Gospel Story Finder

To illustrate, one deacons quorum president, missing one of his quorum members at meeting, called him on the telephone. The boy’s father, an elder, answered the phone. He was negative, not caring about his son’s activity. This deacons quorum president immediately called the elders quorum president and said in effect, “You’ve got a problem, and so have I.” He asked the elders quorum president to please labor with the father as he labored with the son and to report his progress.

Do we catch the significance of peer leadership as well as the example of a young man being true at all times in whatsoever thing he was entrusted?

Some years ago I read an article entitled “Bind on Thy Sandals.” It told of a quarterback on the football team of a small, rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear that he was not going to be all-state or all-American. In fact, he was the fourth of four quarterbacks.
By the last game of the season, he had never been called into a game, and he had given up all hope of playing. During the final game of the year he decided to relax and enjoy himself, so he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled down on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then the coach called again, “Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!”
What should he do? He wanted to say, “Wait, coach, while I put on my shoes.” But instead, he made straight for the huddle, his white-stockinged feet conspicuous to the players, the spectators, and the coach.
He was obviously confused as he called his first play, and by the time he took the snap from center, he had forgotten which play he had called. While his teammates moved to the right, he went left, where he was swallowed up in the snarl of onrushing linemen.
He said later, “No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes.” (See Improvement Era, September 1969, page 44.)

In my enthusiasm and excitement on my first day of service as a mission president, I asked the zone leaders I had invited to my home, “How much of a typical day in missionary service are you normally under the vibrating, powerful influence of the Spirit?”
They obviously did not know what to say. They acted like I had caught them by surprise. Having been converted to the Church as an adult and not having served as a young, full-time missionary, I assumed it was natural that a missionary would be always under the influence of the Spirit. How surprised I was when no missionary was saying anything.
Finally, one of them spoke up. “Last Thursday night, while we were teaching the Lehman family, we were feeling the Spirit.”
I remember my immediate response was, “That was it? How about the rest of the day?”
As soon as I asked my zone leaders what they experience when they are under the influence of the Spirit, they were all participating, describing the different effects the Spirit has in our lives. They agreed that being under the influence of the Spirit fills us with satisfying joy. It enhances our ability to make necessary adjustments, even in the most difficult circumstances. This Spirit helps us develop our intellectual capabilities and even delivers the motivation to use them. The zone leaders agreed that under the influence of the Spirit, some things that can seem uncomfortable, like hard work, getting up on time, going the extra mile, overcoming homesickness, overcoming flaws of character, and other personal sacrifices, become easier.
It became clear that, under the influence of the Spirit, we are empowered to act in wisdom. We see the complexity of a problem in its simple parts and see possible solutions unfolding in front of our eyes, to our own surprise. In other words, our creativity is developed and multiplied. That which is a burden without it becomes a privilege when we are under the influence of the Holy Spirit.
Many times in our lives it happens that the gifts of the Spirit rest dormant in us. We are not even aware of the full extent of their existence, as it was with my missionaries. Did they not have the Spirit? Of course they did. They had even passed the test of forsaking their own self-centered plans to become sacred witnesses for the Lord Jesus Christ. Still they had not fully understood the workings of the Spirit.
Why did the one elder feel the Spirit as he was teaching the Lehman family? Because at that time he and his companion were completely focused in their search for divine guidance. Too often we are not aware of the powerful gift which rests dormant in us. We cannot be grateful for that of which we are not aware, nor can we activate its power.

“My father was a very precise, strong-willed person who believed in hard work. Pride and service were his trademarks. All of us children earned spending money by doing assigned jobs. I can’t remember ever asking my father for a new bike, a baseball glove, or some candy when he didn’t say, ‘Fine. Let’s work out a plan so that you can earn it.’ I grew up believing in the philosophy of work. Sometimes I have a difficult time understanding young people today who expect everything to be given to them without their earning it.
“When I was a boy, one of my assignments was to keep the front and back lawns mowed and trimmed. One hot summer day when I was pulling weeds along the back fence, my father came out into the yard to see how I was doing. He said, ‘Well, it’s not quite up to standard, Paul.’
“I answered, ‘Who cares? Nobody’s going to see it back here anyway.’
“My father responded, ‘The important thing, Paul, is that you and I know it’s here, and that’s all that matters.’
“I have never forgotten that lesson.”

As you can tell from the letterhead, I am a prisoner at the Colorado State Prison. Last year for Christmas I received a subscription to the New Era from my sister and her husband. I have enjoyed reading it this past year. We use it in our Church meetings here. There are four members here with me. Our group started last January, and we have been studying the Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage. About once a month we have a general discussion. We are interested in obtaining reading material that would be of help to us. We don’t have enough good reading material. In closing, the men here would like the members to know that even though we have erred, we are concerned about our future in this life and the life hereafter. In case you’re interested, I’m twenty-two years old.
# 40131State Prison,Canon City, Colorado 81312

When I started reading “When Thou Art Converted” in the March New Era, it sounded strangely familiar. I suddenly realized that the author was the same Elder Young who taught me the discussions while I worked for the Forest Service last summer in Swan Valley, Idaho.
My job and the Teton Dam disaster made for a really interesting summer, but the sincerity and care with which Elder Young taught me left the most memorable and cherished impression. He ended his mission before I finished the discussions, so I never really had the chance to thank him for the wonderful way he helped change my life and open up new horizons. I only wish he could have been there for my early-morning baptism in the Snake River so he could have witnessed one of the happiest fruits of his labors.
Carol KounanisWest Lafayette, Indiana

Years ago a friend of mine went to a large university to study under the ranking authority in the field of counseling and guidance. This professor quickly took an interest in this personable, intelligent young Latter-day Saint. He attracted attention as he moved through the course work required for a doctor’s degree.
He chose the Latter-day Saint bishop as the subject for his dissertation. All went well until he described the ordination of a bishop, the power of discernment, and the right of a bishop to spiritual guidance.
His doctoral committee felt that such references had no place in a scholarly paper, and they insisted that he take them out. He thought he might at least say that Latter-day Saints believe the bishop has spiritual insight. But the committee denied him even this, for they would be quite embarrassed to have this spiritual ingredient included in a scholarly dissertation.
He was told that with some little accommodation—specifically, leaving out all the references to revelation—his dissertation would be published and his reputation established.
He did the best he could. His dissertation did not contain enough about the Spirit to satisfy him and too much to be fully accepted by his worldly professors. But he received his degree.
I asked this friend what was the most important thing he had learned in his study of bishops. He answered, “I learned that the mantle is far, far greater than the intellect, that the priesthood is the guiding power.”

Finally, may I share how the Lord will touch our personal lives through our own faith and prayers. A beautiful baby girl came to our son’s home only to stay with them here on earth for less than five months. The love and care given to her by her parents was deeply touching. The struggle of this infant granddaughter for life was almost more than we could bear. The night before her passing, we went to the Logan hospital giving what support we could to our children.

Later that evening in my son’s home, his mother and I knelt with him and prayed for guidance. When we returned to the hospital and I took my tiny little grandchild’s hand and looked at her, I felt the Savior’s touch. Into my mind came the words, as though spoken by her to me, “Don’t worry, grandpa; I’ll be all right.” Peace came into my heart. The Master’s touch fell upon all of us. Soon thereafter she was released to go home again to her heavenly parents.

Now I will tell you one more if there is time for it. Over in Utrecht, Holland, they had a seminary where they trained ministers, and the young men who were studying for the ministry used to come and stand outside our meetings and listen. And then when the meeting was over, they would come in and argue with us.
I convinced one of those young men that baptism was to be by immersion for the remission of sins, and the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost—he hadn’t been taught that and he didn’t believe it. He said: “Mr. Richards, do you think the Lord will hold us responsible if we teach things that we know are not in full accord with the Holy Scriptures?”
I said, “My friend, I’d rather let the Apostle Paul answer that question. He said, ‘Though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed.’ (Gal. 1:8.)” We didn’t have any more arguments then.

The antique mower just wouldn’t get the edges on that patch between the cracked, roller-coaster sidewalk and the curb. The blades kept catching on the walkway to Aunt Ella’s house. All in all, I guess it did do a pretty good job, and it made the neatest noise when I pushed it. But I always had to make two passes on the driveway between the wheel tracks.
I checked my handiwork. Not too bad for 50¢. I had taken extra care around the rhodo-whatever-it-was, and I hadn’t even knocked one bloom off the ferny “jungle path” to the backyard. I liked the jungle path; it looked like every plant in the world must be back there. It was cool and misty on hot summer days playing hide-and-seek with birds, snails, and my cousins—a dark green Africa.
Aunt Ella’s garage was all of wood. Separate from the house and ever dark, it seemed to sit and brood. It kind of scared me to put the mower away. I never put the mower in the back, always right next to the pale, pink Studebaker, warily regarding the gray-on-brown-on-rust monsters that lay deeper in the tomb.
Those pesty bees about stung me every time I walked around the bottlebrush plant to get to the back door. The jungle slowly encroached upon all mobile things there. I always wondered how Aunt Ella could keep out of its clutches while she filled her bird feeder and cracked nuts on the dirty, pink tablecloth. Why, she was already 83!
The back door creaked as usual when I went into the porch. The washboard in the sink was really starting to rust. An old ladder led to the attic, where jars of apricot jam were stored. I sometimes climbed up there to check for gold and treasure.
I liked the white porcelain handles on the sink in Aunt Ella’s kitchen (even if they were a little loose) and the deep basin. When I would get the blue porcelain plates out of the cupboard, I had to be careful because the latch didn’t work very well. But what could you expect from old wood? Aunt Ella’s fridge was the only round, white one that I’ve ever seen. At least you never hurt yourself if you bumped into it. Her bathtub had feet on it, but they looked like witch’s claws.
Aunt Ella always sat in her rocker and let me eat all the hot chocolate chip cookies I wanted. I usually wandered by the perpetually black TV set, looked at all the pictures of people I had never known on the mantle, played with her black phone with the frayed cord, and tried to catch the two little birds that zipped around free in the house. I would finally plop down in the purplish pink, overstuffed chair next to the brass lamp with the fringe on it. It tipped over easy, so I had to be careful.
I made dust clouds from the chair’s arm while listening to Aunt Ella talk and waiting for Mom to pick me up. When I heard the beep I didn’t even remind her that she forgot to pay me. I said, “Bye, Aunt Ella!” opened the creaky screen door, jumped all five steps at once, hopped in the car, and waved to Aunt Ella on her dingy white and gray porch.
Later on, Mom said that Aunt Ella was getting pretty bad. I didn’t cry at her funeral, not even out of duty as I passed her open coffin.
The other day I drove by her house. The lawn was clipped to perfection, the rhododendron was gone, and the jungle path just wasn’t there. A new car was parked in the driveway, and on the porch the fancy screen door glinted in the dusky light.
Then, I cried.

When I started reading the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet, I felt that many duties were waiting for me. Although I only recently decided to read, apply, and share what is written in this booklet, it has already influenced my spirituality. Using Duty to God helps me grow and become a little better. Before using this booklet, I had never taught or testified of the gospel to my family. After reading and applying what was written in the booklet, I started finding opportunities to teach and testify to my family.

The eruption of Tambora affected weather in North America through the following year. Spring gave way to snowfall and killing frosts, and 1816 passed into memory as the year without a summer.6 In Vermont, in the northeast corner of the United States, rocky hills had frustrated a farmer named Joseph Smith Sr. for years. But that season, as he and his wife, Lucy Mack Smith, watched their crops shrivel under the relentless frosts, they knew they faced financial ruin and an uncertain future if they stayed where they were.
At 45, Joseph Sr. was no longer a young man, and the prospect of starting over on new land was daunting. He knew his oldest sons, 18-year-old Alvin and 16-year-old Hyrum, could help him clear the land, build a house, and plant and harvest crops. His 13-year-old daughter, Sophronia, was old enough to help Lucy with her work in the house and around the farm. His younger sons, 8-year-old Samuel and 5-year-old William, were becoming more helpful, and 3-year-old Katharine and newborn Don Carlos would one day be old enough to contribute.
But his middle son, 10-year-old Joseph Jr., was a different matter. Four years earlier, Joseph Jr. had undergone an operation to remove an infection in his leg. Since then he had walked with a crutch. Although his leg was starting to feel sturdy again, Joseph Jr. had a painful limp, and Joseph Sr. did not know if he would grow up to be as strong as Alvin and Hyrum.7
Certain they could rely on each other, the Smiths resolved to abandon their home in Vermont for better land.8 Like others in the area, Joseph Sr. decided to travel to the state of New York, where he hoped to find a good farm they could buy on credit. He would then send for Lucy and the children, and the family could start over.
As Joseph Sr. set out for New York, Alvin and Hyrum walked him down the road before saying goodbye. Joseph Sr. loved his wife and children dearly, but he had not been able to provide them much stability in life. Bad luck and unsuccessful investments had kept the family poor and rootless. Maybe New York would be different.9
The following winter, Joseph Jr. hobbled through the snow with his mother, brothers, and sisters. They were on their way west to a New York village named Palmyra, near where Joseph Sr. had found good land and was waiting for his family.
Since her husband could not help with the move, Lucy had hired a man named Mr. Howard to drive their wagon. On the road, Mr. Howard handled their belongings roughly and gambled and drank away the money they paid him. And after they joined up with another family traveling west, Mr. Howard kicked Joseph out of the wagon so the other family’s daughters could sit with him as he drove the team.
Knowing how much it hurt Joseph to walk, Alvin and Hyrum tried to stand up to Mr. Howard a few times. But each time he knocked them down with the butt of his whip.10
If he had been bigger, Joseph probably would have tried to stand up to Mr. Howard himself. His hurt leg had kept him from work and play, but his strong will made up for his weak body. Before the doctors had cut into his leg and chipped away infected pieces of bone, they had wanted to tie him down or give him brandy to dull the pain. But Joseph had asked only that his father hold him.
He had stayed awake and alert the whole time, his face pale and dripping with sweat. His mother, who was usually so strong, had nearly fallen apart when she heard his screams. After that, she probably felt that she could bear anything.11
As Joseph limped along beside the wagon, he could see his mother was certainly bearing with Mr. Howard. They had already traveled two hundred miles (322 km), and so far she had been more than patient with the driver’s bad behavior.
About a hundred miles from Palmyra, Lucy was preparing for another day on the road when she saw Alvin running toward her. Mr. Howard had thrown their goods and luggage onto the street and was about to leave with their horses and wagon.
Lucy found the man in a bar. “As there is a God in heaven,” she declared, “that wagon and those horses as well as the goods accompanying them are mine.”
She looked around the bar. It was filled with men and women, most of them travelers like her. “This man,” she said, meeting their gaze, “is determined to take away from me every means of proceeding on my journey, leaving me with eight little children utterly destitute.”
Mr. Howard said that he had already spent the money she paid him to drive the wagon, and he could go no farther.
“I have no use for you,” Lucy said. “I shall take charge of the team myself.”
She left Mr. Howard in the bar and vowed to reunite her children with their father, come what may.12
The road ahead was muddy and cold, but Lucy led her family safely to Palmyra. As she watched the children cling to their father and kiss his face, she felt rewarded for all they had suffered to get there.
The family soon rented a small house in town and discussed how to get their own farm.13 The best plan, they decided, was to work until they had enough money for a down payment on land in the nearby woods. Joseph Sr. and the older sons dug wells, split fence rails, and harvested hay for cash, while Lucy and the daughters made and sold pies, root beer, and decorative cloths to provide food for the family.14
As Joseph Jr. got older, his leg grew stronger and he could easily walk through Palmyra. In town, he came in contact with people from all over the region, and many of them were turning to religion to satisfy spiritual yearnings and explain the hardships of life. Joseph and his family did not belong to a church, but many of their neighbors worshipped in one of the tall Presbyterian chapels, the Baptists’ meetinghouse, the Quaker hall, or the campground where traveling Methodist preachers held revival meetings from time to time.15
When Joseph was 12, religious debates swept Palmyra. Although he read little, he liked to think deeply about ideas. He listened to preachers, hoping to learn more about his immortal soul, but their sermons often left him unsettled. They told him he was a sinner in a sinful world, helpless without the saving grace of Jesus Christ. And while Joseph believed the message and felt bad about his sins, he was not sure how to find forgiveness.16
He thought going to church could help him, but he could not settle on a place to worship. The different churches argued endlessly about how people could be free of sin. After listening to these arguments for a while, Joseph was distressed to see people reading the same Bible but coming to different conclusions about its meaning. He believed God’s truth was out there—somewhere—but he did not know how to find it.17
His parents were not sure either. Lucy and Joseph Sr. both came from Christian families and believed in the Bible and Jesus Christ. Lucy attended church meetings and often brought her children with her. She had been seeking the true church of Jesus Christ since the death of her sister many years earlier.
Once, after falling gravely ill sometime before Joseph’s birth, she had feared that she would die before finding the truth. She sensed a dark and lonely chasm between her and the Savior, and she knew she was unprepared for the next life.
Lying awake all night, she prayed to God, promising Him that if He let her live, she would find the Church of Jesus Christ. As she prayed, the voice of the Lord spoke to her, assuring her that if she would seek, she would find. She had visited more churches since then, but she had still not found the right one. Yet even when it felt like the Savior’s Church was no longer on the earth, she kept searching, trusting that going to church was better than not.18
Like his wife, Joseph Sr. hungered for the truth. But he felt that attending no church at all was preferable to the wrong one. Following the counsel of his father, Joseph Sr. searched the scriptures, prayed earnestly, and believed that Jesus Christ had come to save the world.19 Yet he could not reconcile what he felt to be true with the confusion and discord he saw in the churches around him. One night he had dreamed that contending preachers were like cattle, bellowing as they dug at the earth with their horns, which deepened his concern that they knew little about God’s kingdom.20
Seeing his parents’ dissatisfaction with local churches only confused Joseph Jr. more.21 His soul was at stake, but no one could give him satisfying answers.
After saving their money for more than a year, the Smiths had enough to make a payment on a hundred acres of forest in Manchester, just south of Palmyra. There, between jobs as hired hands, they tapped maple trees for their sugary sap, planted an orchard, and cleared fields to grow crops.22
As he worked the land, young Joseph continued to worry about his sins and the welfare of his soul. The religious revival in Palmyra had quieted down, but preachers continued to compete for converts there and throughout the region.23 Day and night, Joseph watched the sun, moon, and stars roll through the heavens in order and majesty and admired the beauty of the earth teeming with life. He also looked at the people around him and marveled at their strength and intelligence. Everything seemed to testify that God existed and had created humankind in His own image. But how could Joseph reach Him?24
In the summer of 1819, when Joseph was 13, Methodist preachers gathered for a conference a few miles from the Smith farm and spread out across the countryside to spur families like Joseph’s toward conversion. The success of these preachers worried other ministers in the area, and soon competition for converts was intense.
Joseph attended meetings, listened to soul-stirring preaching, and witnessed converts shout for joy. He wanted to shout with them, but he often felt like he was in the middle of a war of words and opinions. “Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together?” he asked himself. “If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?” He knew he needed Christ’s grace and mercy, but with so many people and churches clashing over religion, he did not know where to find it.25
Hope that he could find answers—and peace for his soul—seemed to slip away from him. He wondered how anyone could find truth amid so much noise.26
While attending a sermon, Joseph heard a minister quote from the first chapter of James in the New Testament. “If any of you lack wisdom,” he said, “let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not.”27
Joseph went home and read the verse in the Bible. “Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine,” he later remembered. “It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did.” He had searched the Bible before as if it held all the answers. But now the Bible was telling him he could go directly to God for personal answers to his questions.
After Much Contemplation, by Al Rounds
Joseph decided to pray. He had never prayed out loud before, but he trusted the Bible’s promise. “Ask in faith, nothing wavering,” it taught.28 God would hear his questions—even if they came out awkwardly.

A new girl joined our school class in the middle of the year. She looked and spoke differently than the other students. She had moved around a lot and had a hard time making friends. She had sad things happening in her family and came to school crying on some days. I knew I wanted to try to help this girl, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I should do because she did not always like to talk with other children. I prayed about what I should do and could feel the Holy Ghost whisper that I should just try to be her friend.
I helped her with her schoolwork and told her that our Heavenly Father gave her special talents for her to use and share with others. I invited her to play with me and other students at recess. A few months later, she said I was the first friend she ever had.
She had to move again, and I felt really sad. I asked the school secretary to send a letter to her at her new address. In the letter, I told my friend I would miss her and that she would always be my friend. I drew pictures of us playing together and reminded her of some of her talents. I told her she should be brave and try to make a new friend because she could help someone else. I prayed that she would find a friend in her new school and that the other children would be nice to her.
I know that Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I am thankful that He helps us to help each of them.

When New Year’s Eve arrived, I was at the office quite late, writing calling cards. Mr. Wadsworth came in and pleasantly remarked that business was good, that it never rains but it pours, or something to this effect. He referred to my having kept the books of the Sandy Smelting Company without compensation, and said a number of complimentary things which made me very happy. He then handed me a check for one hundred dollars which double compensated me for all my extra labor. The satisfaction enjoyed by me in feeling that I had won the good will and confidence of my employer was worth more to me than twice one hundred dollars.

When Camille Erickson was born, no one knew quite what to do.
Don’t misunderstand. Her parents already had five other children, so they were getting to be pros at parenting. Her five siblings had excitedly awaited her arrival. It was just that, well, she was a … girl.
Being the younger sister of five older brothers, and then the older sister of one younger brother, Camille knows a lot about “being one of the guys.” When the family splits up into teams for sports, Camille plays right along. As the only girl, Camille was the only person to have her own room—a fact she didn’t get used to for a long time.
“When I was little, I used to sneak into their rooms at night and go to sleep. My mom would find me the next morning, curled up on the floor,” she says.
But Camille, now a Mia Maid in Battle Ground, Washington, hasn’t slept on the floor for a long time. She still likes to play sports and to roughhouse with her brothers, but Camille’s life is more focused on school, Young Women, and friends than in those days when she was little. Also, her older brothers have grown up, and many of them don’t live at home anymore. In fact, since the age difference between her oldest brother and her youngest brother is 22 years, having the family all together is a rare experience.
“My brothers and I try to do things together, one-on-one, so that we have time to talk,” says Camille
Activities Camille enjoys with her brothers include things that are pretty unstructured, like watching videos, going out for treats, and taking walks together. But, occasionally, there is something more planned, like the time she took ballroom dance lessons with her 23-year-old brother, Travis.
“I think the average age in that class was 60,” says Travis with a grin. “But we had a good time.”
There are traditions that keep them close, too. The night Camille was born, Brad, her oldest brother, stayed up late to make her a birthday cake. Now her brothers send roses to her at school on her birthday.
“When my friends see that I get flowers from my brothers, they’re shocked. They can’t believe we’re all friends.”

I was born and reared in China and served as a soldier there. Later, while living in Taiwan, I learned about Jesus Christ and was baptized by a Protestant missionary from northern Europe. For the next 42 years, I was an active advocate of Christianity and a leader in my church.
Although I held to my Christian beliefs, over time I became disenchanted with my church and began searching elsewhere for the truth. So when two Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on my door in September 1993, I was happy to let them in. Sister Nelson and Sister Shao explained the message of the Book of Mormon, and I accepted a copy of the book. But my mind was in turmoil because I had heard many attacks against this “Mormon” Church. The sisters spent two hours resolving my concerns.
On their next visit they invited me to attend services with them. I entered their rented building in Lungtan Taoyuan for the first time in late September. Among other things, I learned that they also believed in the Bible! This discovery sent me hurrying home between meetings to retrieve my scriptures.
The following Sunday the sisters came again, accompanied by two young men named Elder Roser and Elder Bearman. One of the first topics the elders discussed with me was that the Father and the Son had appeared to Joseph Smith in answer to his prayer about which church to join. We read much of the account aloud, including this verse:
“I was answered that I must join none of [the existing churches], for they were all wrong; and the Personage who addressed me said that all their creeds were an abomination in his sight; that those professors were all corrupt; that: ‘they draw near to me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me, they teach for doctrines the commandments of men, having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof’” (JS—H 1:19).
These words resonated deep inside me, and the Spirit was very strong. I looked up from reading the passage and said simply, “It is true.”
The elders next taught me about the Apostasy, the Restoration of the Church, and the restoration of priesthood authority. But when they invited me to be baptized, I was shocked. I had been baptized many years before, also by immersion. Being baptized again seemed unnecessary; it felt like a betrayal of my former beliefs.
The elders made me promise to pray about the importance of being baptized by someone with authority. Then they left. Without my knowledge, they began to fast for me that very day, praying for me to understand the importance of being baptized by proper authority.
The elders were surprised and delighted when I announced at one of our next discussions that I wanted to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My soul was filled with joy on that day. “God has answered my prayers,” I told them, “and I know it is God’s will for me to be baptized.” They excitedly began to plan for the ordinance to take place on 14 November 1993.
Going into the waters of baptism and being confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were beautiful and sublime experiences. When the events of the day were over, I tried to express to the elders how I felt. “I have walked with the Lord for more than 40 years,” I told them, “and now, today, I am finally a member of his Church!”

As a boy in Ogden, Utah, I loved to go to the movies with my brothers on Saturdays. We were each given a dime, and we walked to the nearby theater for a double-feature movie. One of our favorite stars was a cowboy actor named Tom Mix. After the movies, we walked home.
One Saturday, my brother Phil lagged behind, and I arrived home first. “Where’s your younger brother?” my mother asked. A little later, we found out that Phil had been hit by a car while he was crossing a street on the way home. He was hurt very seriously. His skull was fractured, and when we first saw him, his eyes were swollen to several times their normal size.
Our stake president came to the hospital, and he and my father gave Phil a blessing. Then we all prayed. As we did, a calm feeling came over my dad, and he knew that Phil would live. When the doctor arrived, he immediately told the nurses to lower my brother’s head. That decision went against how such injuries are treated, but it saved his life. Years later, we learned that his brain sac had ruptured—had his head not been lowered, he would have died. Although he was in a coma for months, one day he squeezed my dad’s hand and we knew that Phil could hear us. His recovery was very long and slow, but he had no lasting mental or physical problems from that terrible accident. I know that this happened because of the power of the priesthood.

Our companionship did not end with the 10-month assignment. World War II was raging, and when I returned home I had only a short time to adjust before I was drafted into military service. On my first Sunday in boot camp, I attended an LDS service. I saw the back of a head that was very familiar to me. It was my first missionary companion. We spent most of the next two and a half years together. Although circumstances were very different for us in military service, we tried to continue the practices of missionary service. As often as we could, we prayed together. When circumstances allowed, we had scripture study together. I recall many companion study sessions under the light of a Coleman lantern in a shrapnel-scarred tent. Several times our reading of the scriptures was interrupted by the sound of an air raid siren. We would quickly turn off our lantern, then kneel together and close our study class with a prayer.
We were both set apart as group leaders, and we again had the opportunity to serve and teach together the glorious gospel of our Lord and Savior. We were more successful in the military than we had been as full-time missionaries. Why? Because we were experienced returned missionaries.

Walk around the ashes and rubble where Rachel used to live, and of course you notice all that’s gone. But even after the fire that destroyed Paradise, California, you’ll notice Rachel’s faith as she speaks of how she has seen God’s hand in her life.
Richard M. Romney, photographer
We’re used to having fires in this area, so when I saw the sky looking really smoky that morning, I wasn’t too worried. I was somewhat new to the area, but those who’ve lived in Paradise for a long time—especially those who live by the canyons—have been evacuated before.
This time, however, high winds carried the fire so fast that officials completely underestimated how long it would take to reach us. Most of us had no idea what was going on until the town was burning everywhere. Our situation went from “slightly concerned” to “emergency! Get out!” within one hour.
The evacuation was chaotic—and fast. Most people had to drive through fire to get out of town. As I drove out with my kids, smoke was everywhere. Embers had blown all over town and fires erupted everywhere. A lot of people left with their homes on fire or their neighbor’s home on fire. I didn’t know if our home would be destroyed or not.
As we drove, I had a conversation with God. I prayed that we would get out safely and that our home would be spared. We had only been in our house about two years. As a family, we worked together on improvements. My husband and children helped me redo the countertops and the floors. We called it our “cabin in the woods.” I loved my home, but I tried to be strong enough to submit my will to God’s will.
A few days later, we found out our home was gone. We had made it beautiful, and now it had burned down. But looking back, the time we spent in our house was such a wonderful time. I’m so grateful that God gave our family that time in that house.
One of the most beautiful things I’ve seen and heard as a result of this fire is the testimonies of people with what I call “big faith.” These people saw how God was in the details of their lives. “Big faith” like this is not something you can get overnight. It takes a long time to build.
It reminds me of the parable of the ten virgins. If you don’t have your lamp full, the time to turn to God is before the crisis. When disasters like this fire happen, that’s not the time to start filling your lamp. It’s like when you get in the car and ask your kids to put their seat belts on. Imagine them saying, “I don’t need a seatbelt. When I hear you screaming, then I’ll buckle up!” In a crisis they’d never have time.
After the fire, I’ve noticed that people here with “oil in their lamps” have not suffered as much. They’ve still been mourning, they still have challenges, but they still believe that God cares about them and is in the details of their lives. They know that God is powerful enough that He could have spared their homes from the fire, but they also don’t get mad when things aren’t fair. They accept His will. That’s what I call “big faith.”
Everyone who believes in God has seen His hand in this fire. You probably couldn’t prove to somebody that there’s a God because of one huge miracle, but God has brought about a million small miracles here in Paradise. If you believe in God, you can see His hand everywhere. Even though it’s been challenging, it has also been miraculous. God has helped us learn exactly what we need to learn.
Having “big faith” didn’t spare anyone from mourning their losses. One of the hardest parts about this whole experience is watching the mourning of those I love. I’ve probably done more mourning with them than I’ve done on my own account. Yes, it’s been challenging for my family, and we lost a lot. But we also gained a lot.
Members of the Chico California Stake did so much to serve those affected by the fire. Every person who came to the stake center on evacuation day was housed within hours by other members of the stake. They brought us into their homes and helped us get the things that we needed. I was also amazed by the donations of every kind that we received from Saints all over the world. We’ve been blessed and supported, and we can feel their love. It’s so great to be a Latter-day Saint. I will shout that at the top of my lungs!
When the fire happened, I prayed a lot because I needed to be able to mourn and I needed to teach my children how to mourn. God had some beautiful things to teach me. I learned the importance of “clean mourning.” What this means to me is that you don’t go to dark places with your mourning or go to a place of fear. You don’t let your thoughts go to a place of anger or shame. You mourn the way God would mourn. In this way, mourning is beautiful and healing. It feels more like love.
In this situation, the biggest challenge is the unknown. There are more questions than answers for everyone. We don’t know how fast Paradise can be rebuilt, or if it can be rebuilt because the amount of destruction and loss is incredible.
God has worked with me for years to prepare me for this situation. I’ve had other “disasters” in my life that have helped me know that God is beautifully guiding my life.
There’s nothing hard I go through that doesn’t have perfect and beautiful purpose and meaning. I’ve noticed that when I’ve allowed God to teach me, I’ve always learned from my challenges. God allows us to go through these challenges so we can come to trust Him and love Him. I know that when things get hard, He’s always there.
Rachel looks over the remnants of what was once her home. “The time we spent in our house was such a wonderful time,” she says. “I’m so grateful God gave our family that time in that house.”
The Paradise First Ward building, once a place of worship, gospel study, and activities, is now a pile of rubble. However, members have felt support from Saints all over the world. “We can feel their love,” Rachel says. “It’s so great to be a Latter-day Saint. I will shout that at the top of my lungs!”
“Everyone who believes in God has seen His hand in this fire,” Rachel says. “Even though it has been challenging, it has also been miraculous. God has helped us learn exactly what we need to learn.”
Members of the Lighthall family each hold up an item recovered from the ashes of their home. These serve as a reminder of God’s blessings. Speaking of the fire, Rachel says, “Yes, it’s been challenging, and we lost a lot. But we also gained a lot.”

Wilford loved to play with his two brothers, Thompson and Azmon. They spent many happy hours playing in the barn or outside in the fields.
One Saturday evening the boys were sitting around the house with nothing to do. Thompson suggested that they explore the attic.
The boys’ father had told them not to play in the attic. It was dark and dangerous. Wilford hesitated because he didn’t want to disobey his father. But the mystery of the attic attracted him, and he agreed to join in the adventure.
The boys raced up the stairs, eager to see what treasures they would find in the forbidden room.
Just before Wilford got to the top stair, he tripped and fell all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Wilford felt a horrible pain in his arm, and he knew that he had broken it. It took a long time for his arm to heal, and Wilford learned how important it was to be obedient.
From then on, not only did Wilford obey his parents, but he also obeyed the Lord. And many years later, Wilford Woodruff became the fourth President of the Church.