Gospel Story Finder

Fifteen years ago, there was a quorum of priests in the Salt Lake Valley which consisted of eight members who all attended the same high school. In spite of a certain sense of unity among them, each was different—from very different family circumstances, with his own set of problems, worries, challenges, and dreams. And while they were friends and seemed to enjoy the society of their quorum, there was something lacking that would unify and bond them together.
Living within the ward boundaries at the time was a young man who was not a member of the Church. He was their age, attended their school, and was a star athlete. He was popular and well respected and enjoyed the praise and admiration that came with that kind of popularity. And although he knew and was on friendly terms with each of the priests in the quorum, he had a different set of friends, traveled in another social circle, and hung out with a different crowd.
For some weeks, this young man had been discussed in the quorum meetings in terms of his success in sports and his relative popularity at school. He was a topic of discussion at some point in almost every quorum meeting. On one such Sunday, the bishop, meeting with the quorum in his role as quorum president, suggested that they consider teaching and baptizing this popular young friend of theirs. The quorum members at first laughed at the suggestion, expressing their beliefs that this young man would never join the Church. The bishop’s encouragement was persistent over several weeks, and, finally, the group agreed that they would invite this young man to one or two of their activities. To their surprise, he agreed.
Gradually, one by one, each member of the quorum had an influence on him. He began to attend activities regularly and even came to Sunday meetings. Finally, the quorum leaders approached him about meeting with the missionaries and hearing the discussions. He agreed and received permission from his family.
At first, they took turns visiting him with the missionaries. One or two of them would accompany the elders to his home, the meetinghouse, or some other teaching location. They began to sit together at the games where their friend played, and a spirit of purpose, unity, and strength began to grow among them. They began to change in ways that everyone in the ward noticed. Their parents commented. The bishopric saw it. Other ward members mentioned it, and they themselves felt the changes that were taking place in their lives.
Finally the day of baptism came. They were all there—sitting on the front row and watching intently as one of the full-time missionaries escorted their friend into the baptismal waters. Somehow, it wouldn’t have been fair for any one of them to perform the baptism. They had all become so close and so much a team, that they agreed the elders should perform the ordinance.
Time has passed. Years have flown by. Those young men have served missions, married in the temple, become husbands and fathers, and moved away from the old ward. But every one of them remembers those days of unity, of brotherhood, of friendship, and of the joy of sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ with their friend. No matter what happens to that little group, their lives were changed forever that year. They tasted of true quorum unity and strength.

Adeltha Collyer (right) and Carol King
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
Another couple in the area, Bertram and Adeltha Collyer, ran a produce stand in Waterflow, New Mexico, for 52 years. It provided a living for them and their six children. It also provided a lot of love to the neighborhood.
“We had 40 acres, and we employed more than 800 people off and on. We’d always find work for anybody going on or coming off a mission, mothers who needed income, or people who needed a job,” Adeltha says, now age 82.
“One day a lady up the road was taking a truck full of empty boxes to the dump. I told her we’d trade produce for boxes. She asked, ‘Can I give some to my neighbors who are in need?’ I told my helpers, ‘Let her have what she wants, no charge.’
“Carol King, a member of our ward who works for me, would help me make big boxes of surplus produce—squash, cucumbers, melons, corn, tomatoes, or chiles. Her son would take them to neighbors, Church members or not—it didn’t matter. It was a joy for us to give to people in need.”

I was so happy to meet President Nelson. When tickets became available for the event to meet the prophet, I made a phone call to our district president for a ticket, but he told me to wait. Later I prayed to God for a ticket and made a phone call to the district president again the next day and I got a ticket. I travelled with three other brothers by car to meet President Nelson in Bengaluru. On the way we stopped our car to have lunch in a village, where we met family members who were sad because their son had died, so we shared our testimony and told them that we were travelling to meet the living prophet, and later they felt so happy. When I met our prophet, I was so happy to hear the words which God instructed him to speak to us. I felt so blessed to hear God’s words. I was thankful to God for helping me to meet living prophet. —Prakash Prince (Chennai 1st Branch)

Michael was going to Suzanne’s and Sara’s baptisms with Sister Ferguson. Sister Ferguson always invited her Primary class to the baptisms of their classmates. Michael was glad his family wasn’t going. Suzanne and Sara would be baptized by their fathers, and having his family there would remind him that his father would not be baptizing him.
He was going to be eight soon, but he felt more worried than excited about his birthday. Sometimes that made him angry. Wasn’t a birthday supposed to be fun?
The ride to church was nice because Sister Ferguson didn’t mention his birthday. She talked about Michael’s school and friends, his bike, and his cat.
Lots of people were at the baptism. Some were from the ward; others seemed to be Suzanne’s or Sara’s relatives. Michael recognized Primary leaders, home teachers, bishopric members, friends, and even the missionaries with some investigators.
It is nice they are all here, he thought. I wonder if they came just because it is part of their job. It seemed to Michael that parents cared the most about your baptism. And if one or both of your parents didn’t care, you felt all alone.
Michael listened to a sister talk about baptism. She said that Suzanne and Sara were making promises to Heavenly Father and that Heavenly Father was making promises to them. The sister said that it is comforting to have a Father who always keeps His promises. That made Michael feel a little better, but he was still sad and worried.
He got close to the font to watch the baptisms. Afterward, he watched Sara and then Suzanne receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and wondered if Suzanne and Sara liked having all those hands on their heads. Did they know all those men?
After the service, Sister Ferguson asked Michael, “Did you like being at the baptism?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you thinking about your own baptism?” she asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking so worried?”
Michael stared at the floor. “Because I don’t have anyone to baptize me.”
Sister Ferguson gave Michael a hug. They walked over to a quiet place away from the others. “Do you remember hearing in the baptism prayer the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ’?” she asked.
Michael thought a moment. “I think so.”
Sister Ferguson explained, “Being commissioned of Jesus Christ means acting for Him, using His power to do His will. Whoever baptizes must have His power, which is the priesthood. It doesn’t matter who actually says the prayer and puts you down into the waters of baptism because that person is acting for Jesus Christ, not for himself.
“We are all brothers and sisters, children of Heavenly Father. We’re family. All the people at this baptism are here because they are happy to see Suzanne and Sara obeying the Savior’s commandment to be baptized and making a promise to follow Him. All the men who helped confirm them want to share the love and happiness they feel as members of Christ’s Church. Any one of them would be honored to be a representative of Jesus Christ and baptize you. The important thing is for you to obey the commandment to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Michael understood, but tears came to his eyes anyway. “But I want my dad to baptize me.”
“I know,” Sister Ferguson said. “I wish he could too. All I can do is tell you how much I love you and how much more Heavenly Father loves you. And you won’t be the only one who wasn’t baptized by his or her father. The Savior Himself was baptized by John the Baptist. Converts are often baptized by missionaries. Sometimes older brothers baptize their younger brothers or sisters. You can ask any worthy priesthood holder who has been ordained a priest or received the Melchizedek Priesthood to baptize you. Why don’t you talk to your mother about it when you get home?”
Michael nodded. Then he went to talk to his friends. He felt good knowing so many people really did care.

During my term as mission president in New England I was responsible for the Joseph Smith Memorial in Vermont. The visitor’s center, with its lawn and gardens, is surrounded by woods.
A doe took up residence there and each spring brought twin fawns onto the lawn. They were tame enough that the caretaker, on occasion, could pick them up.
One fall a bow hunter came into the grounds and killed a half-grown fawn with an arrow. The unsuspecting animal stood watching a few feet away, interested in whatever it was he was doing.
There is no way that man could be classed as a sportsman or even a hunter. “Like shooting fish in a bucket” is the expression.
No doubt both the trophy and the hunt became exaggerated in the conversation of the man, but there is no way his contemptible deed could give him any sense of achievement.
Each year many fall victim in the colleges and universities of our country. There, as captive audiences, their faith, their patriotism, and their morality are lined up against a wall and riddled by words shot from the mouths of irreverent professors.
I hope that while you were taking courses you found time enough after the study of your subject to study the professors. One may well learn more from studying the professor than studying the subject.
Be assured that one who strives to widen the breadth of accepted moral conduct does so to condone what he is doing. Not infrequently you will find him unworthy. If he derides spiritual development, it can generally be concluded that he has failed in the subject. He defends himself by declaring it an unnecessary discipline. He is the one to ridicule faith and humility, to smile in contempt when anyone mentions virtue, or reverence, or dedication, or morality.
Let me give you a clue. There is something very interesting about a person who is anxious to forsake the standards of his church, particularly if he leaves them and encourages others to do likewise.
Have you ever wondered what it means when he can leave it, but he cannot leave it alone? Normal behavior would have him cancel his affiliation in the church and let that be that. Not so with this individual. He can leave it, but he cannot leave it alone. He becomes consumed with it and obsessed with it. That says something about him.
And one might ask, Is he talking to the student, or to himself? You might ask also, and he might ask himself: Is he happy, really happy?
Let me alert you to one other thing.
The professor who is “up-tight” about the subject of religion, the one who can’t, just positively can’t seem to conduct a class without tossing a barb or two at the church, belittling the minister, the rabbi, the priest, the bishop, or the stake president, or at the standards they teach—he is not the major source of concern. His bald-faced brand of prejudice is obvious even to the unwary student. Even the freshman fawn will move aside when he strings his bow.
But there is another that I would like to describe to you. I can best make the point by referring to Shakespeare’s Othello.
Othello claimed the two desires of his life. He became the general—he had arrived at the top—and he won the hand of the lovely Desdemona. Two other characters in the play complete the main cast: Cassio, his trusted lieutenant, and Iago, conspiring and jealous.
Two things Iago wanted in life—to be general and to have Desdemona. Othello had them both.
Motivated by malignant jealousy, he set out to destroy Othello—never openly, always careful and clever. He does not, in the play, tell an open, bald-faced lie. He works by innuendo and suggestion.
“Where is Desdemona tonight?” he would ask.
“Oh, she has gone to Relief Society,” Othello would answer.
“Oh, has she?” Iago would question.
It was not the words—on paper they are a harmless inquiry—but the inflection made them contagious with suspicion.
On one occasion Cassio came to Othello’s home with a message. After a conversation with Desdemona he left to attend to other matters. As he was leaving the home, Othello and Iago approached.
Iago perverted an innocent situation with his comment, “I cannot think it that he would steal away so guilty-like, seeing you coming.”
And so it unfolds. Nothing to incriminate Iago, so innocent was he. Just a sly reference, a gesture, an inflection, the emphasis on the word or the sentence.
Othello is finally convinced that Desdemona is unfaithful and determines to destroy her. The tragedy finally concludes with Othello threatening his innocent wife. She pleads for a week, for a day. Her final plea: “But while I say one prayer.” But he denies her that. How terrible the tragedy of her death when he then finds proof of her innocence.
You may meet an Iago one day. Through innuendo and sly remarks, through an inflection or a question, in mock innocence he might persuade you to kill your faith, to throttle your patriotism, to tamper with drugs, to abandon morality and chastity and virtue. If you do, you have an awakening as terribly tragic as that of Othello.
This is the man that ridicules belief in a hereafter and says there is no such thing as God. He’d better hope he is right. For if, as some of us know, the opposite is true, the final scene will be his, and justice more than poetic and penalties adequate in every way will be exacted from him.
Ultimately we are punished quite as much by our sins as we are for them.
You have completed your studies at an American university. Here, theory has it, learning may be pursued in an atmosphere of academic freedom. Freedom, one might ask, for whom? Some interesting changes have occurred in the past generation.
Some years ago a plaintiff prospered in her grievance concerning the saying of prayers in public schools. The practice was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. The decision was partial. The effect was to offer great encouragement to those who would erase from our society every trace of reference to the Almighty.
She wanted to protect her son from any contact with religion. Her son is protected from my type of religion—my son is exposed to hers.
There is a crying need for the identification of atheism for what it is, and that is, a religion—albeit a negative one, nevertheless it is a religious expression. It is the one extreme end of the spectrum of thought concerning the causation of things.
Those who are spiritually sensitive recognize God as the cause, a living being who rules in the affairs of man. The so-called atheist declares that God is not. Not just that He isn’t the cause of things, but that He indeed is not.
We put sunshine and rain under the heading of weather. It would be a little ridiculous to talk about clear weather and cloudy and claim that the two are not related and could not be considered as part of the same discipline.
When you leave the university and go on to further studies in life, Iago will be there—perhaps not under the title of professor, but he will be clamoring for your attention. It will be interesting for you to see what he will do, subtly, to destroy your faith.
You will have an invitation to compromise your integrity for position, political preference, or for money. You have been tested in college, and I’m sure you have seen a student or two used up. So you will see many consumed in society by those proselyting for others to join them in their unhappiness.
Remember, there are some rights and wrongs. We must come to understand that there are basic truths and basic principles, basic conformities necessary to achieve happiness. There are some things that are false, that are wrong. We cannot be happy and at once be wicked. Never, regardless of how generally accepted that course may be.
If it were printed in every book, run on every news press, set forth in every magazine; if it were broadcast on every frequency, televised from every station, declared from every pulpit, taught in every classroom, advocated in every conversation, still it would be wrong. Wickedness never was happiness, neither indeed can it be, neither indeed ever will it be.
I declare in favor of full academic freedom. If prayer is to leave our schools, let the ridicule of prayer leave also. I speak for humility, for faith, for reverence, for brotherhood, for charity, for patriotism. I speak for temperance, and I likewise speak for justice.
I yearn for the day when the rank and file of our college professors will assert themselves, when the moral fiber in them will set itself against the decay in our public universities.
I pay tribute to those professors, the great body of them, who have taught you well, men and women of integrity who command a discipline and are able to teach it. They are the ones most worth studying. That is something that every freshman should know. They reflect a balance in development of the whole man. These are the men and women to be trusted, to be emulated.
God grant that they may soon look up from their books and turn from their studies and stand to be counted with those administrators who struggle to keep the moral foundation of our universities in place. May those men and women wield heavy influence and plant in the hearts and minds of the students a fundamental respect for truth and for integrity.
Now in conclusion, as you leave the campus satisfied at the things you have gained, go through your pockets to see if something may have been lost—spiritual things—essential if there is to be happiness in your future.
Take with you your faith, your patriotism, your virtue. If they are battered a bit, carry them away with you nevertheless. They can be renewed. You will come to know in the years ahead that life has precious little to offer without them.

A rancher interviewed a number of men in the process of trying to find a new ranch foreman. All one man said when asked if he could do the job was, “I can sleep through the storm.” Soon after he was hired, a torrential storm came with gale-force winds and pelting rain. The rancher went to the bunkhouse and banged on the door. He couldn’t believe that the new foreman was in there sleeping. He was angry with the foreman and let words fly. The foreman responded, “I told you when you hired me that I could sleep through a storm.”
Upon inspection of the ranch, the rancher found that the animals were all taken care of, tarps covered the equipment and the haystacks, buildings were secure, everything was tied down—everything was taken care of. After riding through the night inspecting the ranch, the ranch owner understood what it meant to be able to say, “I can sleep through the storm.”

Emma met Joseph when he came to her town for work in 1825. The two developed a close friendship, and she readily believed his accounts of visions and revelations. Following Moroni’s instructions, Joseph returned to New York each year to the Hill Cumorah, hoping to obtain the golden plates containing another testament of Jesus Christ. According to one account, on September 22, 1826, Moroni told Joseph he had one more chance to bring the right person with him the following year. Joseph prayed faithfully and received revelation that the right person was Emma Hale.3 They were married on January 18, 1827. God had chosen Emma to aid Joseph in bringing forth the Book of Mormon.

After midnight on September 22, 1827, Emma and Joseph left the Smith home in Manchester, New York, USA, to drive to the hill. Emma waited in the carriage while Joseph received the plates from Moroni.4 One account states that she knelt to pray while Joseph obtained the plates.5 Joseph’s mother, Lucy, also prayed—all night—waiting for the two of them to return. Joseph and Emma returned in time for breakfast, having successfully obtained the plates.6

Tonight I have with me an old envelope. I know it’s old because the postage is only six cents, and that means it was mailed a very long time ago. On the back of this envelope are directions to a destination.

It belonged to a young couple in their twenties and newly married. They were romantic and idealistic and optimistic about their future. He was in graduate school. She taught high school to support the two of them. One bright autumn day in New England they took a picnic lunch out to Walden Pond, near Boston. For those of you who love literature, you’ll remember that Walden Pond and Henry David Thoreau go together. Like Thoreau they chose this location to think and ponder about their future. The question they had come to consider was this: What should they do with the rest of their lives?

They wanted a road map for the future. They had a new marriage. It was a promising partnership. The future stretched out before them, and they wanted to make the very most of it. They talked of what to do and where to live. They talked about the children they wanted to have. They wanted to develop talents and share what they had been given. They wanted the world to be better because they had lived in it. They wanted to serve God always.

They were goal setters, so after a very philosophical afternoon and lots of discussion, they wrote down on the back of an envelope a list of goals and hopes and dreams that they intended would set the tone for the rest of their lives together. They drove away from that beautiful, serene setting with hope and optimism and the envelope.

The practical, routine, daily things of life took over. The envelope was soon forgotten. They got caught up in life. They prayed often and worked hard, and they served others. They started their family and finished graduate school. He worked at his career. She worked at being a young mother. They served—both in their Church and in the community. They had more children. Life got busier and busier. They didn’t think about their Walden Pond envelope much at all. Things weren’t so philosophical anymore, but they were happy. They were very happy. They just kept trying, with each choice they made, to see which path God wanted them to take.

Many years passed. They faced trials—some of them were very hard ones. There were a variety of challenges—some of them could have broken their spirits. They were middle-aged, and they plucked gray hairs and watched their waistlines expand. They moved to a new city, where the husband was hired for a very responsible job.

One day, in the process of the move, she found among some long-forgotten papers the Walden Pond envelope. It was old and yellowed. On the back was the list of goals made by the young newlywed couple so many, many years before.

As she read down the list, tears came to her eyes. The years since they had spent that long-ago afternoon at Walden Pond flashed by. As her eyes focused on each item, she realized that most of the goals on the list had come to pass. Interestingly enough, her husband’s new job was the fulfillment of the final notation they had made at Walden Pond. It was time now to get a new envelope and make a new list.

Academic conferences provide an important setting for contributing to religious freedom. Let me describe a few incidents that have grown out of this type of activity. Each fall for the past several years we have held an international conference at BYU dealing with religious freedom. The minister of justice from Peru attended one of these two or three years ago. At the time the Church had just learned that it had exhausted missionary quotas for the year in Peru. A Church official working with visas mentioned this to the minister of justice during a break at the conference. He was quite surprised that such a quota existed at all and indicated he would check into the matter when he returned home. Within a few weeks there were no more missionary quotas in Peru.

Pioneers in the Martin Handcart Company were caught by an early winter blizzard in eastern Wyoming and suffered significantly. Several years later a teacher in a Church class criticized the decision to allow the Saints to leave that late in the season with limited supplies. A man who had been in the Company was in attendance and after listening for a while rose to his feet and asked them to stop.

You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. .... We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.

I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it. I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.

Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay...[25]
It is often through our trials that we more fully recognize our dependence on the Lord and draw near to Him.

Siedeh took a big breath and walked into her new classroom. It was her first day in fourth grade.
Last year, Siedeh was in second grade. She did so well that her school let her skip third grade. Siedeh was excited to do harder math problems and read more books in fourth grade. But she wasn’t happy that she would have to leave her old friends.
As she looked around the room, Siedeh felt small. All of her new classmates looked older and taller than she was. What if she didn’t belong?
She chose a desk and sat down. A tall girl sat next to her. “Hi,” Siedeh said.
“What are you doing here?” the girl asked. “I thought you were supposed to be in third grade.”
“The school moved me up a grade,” Siedeh said nervously.
The girl made a mean face. “Well, I don’t care how smart you are. You’re still just a baby.”
Siedeh felt awful inside. For the rest of the week, she was too scared to talk to any of her classmates. Each time she heard someone laughing or whispering, she frowned. They were probably saying mean things about her.
Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Siedeh got a math test back. She wanted to cry when she looked at her score. Math was her favorite subject. She had never scored this low on a test before.
When she got home, Siedeh couldn’t hold back her tears. “I don’t have any friends,” she told her parents. “I don’t belong in fourth grade. I’m not smart enough.”
“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” Siedeh’s mother said. “But you are smart. And you are still learning.”
Siedeh wiped her eyes. “I wish I could go to third grade instead.”
Dad was quiet for a moment. “Would you like a priesthood blessing?” he asked.
Siedeh nodded. Maybe a blessing from Dad would help her feel better.
Siedeh sat on a chair, and Dad put his hands on her head.
“I bless you that you will not be afraid,” Dad said. “And I bless you to love your new classmates. As they get to know you, they will love you too.”
A calm feeling spread through Siedeh. She felt that her dad’s words were what Heavenly Father wanted her to hear.
After the blessing, Mama helped Siedeh work on her math problems. Soon Siedeh was feeling a bit better.
The next day at school, Siedeh remembered her blessing and tried to be brave. She smiled at her classmates. When she showed love, she felt less afraid of them! Some of them were even really nice. She worked hard to learn, and soon her grades improved too.
By the end of the school year, Siedeh had many friends. She was glad Heavenly Father had helped her be brave. And she was grateful she could always have the blessing of priesthood power to help her.
This story took place in Liberia.

With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are countries where the Church has been for no more than 15 years. During our visit in 2005, I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who had been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
The members supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.

Many centuries ago, there was a girl in China who was extremely clever, brave, and agile—but there was no way of knowing this from her beginnings.
As a baby, she was found in a basket in King Ta Lang’s garden in Shen Su.
For years, King Ta Lang’s palace had been childless. Finally a hoped-for son was born, and then soon afterward the baby girl was found in the royal gardens. Who was she? Where had she come from? Who had left her there on the royal grounds? Why?
King Ta Lang sent for his court diviners, who brought their crystal balls, sand trays, magic charts, and other such aids to the palace. After much pondering, they decided that the baby girl was the daughter of the rain god, who had sent her to eventually become the wife of the newborn prince. They advised King Ta Lang to name his son Tou Meng (meaning “Give Thanks”), and the baby girl Chai Mi (meaning “Enables Us to Live”).
The king followed their directions about naming both babies and immediately had them engaged by royal decree.
Prince Tou Meng and Princess Chai Mi grew up the very best of friends. They had great fun playing ball and other games, climbing trees, riding donkeys, flying kites, dancing, shooting arrows in archery contests, and swimming in the Lan River. Although Chai Mi was really better at everything than Tou Meng, she always let him win by a small margin.
There was at court one man whom she did not fool about her superior skills—the king’s Chief General, who watched her progress through narrow, jealous eyes. Chai Mi, he thought, was too smart and athletic. Someday she might be a threat to his power. So he plotted against her and bided his time. …
Prince Tou Meng and Chai Mi grew up, and one day when she was in the River Lan swimming alone, Chai Mi found a roll of parchment. She took it to King Ta Lang, who unrolled and read it. He was stunned to discover that it was a secret plan to attack Shen Su!
The king mustered his army and hastily led them off to try to intercept the enemy. There were many tears, not only by Chai Mi and the women, children, and few old men who had to stay behind, but also by the sky, which rained steadily, flooding the Lan River, overflowing its banks, and washing away all its boats, piers, and bridges.
A few days after the army had gone, the defenseless stay-at-homes had a shocking surprise: The fierce enemy army appeared on the opposite bank of the swollen river, ready to attack as soon as the flood subsided and they could cross! The women, children, and old men had nothing to protect them except the raging river whose tide could fall as quickly as it had risen.
Chai Mi had a daring plan. She put the women to work.
Meanwhile, the enemy chieftain had a scheme of his own. A powerful man, he swam across the river, carrying a long rope that he tied to a willow stump. Then he ordered his soldiers to use the rope to help them across. They could carry only a light bow and arrows, but five hundred men thus armed would make short work of conquering their easy prey.
But instead of cringing, weeping women, they found a thousand soldiers marching in glistening armor, wearing hideous false faces (as was the custom in Far Eastern warfare in those days)! The soldiers carried sharp chang chiang (long, heavy spears), and their leader wore the king’s gold armor. Following them marched a thousand archers.
The attacking enemy realized they didn’t have a chance—their flimsy arrows could not dent the armor of the Shen Su defenders, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and they couldn’t retreat because only the raging river was behind them! They surrendered to a fierce-talking old man who took their arms and ordered the enemy troops still across the river to throw their weapons into the river.
The would-be attackers obeyed the old man, who followed orders given by the leader dressed in the king’s golden armor—Princess Chai Mi. During the surrender and the throwing-away of weapons, the Shen Su defenders clanged their spears against the river rocks and boulders as if furious at being deprived of a battle. Their tough enemies never realized that they were surrendering to an army of girls and women!
King Ta Lang and his army were crossing the Lan River in his swan-shape sampan on their way back to Shen Su, when he learned of Chai Mi’s clever and courageous trick. As he was wondering how to reward her, the Chief General finally saw a way to destroy the girl he feared, and said, “Your Majesty seems to have forgotten the law of your honorable ancestors!”
“What law?”
“The Law of Liu Ti that says no woman may put on the king’s garments. Whoever dares to do so must lose her head by the sword! Chai Mi has put on Your Majesty’s armor—she must die!” He handed King Ta Lang a death warrant to sign.
No one knows if the king really would have signed it, because at that moment the waters of the Lan River surged angrily and swallowed the royal sampan. King Ta Lang and his Chief General were never seen or heard of again. Chai Mi was soon married to Tou Meng, and together they ruled Shen Su for many happy years.

A nearby explosion jolted me awake, and alarms started to blare. For a moment, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. The glowing white numbers of my alarm clock told me it was 06:00. I looked around the darkened room, wondering what was going on. Nothing seemed out of place.
But then a second and third blast began a barrage of incoming rocket-propelled grenades and bursts of gunfire outside. I was not sure from where the barrage was coming, but I knew we were under attack.
Feeling my adrenaline kick in, I rolled off my bed and began grabbing my gear. As I pulled on my tactical vest and helmet, I could hear the continued wail of alarms and the engines of the Quick Response Force vehicles rev as they rushed through the camp to meet the attack.
With my M9 pistol strapped to my side, I grabbed my rifle and headed into the hallway to await orders.
I was about nine months into my longest deployment to Afghanistan with the United States Air Force. My responsibilities working with the senior Afghan Air Force finance officer and officials from the Afghan Ministry of Finance often put me in harm’s way, and I had felt the Lord’s protecting hand. But this attack was a first for me. When our colonel asked for volunteers to follow him outside, I joined six others taking position around the building in case attackers overran the gate.
The colonel ordered me to take my post on the side of our base that faced the attack. Gunfire continued as people darted left and right, seeking shelter. Marines posted on the top of a nearby building ducked for cover as rocket after rocket flew into the camp to the north of my position. They rocked the ground and buildings when they exploded. Some hit a hangar. Many left craters.
I lay on the ground with my M4 assault rifle pointed toward my sector of fire. Deafening gunfire surrounded me, though it was directed toward the camp to the north of me. I had trained for such a scenario but had never faced a real threat. I was terrified, and I wasn’t even in the thick of the fight!
My stomach knotted. Sweat coated my skin. I braced myself, expecting at any moment that a rocket would explode where I lay. Thoughts of my family popped into my mind.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please protect us so we can all get home to our families.”
As I finished my prayer, a memory played in my mind that momentarily replaced the sights and sounds of battle. The memory was of seven-year-old Gabriel, one of the boys in the Primary class I taught back in the United States. Just a few weeks earlier, his father had emailed me a video of Gabriel praying at his bedside—praying for me and for my safety in Afghanistan.
I remembered teaching my Primary class about prayer. At the time, I had wondered if any of them understood the miraculous power of prayer. But when I saw that video, I was astounded by the faith of that little boy—something I witnessed with many of the children I taught.
Now the memory of that simple prayer inspired my faith in that terrifying moment. I felt God tell me that little Gabriel was praying for me. I knew He had heard Gabriel’s prayer, my prayer, and the prayers of countless others on my behalf. I felt peace replace worry. I felt in my heart that my fellow servicemen and I would be all right.
When the firefight finally ended six hours later, we assessed our casualties. To our surprise, nobody in our camp had been injured by the 47 rocket-propelled grenades and thousands of rounds fired into our camp.
I knew I wasn’t the first to pray on the battlefield. I also knew that not every battlefield prayer had been answered in the same way. But I was grateful for the assurance that God hears and answers our prayers, even those of a little child.

Two weeks later, however, my mother was back in the hospital. She had started to hemorrhage and was hospitalized for another two weeks.
Like most fifteen-year-old girls, I had had my share of thoughts about romance, marriage, and babies. But nothing I had ever dreamed of had prepared me for what I then faced. Not only did I have my father to cook for, but I had the four other children as well—breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. There was also the laundry to wash and, to top the list, a two-week-old baby to care for.
At times I thought I wouldn’t make it. But that new little girl and I developed a very close bond; I felt as though she were mine. I recall one day when a few sisters from our ward came by to help out by offering to take the baby for a while. But after all we had gone through to get this little one, I told them they couldn’t have her and ordered them out of the house. (I had a hard time explaining my actions!) My mother called all of the ladies later to explain how very tired I was, and that I didn’t mean to be so rude.
How happy we were when mother came home! She found a very fat little baby girl (and why not? I had thought if the baby cried she must be hungry, so I fed her constantly), and in spite of me, everyone had survived.

Keeping the mighty works of God in our memory builds in us knowledge, confidence, and a profound reverence for His magnificent power. On one occasion we stayed overnight in the Austrian Alps. Our lodging was a small guesthouse on the edge of a deep precipice. Across the divide rose a sheer wall of rock thousands of feet high. Early in the evening a fierce storm arose. As thunder and lightning reverberated against the rock wall, the whole valley seemed to shake. With profound respect for the awesome power of God, we could not help but compare our puny experience with the account found in 3 Nephi:
There arose a great storm, such an one as never had been known in all the land.
And there was also a great and terrible tempest; and there was terrible thunder, insomuch that it did shake the whole earth as if it was about to divide asunder.
And there were exceedingly sharp lightnings, such as never had been known in all the land. [3 Nephi 8:5–7]
The mightiest of all His work is, of course, His magnificent Atonement, which brought to pass the immortality and eternal life of you and me. May we always remember His mighty works.

One of my favorite stories was the cadet who did not want to admit that he had done anything wrong, in spite of wiping out his own and three other aircraft. His accident report stated: “The aircraft’s speed was too high on final approach. … The aircraft hit the runway first with one wheel and then with the other wheel. … It did a few kangaroos down the runway. … The aircraft swerved off the runway and across the grass. … It crossed the taxiway. … across more grass. … The right wing hit a truck parked in the wrong place, … and then I lost control and we cartwheeled into the three parked planes!”

Obviously the aircraft was out of control from the beginning. The cadet must have had his head “down and locked” hiding inside the cockpit while all sorts of things were going wrong. He had long since lost control of such essentials as airspeed, direction, and perception. He could have shut down the engine, used the brakes, or collapsed his own gear instead of running into things with the engine still pulling the aircraft along at 1,500 RPM. No one was in control at all!

President Spencer W. Kimball read the Bible when he was fourteen years old—all 66 books and 1,519 pages. “If I could do it by coal-oil light,” he said, “you can do it by electric light” (The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1982, p. 131).
President Kimball was a very special teacher for all of us. He didn’t have a car or a bicycle, but he did have nine cows to milk every morning and night.
He said, “I thought, ‘What a waste of time, to sit on a three-legged stool. Maybe there is something else I could do while I am milking.’” He placed a copy of the Articles of Faith on the ground beside him and went through them, over and over, until he had memorized them. Then he repeated the Ten Commandments over and over until he learned them. He memorized important scriptures that would help him on his mission—all while he milked the cows. He didn’t have time to waste; he had things to do with his life (see The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, p. 131).

A year after I was baptized, I received my mission call and entered the Missionary Training Center in Manila, Philippines. It was there that I made some treasured friends. The first was my companion, Sister Loh, a convert from Singapore. Since I couldn’t speak her language and she didn’t know any Filipino dialects, our only option was to communicate in English.
The 16 days I spent in the MTC were the most spiritual of my life. Although we were far from our families, we still felt loved thanks to a special person—Sister Luda Lee Cottrell, the wife of the MTC president. She was always smiling and happy. She gave us comfort and love and taught me about charity in words and in deed.
On our last night in the MTC, Sister Loh and I wanted to give something to Sister Cottrell as a remembrance and to thank her for all the love she gave us. We didn’t have anything nice to give, so my companion suggested that we sing a song for Sister Cottrell. I immediately agreed. Because we were new in the Church, neither of us was familiar with most of the hymns. We chose to sing “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301).
We found Sister Cottrell in her office. We told her of our simple present, and she gladly and patiently listened to us. While Sister Loh and I were singing, a memorable spiritual experience happened. I realized that we were three people of three different races, cultures, and languages. My companion and I were singing in English so that our beloved Sister Cottrell could understand what we were singing.
At that moment I forgot all our differences. The Spirit was telling me that what we are on earth doesn’t really matter, because the three of us are literally daughters of Heavenly Father. The Spirit taught me why and what brought the three of us there. It is the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the gospel that brought Sister Loh and me to the MTC. It is the gospel that made Sister Cottrell such a wonderful, loving person. It is the gospel that gave the three of us the knowledge that we are all children of God.

President David O. McKay used to tell a story about a railroad engineer. Let me share it with you as recorded by President Harold B. Lee:
“The engineer pulled his train into a station one dark night, and a timid passenger inquired of the engineer if he wasn’t frightened to pull his train out in the dark with 400 or 500 passengers’ lives at stake. The engineer said, pointing up to the bright headlight, ‘I want to tell you one thing: when I pull out of this station I won’t be running in darkness one foot of the way. You see that light a thousand yards ahead? I run my engine just to the edge of the light, and when I get there it will still be on a thousand yards ahead.’ Having said that, President McKay added: ‘I want to tell you something. Through all this dark night of uncertainty, I want to tell you that this Welfare Program will not be running in the dark one foot of the way. You remember it. We can only see the next October as the first circle of light. We have told you what to do six months from now. By the time we get there the light will be on ahead of us, but every step of the way that light will be there. You teach your people to follow the light and they will be safe on Zion’s hill when the destructive forces come in the world.’” (Welfare Agricultural Meeting, 5 Apr. 1969.)