes, he was shaking so hard he couldn’t speak. I knew we had to get warm, but I didn’t know how.
Everything—equipment, clothes, wood, ground-everything was wet. The temperature was dropping, and the wind was adding to the chill factor. The only thing I could think to do was to keep on moving. Brother Rich and Brother Christiansen, agreed. We had to get out. But the rain was falling and the rivers were rising.
We hiked on. I was becoming very chilled. I was having a hard time thinking clearly. I recognized this as a symptom of a lower than normal body temperature, and I was becoming frightened. As the body temperature drops, the body loses its ability to warm itself. It’s a very real danger for wet hikers and I wasn’t sure if the two younger boys would be able to get out all right.
I sent a couple of the older boys ahead to look for dry wood and ground up out of the water. And I prayed.
About 15 minutes later we got to them. They had found a fallen log.
“We managed to split it,” Jeff said. “We dug some dry wood from the middle, but none of our matches will light.”
“Here,” I said as they moved aside. “I’ll use my lighter.”
I flicked the lighter. Nothing happened. Flick. Still nothing. Flick. Flick.
“Maybe it’s out of fuel,” someone offered.
“It can’t be. I bought it just for this trip.” I flicked it again and again. It wouldn’t light.
I got out my matches. Thank goodness they were still dry. I struck one. It wouldn’t light. Another. It still wouldn’t light. One by one I struck them all. Not one would light.
“Oh, Father,” I prayed, “thou knowest we need help. I am afraid these two boys will die if they don’t get warm. If we have to spend the night wet in this rain and wind, I may die too. Please help us light a fire to warm ourselves. We need thy help!”
We tried everyone’s matches. We didn’t get one spark.
“Why, Father why? I am their bishop, and we need thy help. Why are my prayers unanswered? We need thee. Please don’t turn away.”
The only answer was the blowing rain.
“Lord, it depends on you now. I don’t know anything else to do.”
We hiked on. I was shivering violently now. The trail was sometimes chest deep in water on the boys. Only the marked trees kept us on the correct trail. I knew we couldn’t hike all the way out. The younger boys were slowing down. There was another river ahead. It was bigger than all the others. It would surely be unpassable.
“What will I tell their mothers?” I worried. “Will this end all camping trips for Church teens? How will my wife manage our seven children? Little Melanie’s only two weeks old. I’ll never know her.” My mind continued on its frightened course. I continued praying, hard and constantly.
Almost in despair, we hiked on, leaning into the rain. We walked wearily around a bend. There was a cabin. It took a moment for us to realize it was real. A cabin! A cabin with smoke coming out of the chimney. Other than the inundated one on Maxon Meadows, it was probably the only cabin within 32 kilometers. Pacific Gas and Electric Company kept it to measure winter snowfall.
Inside the cabin were four other hikers who had taken refuge from the storm. A fire was burning hotly. There was a huge stack of firewood, trashcans full of wool blankets, and ample food supplies. We were safe.
When we were all warm and dry, I thanked God for his mercy. I realized that had we been able to light a fire, we would still be out in the storm, fighting for our lives.
“Thank thee, Father, for not answering my pleas for fire. Help me remember, when I complain and wonder why, that I do not know what shelter is is around the next bend.”
I tried my lighter. It flicked its merry little flame on the first try.
The storm forced us to stay for two and a half days. Then, with snow on the ground, we hiked out.

My mother’s name is Tatiafogaega Tausagafou Brown-Fuimaono.
When she was young, Tatia lived in a small faleo’o (house) with her family in Matautu Lefaga, Samoa. Her father, Palauni Brown, was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but he had not been active in the Church for a while. Tatia remembers that her dad would still encourage his wife and five children (at the time) to attend his church, even though he didn’t.
Tatia’s mother was a devout member of the Congregational Christian Church of Samoa. When missionaries from her husband’s church would visit their home, she never wanted to have a proper conversation with them, but she did accept their challenge to read the Book of Mormon. This book intrigued her, and before long—even though she still refused to take the missionary lessons—Tatia’s mother was reading from the Book of Mormon daily.
One day, her mother instructed Tatia to collect large, flat stones to hold down the edges of their mosquito nets. Tatia obediently headed out the front of their house, but before she could pick up one stone, she mysteriously collapsed.
Her mother rushed out to her, and then screamed. Tatia was already cold and pale and wasn’t breathing. The very next thought that came to her mother’s mind was to call for the elders, the missionaries from her husband’s church.
By the time the elders arrived, Tatia has been unresponsive for several minutes. The missionaries immediately gave her a blessing of healing, and as she began to wake up, Tatia remembers hearing one elder’s voice saying, “Mother, do not worry. She will be well. Heavenly Father has work for her to do. You and your children will also be blessed because of your faith.”
From that day forward, Tatia’s mother would testify that this event—the miraculous healing of her child—confirmed to her the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and indeed, the priesthood of God. She was baptised in 1959 and spent the rest of her life dedicated to the Lord’s work, especially the gathering of Israel on both sides of the veil.
Before she passed away in 2019—at the age of 90—Tatia’s mother was blessed to witness the elder’s prophecy come true. She would eventually have nine children and they all became strong, active members of the Church, with six of them serving missions of their own. They in turn are raising their own children in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and another generation of Latter-day Saints can thank a faithful grandmother for giving the Book of Mormon a chance.

“My father isn’t a member and wouldn’t let me go to FSY or be baptized,” says Jesiana, 16. “But then branch members fasted for me, and my grandmother talked with my father. After that he said I could go!”
At FSY, she experienced many firsts, such as, “participating in the lessons and activities and bearing my testimony helped me understand what it is really like to feel the Holy Ghost. I had never felt the Spirit like that before, and I was so happy and excited. I bore my testimony for the first time.”

Have you ever made a mistake? Have you ever felt sorry about something that you have done? Here is a true story of a responsible boy named Travis. He learned that being accountable for his actions by repenting made him feel good about himself.
1. Travis was having fun playing with Matt’s toys. He wished that they were his own.
2. I’ll borrow them, he thought, putting several toys into his pocket without asking Matt.
3. When Travis played with the toys in his bedroom at home, it wasn’t much fun.
4. His mother asked him why he was unhappy.
5. Travis told his mother that he had borrowed Matt’s toys without asking and that now he felt awful about it.
6. “It is wrong to take something that belongs to someone else,” said Travis’s mother. “What will make it right?”
7. “I’ll feel better if Matt has his toys back,” said Travis. “Will you take them to him for me?”
8. “No, I can’t repent for you,” Mother replied. “You are sorry, and you need to take the toys back yourself.”
9. “I’m afraid to tell Matt the truth. Maybe he’ll be mad at me.”
10. “Maybe he will,” said Mother, “but taking the toys back and telling Matt that you are sorry will take away the bad feeling that you have for your mistake.”
11. “Matt, here are your toys. I’m sorry that I took them without asking,” said Travis. “I won’t do it again.”
12. “I’m glad that you brought them back,” said Matt. “You really are a good friend.”
13. “I’m glad that I told the truth and made things right,” Travis said with a smile.

We have mentioned that Brigham Young had his tests. So did Heber C. Kimball—he was tried to the core. I believe there are those even in the Church who would say in their hearts that the test of Abraham is too much; that a loving God would not require such a thing of any man, least of all someone as faithful as Abraham. Those who have such thoughts had better think again. Modern revelation indicates at least three times that each of us who seeks eternal life must one day be tried, even as Abraham.38 I put the question once to President Hugh B. Brown, when we were in Israel: Why was Abraham commanded to go up on that mountain (traditionally Mount Moriah in Jerusalem) and offer as a sacrifice his only hope for the promised posterity? President Brown wisely replied, “Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham.”39 By being tested, all of us will one day know how much our hearts are really set on the kingdom of God.

Heber C. Kimball’s test was of that kind. A pure and humble man, at the restoration of the principle of plural marriage he was commanded—and that’s the word, not counselled—to take a second wife; and to make it worse, in that soul-wrenching setting he was told he must not yet confide this to his own companion, Vilate, whom he loved with a pure love, and with whom he had shared his spiritual life since their marriage, and particularly from the time they entered the Church. At the time of his baptism a voice had spoken to him, giving him some insight into his origins, his genealogy, and also whispering of things yet future. One thing he was told by the Spirit even then was that he and his wife would never be separated.40 Now, years later, he was being asked by a prophet to become separate in a sense—to enter plural marriage.

Filled with anxiety, Heber spent much of his nights pacing the floor. His dear Vilate begged him to tell her what was wrong, but because the Prophet had told him not to he couldn’t and wouldn’t. Finally, she in faith and desperate need went to her room and poured out her soul to God. “What is it, O Lord? How can I help my beloved?” And the Lord saw fit to give her a wonderful manifestation, for she saw and heard unspeakable things. She returned to her husband, her face aglow, and said, “Heber, what you kept from me the Lord has shown to me.” She covenanted to honor the principle with him. Heber, who had been supplicating the Father at the same time as she had, embraced her with comparable joy.

Heber passed the test. Later the Prophet, in tears, took him and his wife Vilate upstairs in his own store and blessed them personally and sealed upon them blessings that only come to those who have come up through affliction.41

I was baptized on April 6, 2019. Four years later, in 2023, I received a call to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Jamaica Kingston Mission. Before I left my beloved Guyana, my journey took several troubling turns.
How did it begin? I completed my mission recommendation forms and received my call. Everything went smoothly until my parents heard I’d be going to Jamaica. It was so far away! My parents, mostly my mother, decided I shouldn’t go. “No, you’re not going!” she said. “You have to start school and work, and it’s too far away! It could be dangerous. A lot of things can happen.”
I was sad to hear this. I tried explaining that I would be safe and that when I got back, I could continue school. My mother still disagreed and gave me two options: “One, you stay here at home, work, and go to school, or two, you choose to serve this mission and forget you have a family. What’s your pick?”
I was shocked upon hearing this, and the conversation ended that night. I continued to prepare for my mission with the help of my stake president and district members. I was concerned that I would break the commandment to “honour thy father and thy mother” (Exodus 20:12) if I went. I was told to trust God and ask what He would have me do. I remember calling my stake president twice, telling him I don’t want to serve. I wasn’t just troubled by my mother’s words but also by other personal conflicts of feeling inadequate and leaving behind people I loved and things I wanted to do.
Several weeks later, my stake president called and asked if I still wanted to serve. He invited me to pray and ask God if a mission was right for me. After three days of pondering, I decided not to serve, but I hadn’t called the stake president yet. The next day, he called again and asked, “So what’s your answer—do you want to serve?” Without hesitation, I said, “Yes, I want to serve a mission!” Though I had decided not to serve, the Spirit led me to say yes.
I could not fully understand what happened to me in that moment until I was in the mission field. When I left, my mother stopped trying to tell me not to serve and said, “You’re old enough to choose, so go ahead and do as you want.” My father said, “Good luck.”
One week later, I was on a plane to the missionary training center. While I was in the MTC, my mother wouldn’t speak to me on my preparation days, but on the last day, before I left the MTC, my mother called. From then on to the end of my mission, we talked, maybe not every week, but I was grateful that my parents could finally allow and support me in choosing to serve God.
In Doctrine and Covenants 84:88, the Lord Jesus Christ promised to all his faithful servants, “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”
I learned so much on my mission and saw so many miracles. It helped develop my testimony and helped me grow into who I am today, a covenant daughter of God, willing to surrender to Him. The Lord has blessed my relationships and given me wisdom. I know He qualifies those whom He calls to serve. I know that the Lord takes care of those who choose Him over the things of the world. Because of Him, we are blessed to have families that love us. I know this to be true.