Gospel Story Finder

Their hand of fellowship and brotherhood is extended to a special member of their quorum. Nick Schwan was recently baptized. He is mentally challenged and attends the special education classes at their high school. Both at school and at church, he’s one of them. They treat him with kindness and listen to what he has to say. “At first,” says Joe Carson, “we didn’t think Nick really knew what was going on around him, but after a while we realized that he picked up on things and he doesn’t really forget anything. He’s just a normal guy. He’s just a little …” Joe is at a loss for words. He knows how the quorum feels about Nick, and the feeling is good and supportive.

Right now there are 20 full-time missionaries serving from the Anchorage Sixth Ward.
Okay, just 19 of the them are elders, but the Young Men claim the young lady serving from their ward because they suspect that their good example helped encourage her to consider a mission.
And there are 10 to 12 priests getting ready to follow in their footsteps in the next couple of years. They readily admit there are other wards in the Church with as many or more full-time missionaries serving, but for a relatively small ward away from a large LDS population, they feel pleased with the tradition of service they are setting. They know just as they progress from deacon to teacher to priest, the next step is a mission.
Bishop Wesley E. Carson says, “We’ve put a positive spin on peer pressure. Serving a mission has become a family tradition; it’s become a ward tradition; and it’s become a quorum tradition.”
Back to the parking lot. “It’s a serious activity,” says Brother Smith. “I don’t want to see anyone’s initials out there. I want you to be proud that when you drive in on Sunday, the stripes are straight.”
The yellow stripes will be straight. Members of this priests quorum know all about following guidelines and doing a good job. They know where service leads—to feelings of worth. And they know the ones that have set the example for them are now in the mission field. The lines are straight, and they’ll follow.

What do you picture in your mind when you think of Wyoming? If you are driving through this part of the United States, you will not see a lot of big cities. Instead, you will see a big, beautiful sky, prairie, lots of rocky mountains, and antelope darting through the vast landscape.
But if you are driving near Independence Rock, Wyoming, during the summer, you may notice on the horizon something a little unusual—a line of handcart pioneers walking along a dry, dusty Wyoming trail. On closer examination, these “pioneers,” even though they are dressed in the style of the 1850s, are really very modern teens and their leaders. Despite the intense heat, the young men have on long trousers and long-sleeved shirts. Many of them are also wearing hats to keep the sun off their faces. The young women are in equivalent attire—long dresses, aprons, and sunbonnets.
In our day of automobiles and airplanes, it’s hard to imagine why these people have chosen to haul their food, water, and other supplies in wooden handcarts. But there they are. These young people have chosen to take time off from their summer jobs and other activities to give up the comforts of their homes and to walk as far as 30 miles under the hot Wyoming sun—all for one reason. They think it’s worth it just to have a taste of what some pioneers went through in the early days of the Church.
In 1855, Brigham Young counseled converts who were unable to outfit themselves with teams and wagons to walk the 1,300 miles across the plains pulling handcarts rather than delay, wait, and work to earn enough to buy expensive wagons. In all, 10 handcart companies traveled this way, 8 of which were very successful and had few casualties. However, two handcart companies, led by James G. Willie and Edward Martin, experienced suffering and heartache as they left too late in the year and ran into unexpectedly early snowstorms. Both companies were in grave danger of not surviving. The Willie Company was a few days ahead of the other company and was rescued first by wagons sent from Salt Lake City. Those in the company were frostbitten and starved. Sixty-eight of 404 in the company died.
The Martin Handcart Company, however, was forced by the storm to stop in a small valley on the side of a mountain with very little shelter. After wading through deep snow up to this point, the pioneers stopped in a cove, formed by rock outcroppings. Trees provided protection and fuel. There they waited for help and supplies from Salt Lake City. In just five days, 56 of the 145 total who died in the crossing perished. But thanks to heroic rescue efforts of Church members sent by Brigham Young, the majority, 431 of the Martin handcart pioneers, survived the trip.
Today the Mormon Handcart Visitors’ Center, near Martin’s Cove, is a reminder of not only the ill-fated handcart companies but also a tribute to the many pioneers who traveled with handcarts across the plains. Each summer hundreds of visitors come to learn more about these people, many of whom left their homes and relatives behind, bringing little more than the clothes on their backs. The pioneers sacrificed much in order to bring themselves and their families across the plains to Utah where they could live in peace, without persecution.
While some Church members today have direct pioneer ancestry, many do not. Yet all of us are indebted to the pioneers who helped establish the Church in its early days, and their sacrifices are part of every member’s heritage.
This debt is part of the reason the youth of many area stakes come to Martin’s Cove to walk miles through the hot desert dressed as pioneers, pulling their camping equipment and food in handcarts.
For many teens from the Pueblo Colorado Stake, for example, walking where the pioneers walked helped them realize the dedication and sacrifice of the early pioneers. Hearing the stories of the pioneers and the experiences they went through helped strengthen the testimonies of those who walked just a small part of the trail.
Other groups walking the trail at the same time had similar experiences. Christine Johnson from Orem, Utah, reflected upon the experience of the Saints as they traveled: “I wonder what they would have thought when they were looking around and saw just miles and miles of nothing.”
Adam Pinegar, also from Orem, said his trek gave him a feel for how difficult it was for the handcart pioneers. Although it was tough, Adam said he would do it again. “It was worth it. I thought of my ancestors who actually came across with the Martin Company. They suffered so much to get to the Salt Lake valley, so I could live where I do and have the gospel.”
Erin Woodward’s sixth great-grandfather walked across the plains. Erin, from Westminster, Colorado, thought of this grandfather and his family as she participated in the trek with her stake.
“Now I feel like the silliest girl in the whole world,” she said. “I mean, I have been so into my materialistic things. Seriously, I have a curling iron in my pocket. I even have makeup and everything. I feel horrible because the real pioneers didn’t live as well as I do. Before this I never really understood how blessed I am.”
These young men and women walk through the desert with a backdrop of significant Church history sites—Devil’s Gate, Independence Rock, and Martin’s Cove.
For many, Martin’s Cove is a sacred spot. It is beautiful, with many trees. The feeling is peaceful and calm. The pioneers camped on one side of the cove and buried their dead in shallow snow graves on the other. As the youth walk through the area, they take off their hats and whisper out of respect for those who died.
Tiffany Campbell from the Pueblo stake said the cove made her think a lot about those people and their determination to get to the Salt Lake valley.
The teens from Christine’s Orem ward walked to the cove last, after they had already walked the majority of their trek. “Once we got up there it hit us that this was really the place where they couldn’t go anymore, where they had to stop, and where so many died. It was amazing to be up there after doing the rest of our trek. It was kind of quiet and peaceful and spiritual.”
As their journey was ending, Stephanie Stewart, also from Pueblo, described what she learned from the miles and miles of walking: “I am going home with a better understanding of how hard it was and what the pioneers did so that we could be free of persecution.”
Many other youth echoed her feelings: “I just think it is really neat to see what they did and what they gained from it,” said Michael King from Roy, Utah. “Of course we can get a little taste of it, you know, but we cannot fully understand.”
After visiting Martin’s Cove, these young people freely admit they cannot completely comprehend what the early handcart pioneers went through. But their reenactment experience has changed their attitudes. They know they face storms of another kind in modern life. But learning to survive is a lesson that was taught by those who have suffered before us. These modern teens also learned that we can all follow the example of faith and determination set by the pioneers. The handcart companies passed their tests. Now it’s our turn.

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

One Sunday I was at church. My mum told me that it was fast and testimony meeting. I felt something inside me pushing me to tell my testimony. I was really nervous, but I went up anyway and talked about how excited I am to be baptized soon. After I talked, I felt good inside. A few minutes later, I felt my tooth wobble. I thought it was going to come out, so I told my mum and went to the bathroom. When we came back, my tooth was out. I told everyone it was my “testimony tooth”! Now when I look at the space where my tooth was, it reminds me of my testimony.
Annabelle R., age 7, Scotland

My introduction is something said in my presence by one of these valiant missionaries. “As I look back on my life,” he said, “I can hardly imagine a barefoot surfer from Hawaii completing his third mission. But when I felt the warm embrace of the Savior, I wanted to serve Him, and I changed.” Yes he did!
Stanley Y. Q. Ho told me that until he was 30 years old he did nothing but “hang around the beaches at Waikiki.” Then he found the gospel, he married a Latter-day Saint girl, and he changed. Since then he has fulfilled many callings, including bishop and stake president. Now, Elder Ho and his beloved Momi, who is responsible for so many of the changes in his life, have served three full-time missions.

During the high adventures of home life we also need to return to remembrance of past sunshine. I was turning off the lights late one night in preparation for bed when I heard laughter coming from our teenage girls’ bedroom. As I entered, I discovered the source of their merriment. Their mother had allowed them to read her old diary, and they were now on the pages detailing her fifteenth year. They were full of questions for me: “What did you think when you and Mom first met?” “Why did Mom write like that?”
She had written of watching from her upstairs window while I rode past on my horse, and of seeing me at church. She had saved the coin she won from me when a group of us flipped pennies. With my daughters, I recalled meeting and dating the girl who would become my wife. I could see her standing under the big willow trees in front of her house—the blue jeans, the bare feet, the teasing smile. I remembered hollering and jumping when the toad she put down my neck began to squirm.
Emotions jumped out of that too-long-closed treasure. I fell in love with my wife all over again as I described to the girls how she looked with moonlight reflecting off snowflakes in her hair the night a group of us went sledding. It wasn’t frostbite I felt in my fingers as I held her hand to help her up a hill.
On the night we read my wife’s little diary, my daughters and I made a withdrawal and filled our love banks. The girls knew their parents were young once. They knew I loved their mother. And I think that helped them feel secure. I kissed them good night and went upstairs to find their sleeping mother. I gently woke her and told her how pretty she was—and how pretty she is. I told her of my love for her and of my appreciation for our years together.
Laughing, she felt my forehead. “Have you been dreaming?”
“Kind of,” I said. “I’ve been feeling sunshine.”

Emily is scared to go to Primary by herself. She asks Mom to come with her.
“I get to go to my class and learn how Jesus can help me,” Mom says.
“And you get to go to Primary and learn how Jesus can help you.”
Mom hugs Emily. “Jesus can help us, even when it’s hard.”
Mom walks with Emily to Primary and waves goodbye.
They learn a song about Jesus. Emily likes the music. She feels safe and happy.
Mom isn’t in Primary. But Jesus is helping Emily be brave!
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

As you search the scriptures diligently and pray always, you will be guided by the Lord. A young woman living in Mongolia listened to the words of the prophets as the missionaries read passages to her from the Book of Mormon. The Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into her language, but as the missionaries translated the words for her, she believed and was baptized. She became an example of the believers in Mongolia.

Later she was called on a mission to Salt Lake City. What joy she felt! She learned English, and she purchased her very own scriptures. When she visited our home, she read reverently from her new scriptures. She loved them. I noticed that almost everything on every page was underlined in yellow. I said, “Sister Sarantsetseg, your scriptures look like the golden plates.” She replied, “I only underline the things I like.”

Although it was the middle of Guatemala’s rainy season, the sun was out in full force at noon when they arrived in Cahabón, about halfway home.
“We’ll stop for soft drinks here,” President Andersen said as he pulled over next to the town square. “This town is tradition-oriented and wouldn’t let the protestant missionaries construct a chapel. I want you to meet the lady who owns the cafe; she has a special spirit. She will join the Church someday.”
The elders wanted to look around awhile before going into the cafe. The rest went inside and talked with the owner while they enjoyed their soft drinks. Several minutes passed, but the missionaries did not come in. “I wonder where they are,” President Andersen said.
They finished their drinks, paid the owner, and walked outside. There the mystery of the missing missionaries was solved.
Seated on a step, Elder Bringhurst was addressing about 50 Indians in their tongue, telling them about their ancestors. He held a copy of the Book of Mormon as he spoke.
In the following 20 minutes the missionaries explained the origin of the book, and bore their testimonies. The Indians seemed impressed, and several invited the missionaries to return another time to tell them more. Elder Bringhurst assured them that someone would return with the book and tell them many important things about themselves and about God.
Later, as they drove homeward, President Andersen said, “The Indians want to know about the book of their ancestors. We have something no one else can give them, the gospel. We have the religion of their forefathers and we tell them so.”

In China we have nine-hundred million people. Yesterday about fifty Chinese Saints came in to see me. I took them through the Church offices and told them about our programs, and then I said to them, “We have been talking about China today.” (That was the day of the Regional Representatives meeting.) “We’ve learned of that people’s good qualities and that the Spirit of the Lord seems to be brooding over them, to bring the possibility of the gospel to them.” I asked all of those Chinese people who were here at conference, “Will you guarantee that in all your home evenings and in all your family prayers and in all your public prayers you will mention this to the Lord? Now, I know he can do it without our help; but I think he would want to know that we were interested in it and that we would appreciate it greatly.”

She wasn’t really her grandmother, but that didn’t matter to Sue Baker. The woman finally felt close enough to ask her for a favor.
“I have a parcel that needs to be wrapped,” the older lady said with a smile, propping herself up on her rest home bed. Sue, eager to help, asked if the package was going to be mailed somewhere.
“No, it’s not going to be sent off. But I need you to get some tissue paper, ribbon, and a card …”
Sue asked a few more questions. She needed to know the size of the package in order to purchase the correct amount of paper, and she wanted to be sure to select an appropriate color.
“Can you tell me what it is?” she said. “It might help me to know what I need to get for you, what kind of card, that sort of thing.”
The elderly woman decided she couldn’t keep her secret any longer. She pulled the package out from behind her pillow, handed it to Sue, and said, “Here. It’s for you. Pick out a card you like.”
It’s hard for Sue to tell the story without crying. When she opened the box later, she found inside some embroidery she had admired. A few weeks before, her grandmotherly friend had said it was “the most precious thing” she owned.

Gabriel loved learning about Jesus. He loved hearing stories from the scriptures. His family read the scriptures together every night.
One rainy night they snuggled together in their warm home. Papa said a prayer. Then Mama read stories from the Book of Mormon. Gabriel tried to listen very carefully. Mama read about Jesus talking to children.
“Mama, the children were with Jesus?” Gabriel asked.
“That’s right,” she said. “And He blessed each of them and prayed for them.”
Gabriel felt a new feeling inside. He did not know what it was. He felt warm even though it was chilly outside. He smiled big.
Gabriel wanted to share this special feeling. “I feel so happy and warm!” he said. He was so happy that he almost felt like crying!
“That special feeling is the Holy Ghost,” Papa told him. “He gives you a warm feeling to help you know that the scriptures are true.”
Mama smiled and hugged Gabriel. “That feeling tells you that Jesus loves you.”
“Jesus blesses me,” Gabriel said. “Just like the children in the Book of Mormon! He sent the Holy Ghost to me!”
He couldn’t stop smiling. “I know the scriptures are true,” he thought. “The Holy Ghost told me!”

Pioneers help my testimony of Jesus Christ to grow because of their sacrifices to follow Him. I have an ancestor named Lars Larson who listened to the missionaries and chose to follow Jesus Christ even though his parents were angry about it. They told him that if he was baptized, they would not let him live there and they would not help him at all. His testimony was so strong that he left his family to follow the Savior and be baptized. He was later called as a missionary to where his family lived. He went to their house, and when his mother answered the door, she quickly closed it on him. But he caught the door before it closed all the way and simply said, “Mother, I just want you to know that I have found the truth.” This testimony wasn’t easy to have—it meant that he lost a lot—but following the Savior was so important to him that it was worth the sacrifice.

I’ve been blessed to live near several temples, and I’ve always been pretty good about going weekly. Many General Authorities have taught that worship in the temple can help us be more in tune with the Spirit,3 so I figured I was already doing enough. But answers still weren’t coming. As I looked at my habits, I realized I had a pretty obvious area for improvement: I often get drowsy in the temple. I’ve told my friends, “If Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said that ‘church sleep is among the healthiest of all sleeps,’4 then temple sleep must be even better!” and I’ve rationalized my sleepiness by thinking that the temple is just so peaceful that I can’t help it. But the temple isn’t a day spa. I go to the temple to work—to perform proxy ordinances that give my deceased family members the opportunity to have eternal life.5
I realized it was time for me to “awake” (Alma 32:27) and be more intentional in my temple worship. I try to prepare myself spiritually and mentally before I go to the temple instead of treating it as just another part of my routine.

Before reaching Nauvoo, Kane described the area of Iowa through which he traveled by boat and horsedrawn carriage as being a sanctuary for “horse thieves, and other outlaws.” He said he grew tired of seeing “everywhere sordid, vagabond and idle settlers; and a country marred, without being improved, by their careless hands.”
I was descending the last hillside upon my journey, when a landscape in delightful contrast broke upon my view. Half encircled by a bend of the river, a beautiful city lay glittering in the fresh morning sun; its bright new dwellings, set in cool green gardens, ranging up around a stately dome-shaped hill, which was crowned by a noble marble edifice, whose tapering spire was radiant with white and gold. The city appeared to cover several miles; and beyond it, in the back ground, there [were well-tended fields]. The unmistakable marks of industry, enterprise and educated wealth, everywhere, made the scene one of singular and most striking beauty.
Kane obtained a small boat and rowed across the river to the city’s shore.
No one met me there. I looked, and saw no one. I could hear no one move; though the quiet everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz, and the water ripples breaking against the shallow of the beach. I walked through the solitary streets. The town lay as in a dream, under some deadening spell of loneliness, from which I almost feared to wake it. For plainly it had not slept long. There was no grass growing up in the paved ways. Rains had not entirely washed away the prints of dusty footsteps.
Kane walked through workshops where materials of wood, leather, and iron were stacked ready for use, and equipment and tools lay where they had been left by the craftsmen. He then walked into well-cared-for gardens; examined fruits, vegetables and flowers; and helped himself to a drink from a well.
No one called out to me from any opened window, or any dog sprang forward to bark an alarm. I could have supposed the people hidden in the houses, but the doors were unfastened; and when I timidly entered them, I found [cold] ashes white upon the hearths, and had to tread tiptoe, … to avoid rousing irreverent echoes from the naked floors.
Bedroom of the Jonathan Browning house. Browning, a convert to the Church, invented one of the earliest automatic rifles.
On the outskirts of the city was the graveyard. But there was no record of the Plague there, nor did it in anywise differ much from other Protestant American cemeteries. Some of the mounds were not long sodded; some of the stones were newly set, their dates recent, …
Kane said that beyond the houses fields upon fields of grain lay rotting on the ground with no one to harvest it. As he walked around the suburbs at the southern edge of the city, he made two important discoveries.
Houses looking out upon the country showed, by their splintered woodwork and walls battered to the foundation, that they had lately been the mark of a destructive cannonade. And in and around the splendid Temple, which had been the chief object of my admiration, armed men were barracked, surrounded by their stacks of musketry and pieces of heavy ordnance. These [men] challenged me to render an account of myself, and why I had the temerity to cross the water without written permission from a leader of their band.
Though these men were generally more or less under the influence of ardent spirits [alcohol]; after I had explained myself as a passing stranger, they seemed anxious to gain my good opinion. They told me the story of the Dead City: that it had been a notable manufacturing and commercial [center], with 20,000 population; that they had waged war with its inhabitants for several years, and had been finally successful only a few days before my visit, in an action fought in front of the ruined suburb; after which, they had driven them forth at the point of the sword. The defence, they said, had been obstinate, but gave way on the third day’s bombardment. They boasted greatly of their prowess, especially in this Battle, as they called it; but I discovered they [could not agree on the details]; one of which, as I remember, was that they had slain a father and his son, a boy of fifteen, not long residents of the fated city, whom they admitted to have borne a character without reproach.
Kane was then shown around the “massive sculptured walls of the curious Temple,” which the invaders had vandalized. He was shown various features of the building including the baptismal font, “a large and deep chiselled marble vase or basin, supported upon twelve (life-size) oxen, also of marble.”
They permitted me also to ascend into the steeple, to see where it had been lightning-struck on the Sabbath before; and to look out, East and South, on wasted farms like those I had seen near the City, extending till they were lost in the distance. Here, … close to the scar of the Divine wrath left by the thunderbolt, were fragments of food, cruses of liquor and broken drinking vessels, …
It was after nightfall, when I was ready to cross the river on my return. The wind had freshened since the sunset; and the water beating roughly into my little boat, I headed higher up the stream than the point I had left in the morning, and landed where a faint glimmering light invited me to steer.
Here, … sheltered only by the darkness, without roof between them and the sky, I came upon a crowd of several hundred human creatures, whom my movements roused from an uneasy slumber on the ground.
The “faint glimmering light” that had guided him came from a candle that provided poor illumination for a woman tending a man dying of fever. Two little girls, sobbing, sat in the darkness nearby. Kane was to discover that this was a typical scene.
Dreadful, indeed, was the suffering of these forsaken beings. Cowed and cramped by cold and sunburn, alternating as each weary day and night dragged on, they were, most of them, the crippled victims of disease. They were there because they had no homes, nor hospital nor poor-house nor friends to offer them any. They could not satisfy the feeble cravings of their sick; they had not bread to quiet … hunger cries of their children. Mothers and babes, daughters and grandparents, all of them alike, were [camped] in tatters, wanting even covering to comfort those whom the sick shiver of fever was searching to the marrow.
These were Mormons, famishing, in Lee county, Iowa, in the fourth week of the month of September, in the year of our Lord 1846. The city—it was Nauvoo, Illinois. The Mormons were the owners of that city, and the smiling country round. And those who had stopped their ploughs, who had silenced their hammers, their axes, their shuttles and their workshop wheels; those who had put out their fires, who had eaten their food, spoiled their orchards, and trampled under foot their thousands of acres of unharvested bread; were [now] the keepers of their dwellings, the carousers in their Temple, whose drunken riot insulted the ears of their dying.
The party encountered by me at the river shore were the last of the Mormons that left the city. They had all of them engaged the year before that they would vacate their homes, and seek some other place of refuge. It had been a condition of a truce between them and their assailants; and as an earnest of their good faith, the chief elders … , with their families, were to set out for the West in the Spring of 1846. It had been stipulated in return, that the rest of the Mormons might remain behind in their peaceful enjoyment of their Illinois abode, until their leaders, with their exploring party, could with all diligence select for them a new place of settlement beyond the Rocky Mountains, in California, or elsewhere, and until they had opportunity to dispose to the best advantage of the property which they were then to leave.
[But] the enemy had only waited till the emigrants were supposed to be gone on their road too far to return to interfere with them, and then renewed their aggressions [against the Saints remaining in Nauvoo].
The Joseph Smith family may have used this log cabin while adding to the Joseph Smith Homestead, their first home in Nauvoo. The cabin has been reconstructed by the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Photo by Dick Brown.
Kane said that during the truce while the Saints were still allowed to remain in Nauvoo, they worked on the temple.
Strange to say, the chief part of their respite was devoted to completing the structure of their … beautiful Temple. Since the dispersion of Jewry, probably, history affords us no parallel to the attachment of the Mormons for this edifice. Its erection had been enjoined upon them as a most sacred duty: they were proud of the honor it conferred upon their city, when it grew up in its splendour to become the chief object of the admiration of strangers upon the Upper Mississippi. Beside, they had built it as a labor of love; they could count up to a half-million [dollars] the value of their tithings and free-will offerings laid upon it. Hardly a Mormon woman had not given up to it some trinket or [money saved]: the poorest Mormon man had at least served a tenth part of his year upon its walls; … Therefore, though their enemies drove on them ruthlessly, they succeeded in parrying the last sword-thrust, till they had completed even the gilding of the angel and trumpet on the summit of its lofty spire.
The completed temple was dedicated in May 1846. With the sacred rites of consecration ended, the Saints emptied the structure of anything of value, and anything that could be desecrated by the mobs.
[The work] went on through the night; and when the morning of the next day dawned, all the ornaments and furniture, everything that could provoke a sneer, had been carried off; and except some fixtures that would not bear removal, the building was dismantled to the bare walls.
It was this day that saw the departure of the last elders, and the largest band that moved in one company together. The people of Iowa have told me, that from morning to night they [the Saints] passed westward like an endless procession. They did not seem greatly out of heart, they said; but, at the top of every hill before they disappeared, were to be seen looking back on their abandoned homes, and the far-seen Temple and its glittering spire.
Prior to his visit to Nauvoo, Kane had observed the westward-bound Saints at work and at play in the Camps of Israel. He was impressed that they were honest and sincere in their testimonies of the gospel. He expressed amazement at the sacrifices many of them made and at the love that existed in the camps in spite of the hunger and hardships the Saints suffered. In later years, he made three visits to the Saints in Utah, where he was very welcome. His last visit, in 1877, was at the death of Brigham Young to whose “masterly guidance,” he said, the Saints were indebted for their prosperity. Hours before his own death in 1883 in Pennsylvania, he asked his wife to send “The sweetest message you can make up to my Mormon friends—to all, my dear Mormon friends.”

Some time ago, I met with a husband and wife having severe marital problems. When they came in for counseling, the wife described their problems in detail, but the husband said nothing. I tried to get him to talk, but he was sullen and answered every question with only one or two words. His wife always jumped in to give more complete answers.
Finally, I invited her to leave the room, then spoke with him alone. At first, he said very little. But when he found that I gave him time to formulate his answers and that I didn’t interrupt, criticize, or judge him, he began to speak freely.
From that point on, I said little. As the interview came to an end, he seemed relieved. With real feeling he said, “Thanks for listening to me. I have wanted to tell my wife these things for years, but she never wants to hear what I have to say.”
The man had a difficult time formulating and expressing his thoughts, but he showed deep feeling. And he was clearly relieved to finally be able to put those feelings into words. Fortunately, this couple was able to rediscover that they loved each other dearly. Both wanted to build a strong, supportive marriage, and both wanted to do their part.
The husband in our opening example clearly needed someone to listen to him, not someone with whom to discuss his problem. When a person is frustrated by not being heard, the remedy is for someone to listen, not to talk.

The reality of these situations must be seen to be believed. In winter I met, amongst many others, a pregnant woman from Syria in a refugee transit camp desperately seeking assurance that she would not need to deliver her baby on the cold floors of the vast hall where she was housed. Back in Syria she had been a university professor. And in Greece I spoke with a family still wet, shivering, and frightened from their crossing in a small rubber boat from Turkey. After looking into their eyes and hearing their stories, both of the terror they had fled and of their perilous journey to find refuge, I will never be the same.

I recently was asked to substitute teach my ward’s 12- and 13-year-old Sunday School class. I asked my 13-year-old son, Jacob, to help me teach. We made a lesson plan together. Jacob took the first half of the lesson, showed a short video, shared scriptures related to our topic, and asked thoughtful questions. Jacob also asked the class members what they were feeling and helped them recognize the Holy Ghost.

In the second half of the class, I had the class members teach each other the First Vision. We then invited them to teach the First Vision to their families in family home evening. After the class we sent an email to the parents informing them of our invitation.

When I asked Jacob how he felt about the lesson, he said, “It was really good. I know the Spirit was there because I didn’t think my classmates could answer our questions, but they did.”

Tucked away in the Uintah Basin of eastern Utah are several small communities. Jedadiah lives in one of these friendly towns. He is a handsome, blond 11-year-old. Jeddy loves academics and is extremely interested in sports. He is excited to soon be eligible to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. Jeddy’s body cannot do the many things that he would like it to do. The cystic fibrosis that exists in his lungs makes breathing rather difficult.

Amanda, Jeddy’s big sister, is a lovely 16-year-old who displays her love for him in a host of ways. She is a source of comfort when times are difficult. She is his link to school, seeing that assignments are brought home daily. A neighbor said, “Amanda is a real heroine in her family.” She understands the significance of “go, and do thou likewise.” Jeddy only travels to Salt Lake City to go to the hospital. For a special reason he is looking forward to October general conference. It is a family tradition that Grandfather takes his grandsons to Salt Lake for general conference following their 12th birthday. Jeddy can hardly wait; neither can Grandpa.

Recently, a sweet 93-year-old sister joined her eternal companion on the other side of the veil. They were blessed with four devoted children. This couple shared their musical talents on thousands of occasions. Many saddened spirits were uplifted in times of mourning as these good Samaritans blended their voices in strains of hope and encouragement. Many children will feel the love of the Savior as they sing Primary songs composed by this sweet sister. As her health declined, loving children spent much time and energy and emotion in meeting her needs. A valiant daughter devoted herself to her mother’s care. They will continue to “go, and do thou likewise.”

In a mountain valley, a small community is the home of a monastery with a declining number of aging monks. A stake Relief Society president, with many other compassionate service responsibilities, regularly checks on the well-being of the monks. She is the first to deliver goodies on days when they are permissible. She cares about their welfare just as she does about the members of her stake.

Bishops regularly call upon volunteer labor to grow and process commodities to fill bishops’ storehouses. Last year, nearly 270,000 days of labor were volunteered in keeping shelves filled and available for use by bishops. Many of us have fond remembrances of our time volunteering on welfare projects. I can still hear a farm manager’s cries of anguish as he observed the damage done to several acres of sugar beets because we had mistaken newly emerging beet plants for weeds. The blessings we received for our service turned out to be a “Scotch blessing.”

President Monson said, “We have a responsibility to extend help as well as hope to the hungry, to the homeless, and to the downtrodden both at home and abroad” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1990, 3; or Ensign, May 1990, 4).

Picture a small, one-room apartment which is home for a family of six. The room is dirty and cluttered. The family has not been to church in years.

As the ward welfare committee discussed the family’s needs, there was a feeling of discouragement, for bishops, over the years, had helped the family often. In the discussion, a new idea began to dawn. Perhaps, if the committee called upon the resources of the Lord’s storehouse—the talents and skills of ward members—even this difficult situation could be assisted.

The committee first focused on future possibilities as well as immediate needs. As possibilities turned to reality, hope and optimism replaced gloom and depression. Filled with hope, the family committed to help improve their own situation. The committee also went to work. A hairstylist gave the family haircuts. A dentist volunteered, and for the first time in years, a mother was not embarrassed to smile. A new pair of glasses allowed this mother to once again read to her children. A financial specialist worked with the family in budgeting their funds. A three-year-old received much needed physical therapy.

Slowly the family began to believe their life could be different. The apartment, once dirty and disorganized, began to show signs of order and cleanliness. Curtains went up on the windows. Just a year later, invitations were extended by this family to an open house for their three-bedroom home.

A wounded family was found by the side of the road, a family suffering just as much as the traveler from Jerusalem in Jesus’ day. The family’s cries were heard, and their wounds were bound. The modern good Samaritans followed the divine injunction to “go, and do thou likewise.” Spiritual lives were also rescued. Today, this family is active in the Church and preparing to receive the blessings of the temple.

Jessie and Steve Cota saw a need and found a way to fill it. With help from their father, they built a house for an abandoned mother and her five children, who had been living on the street.
The 12-year-old twin brothers, who live in the Nogales Branch, Tucson Arizona Rincon Stake, didn’t wait for a quorum service project or an assignment from the branch president. They went right to work.
“My aunt, who lives in Mexico, met this woman in the hospital,” Steve explains. “She found out the conditions the woman and her children were living in and knew they needed help. She talked to my father, Jose, who is first counselor in our branch presidency, to see if something could be done.”
Something could. Word spread quickly in the branch. Church members contributed what they could, and Brother Cota, a builder, was able to get materials donated from a project he was working on. The aunt donated her own backyard as a site for the new construction.
“Everybody helped out,” Jessie says. “But to be honest, my dad did most of the work.”
Brother Cota, however, gives credit to his sons. “They really enjoy working. They helped put the floor in, hauling buckets of water so we could make the cement. They helped with the framing and with the roof. We’re especially proud of the roof, which has asphalt shingles and should last many years.”
The house the twins built is similar to dozens of others that cover the hillsides of Nogales, which straddles the border of Arizona and Mexico. The house is small, made mostly of plywood, and has no plumbing. But it is now home to a family of six.
It took three to four weeks, working on Saturdays, to complete the structure. “We felt good, knowing we were helping someone who needed help,” Steve says. “We learned a lot doing this together. We learned about how Church members can reach out to help others in the community. We learned about construction. And we got to be better friends with our father.”
“We like to nail things together,” Jessie says. “Maybe I’ll be a builder when I grow up, too.”
Brother Cota just smiles, then says, “The important thing about this is that now the children who live in this house will have a future. They have protection from the weather and a chance to go to school.”
We visit for a minute more, talking about birdhouses the boys are building as a hobby, about Steve’s baseball games and Jessie’s love of football, about future plans to build an outside bathroom to go along with the house.
Then the woman, surrounded by her children, greets the Cotas warmly and poses for a photo with them.
“These,” she says, “are the people who gave me my home.”