Gospel Story Finder

My mom taught us to question whether is it kind, necessary, or true before we say something. That has cut back on a lot of teasing that hurts. And if we still say it, our mom will make us sing the song “Kindness Begins With Me” (Children’s Songbook, 145). After singing that song about a half a dozen times, we got tired of singing and just quit saying those hurtful things.
Rebeka M., 16, Missouri, USA

Moving was a challenge for Mary, too, but she met it with independence and tenacity. Once when they moved, “I took her to Germany, dropped her off in Frankfurt with the two boys, and then I had to fly on to Berlin for a temporary assignment,” says Elder Hales. “Mary got the boys into school, learned to find her way around the busy autobahn, and eventually learned to speak German. This was typical. She has always made it work.”

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”
After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

This past summer, Clarence Neslen, Jr., took his family to Jasper National Park in Alberta, Canada. They enjoyed exploring the Columbia Icefields, jumping over crevasses in the famous Athabasca Glacier. It was an exciting experience until eleven-year-old Cannon, attempting to jump across a crevasse, missed and fell into the deep chasm. He became wedged between the walls of ice. As his father looked down some thirty feet to where his son was trapped, he was further alarmed as he saw a river of icy water flowing beneath the crevasse.
Several young men were also exploring the glacier. They heard the cries for help and came running. They had a small rope but soon realized that it was not strong enough to pull Cannon to safety. If it broke, Cannon would most assuredly fall into the rushing river of freezing water.
Sister Neslen and others ran to a nearby lodge for help. The nearest park ranger camp was seventy-five miles away. They learned by telephone that two park rangers were near the icefields. Located by radio, they rushed to the rescue. Time was short, decisions urgent, and silent prayers were sent heavenward.
Brother Neslen tried to calm his son and soothe his fears. Hypothermia was setting in. Young Cannon’s shirt had been pushed up as he fell. His bare skin was now pressed against the cold walls of the glacier. To keep his son from unconsciousness, the father called down to him to keep praying, to wiggle his fingers and toes, and to sing his favorite songs. Over and over Cannon sang, “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here, has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear” (Hymns, 1985, no. 301). All were strengthened by Cannon’s faith and determination. But he was beginning to weaken. His father kept assuring him that help would soon arrive and that his Heavenly Father would hear his prayers.
The two rangers arrived. Spikes were driven into the ice, and ropes were attached to a ranger, who was lowered to rescue Cannon. But the walls were too narrow for him. Their only chance was to lower a looped rope and pray he was alert enough to grasp it and then have the strength to hold on as they tried to pull him out.
Brother Neslen offered the most fervent prayer of his life, he said. He pleaded with the Lord to save his son’s life. “A feeling of assurance and calm came over me,” he said, “and I knew that he would be saved.”
Cannon had lapsed into unconsciousness. His father called down encouragement, rousing his son sufficiently that Cannon’s icy fingers now were able to catch hold of the rope. “Hold on with all of your might!” his father called down to him. Cannon was carefully pulled up—inch by inch, foot by foot—all thirty feet. When he was finally pulled to safety, he was unconscious. His fingers had miraculously frozen around the rope and had to be pried loose.
He was immediately wrapped in blankets and rushed to a waiting ambulance, but there was not enough warmth to raise his body temperature sufficiently. A paramedic undressed Cannon, then took off his own coat and shirt and held Cannon against his bare chest so that his body heat would radiate to the boy. Cannon slowly responded to the loving care of his rescuers. The prayers of all had been answered.
Young Cannon Neslen, a newly ordained deacon, is here in this audience tonight. We thank our Father in Heaven that his life was spared. He was spared for a purpose. He told his father that, while wedged in the ice, he felt a comforting assurance that he would be saved. He knows God loves him and that He has a special mission for him to perform in this life.

President Díaz truly understands those difficulties. Baptized at age 17, he was the only member of his family to join the Church. “What got me through was my branch president,” he explains. “He spent hours with me; he always had time for me.” That important contact helped young Jacinto Díaz decide to serve a mission. He left despite the opposition of his parents. By the time he returned two years later, his mother and 11 other family members had joined the Church.

The president of the Cardston Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to go through the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I suggested that they could come down to my office and I would attempt to answer any questions they might have. I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if your are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’’A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, ‘Mother I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.’ This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

Some years ago I received a notification in the mail regarding a testimonial and special recognition being given to a man I had known at an earlier time in a community where I had once lived with my family. The man and his wife were leaving the community where they had spent most of their lives. The local citizens were organizing a special event to honor him for the service he had given and the influence he had had in so many of the lives of the people. My life was one that he had touched. Receiving the announcement brought a rush of recollections to my mind about ways in which I had been benefitted, encouraged, and guided by this man’s concern and kindness for me.
Almost at once I decided I would make an effort to attend this event, even though it was the winter season and the weather was threatening. The community was a good distance from the place where I lived at the time, and I knew it would not be convenient for me. I had been given no part to play in the planned proceedings, and I suspected I might not even be recognized in the throng that would likely gather. But I felt compelled to go and join the others in paying him his honor.
The community in which the man had lived was a small one. He had never drawn about him much of the world’s goods. The little business he had operated could have been profitable enough, but he was too interested in people to be much concerned with embellishing his standard of living. He was always available to people, but he never demanded anything of them. Most of us had learned to take him very much for granted. It is unlikely he would ever have been given any public recognition until his burial day, had not his unexpected departure from the community prompted this effort to honor him.
On the evening the special event occurred, I entered the place for the meeting and was immediately intrigued by the arrangements that had been made. All who entered were asked to sign their names on slips of paper that were then folded and dropped into a cardboard box. When the large crowd was seated, and the honored guest had taken his place on the stand, there was a song and a prayer, and then the chairman arose to announce the proceedings. No speakers had been assigned for the evening, he said. He pointed to the cardboard box that was now on the rostrum. Names would be drawn from the box, he explained, and those who were chosen in this manner would be asked to represent all who were present in making expressions of appreciation and love for our friend.
One by one the names were drawn. As the hour passed, a procession of unrehearsed speakers filed to the podium and revealed the story of selfless service that our friend had given to members of the community.
As the meeting drew to a close, the name of a local physician was drawn from the box. For many years the good doctor had lived as a neighbor to our honored friend. He had recently returned to his home following treatment in another state for what had proved to be a near-fatal illness. As he spoke, he explained that for many years he had contemplated how his own life and that of our friend had been devoted to serving others. He told of leaving his home to make professional calls at hours both early and late, and of frequently encountering our friend departing on what appeared to be responses to the call for help from someone with a problem. At these times, the doctor said, he felt particularly close to his neighbor in the fellowship of service that they shared.
At this point in his remarks, the doctor paused, and his voice became touched with emotion. Making reference to his recent illness, he related how he had left this same community several months before, not knowing whether he would ever recover and return. No farewell testimonial had been held in his honor. He confessed that he had been disturbed by the obvious difference in the feelings of the community toward himself and our friend, especially in view of the service that both of them had given. Tonight, he said, he had learned why this was so.
With all of the apparent parallels between his life and that of his friend, there was one very important difference that had set them apart from each other in the eyes of the people in the community. For all of his services, the doctor pointed out, he had collected a fee. That was the difference. He had not realized until tonight how much his fees had cost him.
All of us who knew the good doctor and had benefitted from his kindly ministrations realized that he was being too critical of his own compassion and charity. But he succeeded, in those dramatic circumstances, in teaching all of us a lesson that we would not soon forget.
Most of us demand fees for the service that we give. It is not always in the form of money or some material reward. Sometimes we feed upon the recognition and notice that our good acts have earned. Of such the Savior said, “Verily I say unto you, They have their reward” (Matt. 6:2).
It is only when we learn to serve for the sake of service and to do good in order to bless the lives of others that we begin to know the inner peace and satisfaction that come from caring for others. Then we are not concerned about whether our service shows on the reports, or whether we qualify for badges and ribbons and medals of recognition. The sweetness that comes into our lives when we learn to give for the sake of giving is far more precious than all of the public attention that we might otherwise receive. Most importantly, when we learn to serve with no thought of reward or recognition for ourselves, we begin to develop one of the most desirable traits that the Savior himself possesses. We draw closer to him.
I encourage you to think about this principle and to explore ways that you can begin to develop the joy of service in your own life. In the final outcome of things, it will probably be one of the most rewarding things you can do.

I have a hero. She does not know that I think of her as a hero. I have met her only once, but the impression she left on me was lasting. After meeting her I inquired about her of the missionaries, her stake president, and the mission president, and I found even more reasons to respect her. She is Sister Ye Hui Hua of the Tainan Taiwan Stake. I met her when I was visiting Tainan for a stake conference. She was tending the grounds of the meetinghouse. I was drawn to the obvious happiness that enveloped her as she worked. As we spoke she shared her testimony and her gratitude for her many blessings. I left our only encounter carrying the radiance of her joyful spirit and pondering my relative ingratitude for my blessings. She obviously did not have much in the way of material things, but she was as peaceful and cheerful as anyone I had ever met. When I asked others about her, I found out the rest of her story.
As a young adult she had a great desire to attend university but knew the financial burden would be too heavy for her parents. Instead she worked and gave her income to her father, whom she dearly loved and who was a good and righteous man. After she married and in answer to her prayers, the missionaries visited her and her family and they joined the Church. Her husband, however, suffered from lingering health problems and passed away, leaving Sister Ye with three children and little means of support. Following her husband’s death, Sister Ye had to work several jobs to support her family. She managed to save a little every day so her children could serve missions. All three of her children have now served missions; two served in Taiwan and one in the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission. After returning from his mission, one of her sons became ill and passed away.
As missionaries spoke with Sister Ye at my request, she commented: “I can’t think of any reason why I would have these trials, but I have faith that it is according to God’s great wisdom. I have come to have a very deep appreciation and understanding of Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation. I believe that only when we keep God’s commandments can we understand His will for us. I thank God daily for allowing me to be here. When I have trials, I remember the pain of others. If someone is sick or has a need, I pray about what I can do to help, and the Lord leads me to know what I can do.”
The missionaries often see Sister Ye—“Ye Mama,” as they fondly call her—trimming the bushes or cleaning around the meetinghouse. They say that she is every missionary’s “second mother” and that she is as thoughtful of them as if they were her own children.
I will long carry a mental picture of a beaming Sister Ye on the grounds of the Tainan meetinghouse, garden tools in hand, sharing with me her gratitude for her blessings—Sister Ye, who has lost opportunities for education and material benefits, who has suffered the loss of those close to her, and who has repeatedly sacrificed for her children and others. What principles of faith separate Sister Ye from those who, when met with the trials of this life, “curse God, and die” (Job 2:9)?

This story happened in New Zealand.
Hi, Emily! It’s nice out, isn’t it?
Yeah! Can I try? I want to help!
The spade might be too big for you. Why don’t you help me weed the garden?
OK!
Let’s be careful not to pull out any flowers. I’ll show you which ones are weeds.
Do we have to pull all the weeds out? There are so many!
We do if we want the garden to look nice.
Looking after a garden is hard.
You’re right. But the work still needs to be done.
Why did we plant so many flowers? That’s just more work!
Why do you think Heavenly Father made roses so pretty?
I don’t know.
Because He wants us to have joy when we see them.
It’s like that song! “I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”*
That’s why I don’t mind the hard work. The flowers make me happy.
They remind us of Heavenly Father’s love!
“We should care for the earth, be wise stewards over it, and preserve it for future generations.”
President Russell M. Nelson, “The Creation,” Liahona, July 2000, 84.
Illustrations by Alyssa M. Gonzalez

The story of the train is one of Brian’s favorites. One explanation of the drawing is that many years ago an important chief of the tribes who lived near Storybook Canyon was invited by the big chief of the white men (the president of the United States) to visit Washington, D.C. The Indian chief and many important leaders from nearby tribes traveled by steam train to the East. There they spent several weeks as the honored guests of the president.
When the Indians returned from Washington, the chief climbed onto the ledges of Storybook Canyon and there, like his people had done for many generations before him, he carefully carved into the soft rock the story of that important event. The train that the chief drew on the ledge is over ten feet long.

When the stranger with bloody feet asked to come in, Father questioned the “new” religion the stranger talked about. But Father read Brother Reed’s Book of Mormon and was willing to hear Brigham Young preach. It was Mary Ann’s best friend, Betsy, who called Brother Reed and Brigham Young fakes!
Just as Mary Ann returned to sit with her family at the meeting, Brigham Young was getting up to speak again. He told of the need to have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. After testifying that the Savior lived and spoke to a prophet today, Brother Young told them to repent and to be baptized.
One old man from the back called, “I’ve been baptized. Why do I need to be baptized again?”
Brother Young told them about the authority brought to earth by John the Baptist to Joseph Smith. Joseph gave that authority to him and to Brother Reed. Brigham Young asked if any wanted to be baptized.
Mary Ann’s mother stood up. Then her father stood up, and Nathan and Mary Ann did too. No one else in the whole congregation did. Brother Reed beamed at them. They sat back down, and Brother Young closed the meeting. As Mary Ann walked by, Betsy turned her face away.
Mary Ann touched her arm. “I’m sorry I got mad at you. It’s just that I believe what these men are telling me. I know it’s true, and I want you to know it too.”

1. It was two days before Christmas in Sharon, Vermont. The sharp features of houses, trees, and fences were softened and rounded by a heavy blanket of snow.
2. Near midnight the scattered farm homes were dark—except for the Smith’s, where a single lamp shining through a bedroom window made a checkered pattern on the snow outside. Although it was Christmastime, a light that late at night was unusual.
3. Something wonderful had happened on that twenty-third night of December 1805; a baby who would become a prophet had been born.
4. The next morning when Alvin and Hyrum, oldest of the children, saw a neighbor coming to visit, they plowed through the drifts to meet him and shouted …
5. “We have a new baby!”
“It’s a boy!”
6. Trudging back to the house, the trio waved at little sister Sophronia who was watching them.
7. Father Smith came to the door and let them in …
8. Inside, the baby was sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms.
9. “Well what do you know … a baby boy!”
“We’re so pleased! He’ll be named Joseph after his father.”
10. There were no telephones, just neighbors to pass the word along.
“Another boy for the Smiths.”
“They can always use another hand on the farm.”
11. Mother Lucy stroked the soft baby hair and even though he looked now like any other baby, she dreamed that someday he would be a leader, a mighty man.
12. But she could not have guessed that this tiny Joseph would restore the Church of Jesus Christ and that millions would follow his teachings.

A knock on the door startled the Thomas family. Who could be out on a night like this, with the snow falling in great sheets and lying deep on the ground? Mary Ann’s father hurried to the door but stopped long enough to lift his rifle from its pegs.

A man clothed in a shabby, thin, black coat stood in the doorway, holding two books under his arm. “Hello,” he said. “Would it be possible for a stranger to find a place to stay here this night?”

Her father regarded the man carefully. Many wicked men traveled the frontier of Canada, hoping to rob innocent families. “Who might you be?” he asked at last.

The man smiled, and Mary Ann and her older brother, Nathan, crept closer for a better look. Mary Ann stared at his feet.

“My name’s Brother James Reed—I’m just a harmless stranger traveling in your parts,” the man said cheerfully.

Her father kept a ready hand on the rifle. “Why?”

“I’ve come to tell all who will listen about a new religion that teaches the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Mary Ann could see her father tighten his grip on the rifle. “I’ve no need for a new religion, thank you,” he said.

He was putting his hand on the door to close it, when Mary Ann hurried to her mother’s side and whispered, “Mother, look at his feet! They’re bleeding!”

“Wait,” Mother called, moving closer to the door. She looked out at the tracks of blood in the snow. Then stepping forward, she pushed the rifle away. “Brother Reed, I’m a good Christian woman, and I’ll turn no man away from my door on a night like this with feet in that condition.”

Upon noticing the man’s worn boots, Father invited the man inside. “Come in. Evil men rarely tramp around with bleeding feet. You can spend the night.” He stabbed a finger at the man. “Then you must be on your way. I have little time for preachers.”

Carefully Mary Ann helped the man remove the boots from his feet. He wasn’t wearing any socks! Mother came forward with a basin of warm water. Gratefully he lowered them into it.

“I do appreciate this,” he said. “I’ve been turned away from five homes this day. May the good Lord bless you for your care of one of His poor servants.”

Father sat by the fire, rubbing his rifle with an oily rag. “It seems to me that if the good Lord wanted you to spread His message, He wouldn’t send you out on a night like this, dressed as you are.”

Nathan spoke up. “Father, remember what Parson Grimes read in church Sunday?” He went to the chest under the window and took out the family’s Bible. Opening it, he leafed through it. “Here it is, in Luke 9:3. The Savior is talking to His Apostles: ‘And he said unto them, Take nothing for your journey, neither staves, nor scrip, neither bread, neither money; neither have two coats apiece.’ “

Mary Ann whispered to her brother. “What does scrip mean?”

“It’s a bag to carry food in,” Brother Reed whispered back. Chuckling, he lifted his toes from the water and wiggled them. “The scripture doesn’t mention socks, but I don’t have that, either!”

Mary Ann thought she caught a smile on her father’s face before it disappeared. But he said brusquely, “Do you claim to be an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“No sir. I’m just one of His humble servants. But there is one traveling with me in this part of Canada. His name is Brigham Young. I can tell you without a doubt in my heart that he’s an Apostle, called by a prophet to testify of the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Suddenly a warm feeling entered everyone in the small log home. Mary Ann felt a deep wonder inside. Could this really be true? Could there be an Apostle here in the wilderness of Canada?

Mother replaced the Bible in the chest. Then she pulled a pair of hand-knit stockings from it. Mary Ann cringed when she saw the knotty socks—the very first pair she had knitted. When Mother handed them to Brother Reed, he put them gratefully on his now-dry feet. “God bless whoever knitted these.” His eyes twinkling, he turned to Mary Ann. “Was it you?”

She nodded and ducked her red face.

He sighed with contentment. “Never have my feet felt better. Thank you, dear sister.”

Mary Ann lifted her face and saw the truly grateful look in his eyes.

Mother asked, “Is this Apostle of Jesus Christ, this …”

“Brigham Young.”

“Is he in as much need as you are?”

“We travel just as the Lord advised in the New Testament. Brother Brigham has as little as I. Wherever we go, people who listen to the message of our Savior and help us are blessed. In Matthew 25:40, [Matt. 25:40] it says, ‘Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”

Mother sighed, “Then let’s hope that he found shelter tonight.” She went to the fireplace. “Now I’m going to feed you a good meal while you tell us about your new religion. How is it different?”

“The gospel has been restored. God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ appeared to a boy They have chosen to be a prophet on earth today.”

Picking up her baby sister, Anna, Mary Ann moved closer to listen to the stranger. “You mean a prophet like Moses and Abraham?” She asked in awe.

Brother Reed smiled at her. “Yes. His name is Joseph Smith. They told him to start a new church. It was to be just like the one the Savior organized when He lived on earth.”

Father continued to rub the rifle with the oily cloth. “So you claim to have prophets and Apostles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All as poor as you?”

“Yes, sir. But remember the Savior Himself chose fishermen instead of rich men for His Apostles. Brigham Young worked at building houses before his call.”

Nathan moved closer. “What are those books you carry?”

“One’s the Bible—just like yours. The other is the Book of Mormon, a sacred book Joseph Smith translated from ancient writings given to him by an angel. It tells of Christ’s visit to the people here in the Americas.”

“May I look at that book?” Father asked.

Brother Reed handed the book to Mary Ann. “Would you take this to your father?”

As she carried the book, she felt a special reverence for it.

“Just read where it’s marked,” Brother Reed said.

Father read aloud Moroni’s promise. Then he closed the book. “It looks like your feet are going to need some time to heal,” he said gruffly. “And I want to study this book. If after I read it, I find that you’re a liar, then you’ll be out on your ear. If it’s true, we’ll listen to all that you have to tell us. And you’ll be welcome to stay as long as you will.”

“Fair enough,” Brother Reed said with a smile. Gratefully he wrapped himself in the blankets Mary Ann provided, and lay down by the fire to sleep while Father read into the night.

The fourth element of the framework is to recognize what God has already revealed to you personally, while being open to further revelation from Him. If God has answered a question and the circumstances have not changed, why would we expect the answer to be different? Joseph Smith stumbled into this problematic scenario in 1828. The first portion of the Book of Mormon had been translated, when Martin Harris, a benefactor and early scribe, asked Joseph for permission to take the translated pages and show them to his wife. Unsure of what to do, Joseph prayed for guidance. The Lord told him not to let Martin take the pages.

Martin requested that Joseph ask God again. Joseph did so, and the answer was, not surprisingly, the same. But Martin begged Joseph to ask a third time, and Joseph did so. This time God did not say no. Instead, it was as though God said, “Joseph, you know how I feel about this, but you have your agency to choose.” Feeling himself relieved of the constraint, Joseph decided to allow Martin to take 116 manuscript pages and show them to a few family members. The translated pages were lost and never recovered. The Lord severely rebuked Joseph.

Imagine waking up to the smell of smoke, the sound of screams and gunshots, the sights of looting and beating. Imagine racially inspired violence so dangerous that schools close and curfews are imposed for days.
This tragic scenario might seem like something you’d see in a movie—the kind your parents and leaders would probably recommend you avoid—but during late April and early May this year LDS youth in the Los Angeles area actually lived it. They saw the rioting. They knew people who looted. They watched familiar buildings burn to the ground.
Yet even while the ashes were still smoldering, the Young Women of the Los Angeles area were busy putting the finishing touches on a long-planned multistake conference that would unite nearly 500 LDS young women of various ethnic backgrounds and affirm that the gospel offers peace to everyone.
The six-hour conference featured an address from Young Women General President Janette Hales. Her message focused on how the fundamentals of personal religious behavior, things like reading the scriptures, praying, and keeping the commandments, can get you through life’s trials and keep you close to Heavenly Father, no matter what is going on in the world around you.
The conference also included 15 workshops covering subjects like dating, preparing for a mission, self-defense, sign language, and baby-sitting. It was just what the doctor ordered for the girls after the tragedy of the weeks before. But the memories for some of the young women were still vivid.
“We went to the store before they burned it to get some food,” said Virginia Smith of the Inglewood Stake. “It was crowded. All of a sudden people were screaming and running to the back. Someone said there were people there with guns. So my mom said to get on the floor, ’cuz if they shoot, they’re not going to shoot down there. Then someone said they went out. The next chance we got, we headed for the door, got in our car, and left.”

One day someone called me at work, claiming to be from the governor’s office and wanting to know if I would be interested in a position as the governor’s assistant. I laughingly asked, “Who is this?” He explained that the call was legitimate and invited me to come the next day for an interview. I went with a sinking feeling that it could be a joke. It wasn’t. The interview went well, and I was hired on the spot.
In my new job I used the skills I had gained from years of speaking in church. The governor could not attend all the events to which he was invited; therefore, his staff members were expected to speak in his place. All those talks in church and from serving in leadership positions had given me the experience I needed to speak in public alongside senators, local and national dignitaries, and celebrities. I served as the governor’s assistant for seven years until we both retired.

Jason C. Jones turned up the collar of his wet coat. He tried to creep farther under the bush, but the chilling rain still soaked through and found him.
Will I ever be warm again? Jason wondered.
On this cold night in November 1833, Jason thought back to that hot day in July when it seemed to him their troubles had all begun.
Jason’s father said to him that morning, “I have to ride into Independence for supplies, Jason. Fix the broken fence. And remember you’re eleven now, and you’ll have to look out for your mother and Jane.”
Shortly after noon that day Jason was straightening a fence rail near the road when he heard the sound of running horses.
Shading his eyes, Jason looked down the road. Many men were coming toward him on galloping horses. Then he noticed that all the men had weapons of some sort. Jason saw several rifles and some pistols, but most of the riders carried whips or clubs.
The boy trembled in fright. Are they members of a mob? he wondered. He’d heard stories about men who threatened the Saints, and sometimes when his father and mother had thought the children were both asleep, Jason had heard them whisper about killings.
All but one of the riders raced past the boy. The one who stopped pulled his horse up near Jason and shouted, “You one of those Mormon boys?”
Jason nodded.
“Tell your folks to get out,” the man cried. “You’re not wanted in Jackson County, Missouri.”
Jason stood silent and the man rode away.
When his father came home, Jason told him about the men and then asked, “Why don’t the people want us here, Father? We’re not hurting anyone, are we?”
His father looked sad. He was quiet for a moment, and then he explained, “I guess folks feel there are too many Mormons coming to live here.”
Jason remembered that the rest of the summer was peaceful at their farm, but many other families had not been as fortunate. One night his father rode into Independence again. A meeting was being held so that some of the Mormon leaders and other men chosen from the area could talk over their problems.
Before he left, Jason’s father had smiled and said again, “Take care of your mother and Jane, son. I’ll be home soon.”
But two weeks passed and Jason’s father had not returned. Near nightfall that day Jason walked to the road. He peered in the direction of town, hoping he might see his father coming home. What Jason saw instead made him stiffen with fear. He raced back into the house and shut the door.
Before he spoke, he took a deep breath. “Mother,” Jason quietly said, “some men are coming.”
His mother jumped up. A shirt she had been mending dropped unnoticed on the floor. “Maybe we can get away through the back door, Jason,” she suggested in a shaky voice. “Let’s hurry and—”
Before his mother finished speaking, a huge man pushed the door open.
“You Mormons get out!” he bellowed. “We’re going to burn your house down!”
Jason could not believe what he heard the man say. Then there were sounds in the yard outside, and Jason knew the loud noises meant fences were being ripped down and the barn and other outbuildings torn apart.
Jason helped his mother find Jane’s shawl as well as her own. He snatched a wicker basket and began to throw food into it, but the big man grabbed the basket and shouted, “Go on! Get out before this place burns down around you!”
Jason and his mother and Jane ran outside and up the road. They stopped a few times to look back at the flames that licked around their home as it burned.
During the night they were joined by other homeless women and children. They crossed a burned prairie crusted with sleet. Whenever they tried to stop and rest, men on horseback drove them on.
The driven people moved northward to the Missouri River. They reached the river late one evening.
Crowded on its banks were household goods, boxes, provisions, animals, and many people waiting their turn to cross the river. Only one small ferry was available.
Shortly after dark Jason became separated from his mother and Jane. Now the rain began to fall in torrents, and Jason huddled under the bush. He was desperately miserable and lonely as he thought about all that had happened since that July day when the man on horseback had screamed, “You’re not wanted!”
Then Jason remembered what he could do. Kneeling in the mud, Jason prayed for help.
Finally he dozed. But cries from the people on the river bank soon awakened him, and Jason crawled from beneath his bush.
The rain had stopped, and everyone was looking up. Jason looked up too. The sight he saw filled him with amazement!
The heavens were a deep blue background for a wondrous spectacle of falling stars that streaked downward in bright flames. It looked as if the stars exploded in place and then began to tumble toward the earth.
To Jason, it seemed that every star in the heavens was about to land in the river beside the people.
As the magnificent display gradually stopped, Jason again remembered his troubles. He sighed and shivered as he pulled his coat about him. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and Jason looked up and saw his father.
“Oh, Father,” he sobbed, “I’m so glad to see you!”
His father hugged him close. “I found your mother and Jane too,” he said. “Come.”
The man and the boy walked down the river bank together. A fire burned warmly in front of a tent, and inside the opening Jason could see his mother and sister.
“With our family together again, even a tent is a home,” Father said as he gently pushed Jason inside toward his welcoming family.

Often, the activation energy needed for blessings requires more than just looking or asking; ongoing, repeated, faith-filled actions are required. In the middle of the 19th century, Brigham Young directed a group of Latter-day Saints to explore and settle Arizona, an arid region in North America. After reaching Arizona, the group ran out of water and feared they would perish. They pled with God for help. Soon rain and snow fell, allowing them to fill their barrels with water and provide for their livestock. Grateful and refreshed, they returned to Salt Lake City rejoicing in the goodness of God. Upon their return, they reported the details of their expedition to Brigham Young and pronounced their conclusion that Arizona was uninhabitable.

After listening to the report, Brigham Young asked a man in the room what he thought about the expedition and the miracle. That man, Daniel W. Jones, tersely replied, “I would have filled up, went on, and prayed again.” Brother Brigham put his hand on Brother Jones and said, “This is the man that shall take charge of the next trip to Arizona.”17

My daughter, Tifanny, and I were at a store one evening. As we left the store, I saw some unopened candy and a toy just outside the door. We couldn’t find the owner, so I told her she could have the candy and toy. She looked at me and said, “I would like to be honest.” She took the candy and toy into the store. She came out with the greatest feeling for being honest and choosing to do the right. She likes to choose the right.

It had been a great day at school. Jeff had spent all recess playing dragons with his best friend, Ben. After two years at his new school, Jeff was glad to finally have a best friend. Ben liked the same things as Jeff did, and they always had lots to talk about.
When Jeff got home, he saw Mom waiting for him. She didn’t look happy at all. His smile faded away. “Jeff,” Mom said, “I got a call from the principal today. She said you’ve been bullying a boy in your class.”
“I have not!” Jeff said. He knew that being a bully was wrong. A bully made people sad and afraid. Jeff had never done anything like that.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked. She made room on the couch for Jeff. “The principal said you and Ben told Sam to go away, that he’s not in your club, and that he can’t join unless he jumps off the top of the slide.”
Jeff looked down. Sam asked to play with them almost every day. But Ben was his best friend, and they liked playing by themselves. That didn’t mean he had been a bully, did it?
“Is it wrong for Ben and me to play alone?” Jeff asked. It didn’t seem fair that someone called him a bully just for playing with his best friend.
“You two can still spend lots of time together. But when Sam is around, it’s wrong to make him feel left out and alone. The principal said you called Sam names for not jumping off the slide.”
“I did not!” Jeff said. But Ben had. And he had laughed.
“Remember how you felt when we first moved?” Mom asked.
Jeff nodded. School had been really lonely at first. He had prayed a lot to find a good friend.
“What do you wish people had done?” Mom asked.
“I wished they’d invited me to play games at recess. Or sit with them at lunch.”
“Isn’t it amazing that you have such a good friend now?” Mom said. “You can be someone who helps people who are lonely, like you used to be. I’m going to give you a challenge. Tomorrow I want you to find out three cool things about Sam. Then tell me after school.”
“I can probably do that,” Jeff said, staring at his shoes. He hadn’t meant to be a bully. He wanted to be kind like Jesus. Tomorrow he could tell Sam he was sorry. And he could tell Ben that he wanted Sam to play too.
“Hey,” said Mom. She tipped Jeff’s chin up. “You are a good, kind boy. Sam would be lucky to have you as a friend. And guess what? I bet you’ll find out you’re lucky to have Sam as a friend too.”
Jeff smiled a little. Ben could still be his best friend. It wouldn’t hurt to have another friend too.