Gospel Story Finder

Ten days after Mary Ann gave birth to Emma Alice in Montrose, Iowa Territory, on 4 September 1839, duty again called her husband away—on a mission to England. Brigham was so ill that he could not walk without help; his whole family languished with sickness as well.

At their sad parting, Mary Ann said to Elder Young, “Go and fill your mission, and the Lord will bless you, and I will do the best I can for myself and the children.”9 She trusted in God and rejoiced that she had the strength to see her husband off on his journey.

Fielding Winward, a friend, age 78
“We had a hay farm up above the Bensons, and we’d go there to get a load of hay for our livestock every day, up past Bensons. The day after President Benson came home from his mission, my father and I got our team and sleigh to go up and get a load of hay. With snow on the ground and no shoes on the horses, we weren’t making any noise. The sleigh just slipped along so easily. When we got pretty close to Bensons, Father said, ‘Brother Benson just came home last night, and he’ll be tired this morning, so we won’t bother about calling on him now.’ And we’d just got past their lane when President Benson came out of the house just as fast as he could. He climbed up on our sleigh and was just so joyful and happy to see us. And we felt the same way about him. He shook hands with us and gave us a squeeze. We visited a minute, even though it was cold. He was such a joyful, pleasant-looking fellow that it made you feel good just to know him.”

It was 1973. Struggling with some challenges, I deeply desired to know God, so I decided to read the Bible. One day I read about Solomon’s temple in 2 Chronicles 2–5, and I felt that such a holy place could be on the earth. So I fasted and prayed that I might be guided by the Holy Ghost to find it. I felt that if I found a temple, I would be able to tell one of the Lord’s servants about my problems, and he would help me solve them.
So I set out to find a temple. At the time I lived in Fontenay-sous-Bois, a suburb of Paris, so I started driving toward the city to find a temple. I saw many buildings, including churches and synagogues, but I did not find a temple. Upon returning home, I prayed and wondered why I couldn’t find a temple. Wasn’t I pure enough? Or was I simply unprepared?
I forgot all about my failed search until sister missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to my home in February 1980. They taught me that the closest temple was in Zollikofen, Switzerland—the Bern Switzerland Temple.
I was baptized on April 12, 1980, and I went to the temple for the first time just over a year later, on May 5, 1981. There I was able to do the temple work for several women in my family, including my grandmothers, aunts, and cousins.

Some years ago, I was consulted by a woman who desired a divorce from her husband on grounds which, in my opinion, were justified. After the divorce was concluded, I did not see her again for many years. A chance meeting with her on the street was very surprising. The years of loneliness and discouragement were evident in her once beautiful face.
After passing a few pleasantries, she was quick to say that life had not been rich and rewarding for her and that she was tired of facing the struggle alone. Then came a most startling disclosure, which, with her permission, I share. She said, “Bad as it was, if I had to do it over again, knowing what I do now, I would not have sought the divorce. This is worse.”

Some time ago I was participating on a basketball team that usually played games on Saturdays. When we played on Sunday, however, I would not attend, and my teammates would make fun of this. When they asked me why I didn’t play on Sundays, I responded, “I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I am taught to make the Sabbath sacred and not play sports. I follow the principles of the gospel because I know that God wants the best for us.” After that, my teammates respected my beliefs and stopped making fun of me.
Nicolás B., age 19, Córdoba, Argentina

“Today we’ll make pictures of our houses,” said Miss Greene, the teacher.
“Yippee!” Everyone in kindergarten loved to paint. Matt carefully dipped the tip of his brush into the orange paint. Then he made a bright roof for his house. That’s when it happened—he knocked over the orange paint, and it splattered on his shirt.
Matt looked down at the big orange blob. His mom wouldn’t like that. He didn’t like it either.
“Would you like me to call your mother and ask her to bring you another shirt?” Miss Greene asked.
“She’s shopping today,” Matt said, swallowing hard. He didn’t want to cry.
“Then we’ll just have to do our best to clean you up,” Miss Greene smiled at him.
A little later, Matt was sitting at his table, printing the alphabet. The spill had been wiped up, and his hands were scrubbed clean. But his shirt still had the orange blob on it.
“That looks like a pumpkin,” Lisa giggled, pointing at it.
Matt tried to slouch so that it didn’t show.
“We could call it your pumpkin shirt,” Bill said.
“No you can’t,” said Matt, his ears turning pink.
Everyone started working again, but Matt’s pencil kept slipping, His letters looked all squiggly.
The recess bell rang, and everyone lined up to go outside. Usually Matt hurried to the front of the line, but not today. He didn’t want to go outside and hear the kids laugh at his “pumpkin shirt.”
“Hi,” said someone. Matt looked up.
Albert stood beside him. Albert was probably the quietest kid in the class. Matt had never played games with him. He’d never even thought about asking Albert to play.
Albert dropped a blue sweater on the table. “Here, you can wear that over your shirt today. My mom always makes me take a sweater, but it’s warm enough today without it.”
Matt slipped the sweater on. The sleeves were still warm from Albert’s arms. He slowly buttoned it up. It covered up the orange blob perfectly. “Thanks!” Matt smiled at Albert.
Albert nodded and went to go outside.
“Wait,” Matt said. “Do you want to play catch with me? I brought my ball.”
Albert grinned. “I sure do!”
Matt grinned back. He still didn’t like the orange blob on his shirt, but he did like the new friend he had found.

Each of us remembers with affection the teachers of our youth. I think it amusing that my elementary school music teacher was a Miss Sharp. She had the capacity to infuse within her pupils a love for music and taught us to identify musical instruments and their sounds. I well recall the influence of a Miss Ruth Crow who taught the subject of health. Though these were depression times, she ensured that each sixth-grade student had a dental health chart. She personally checked each pupil for dental health and made certain that through public or private resources, no child went without proper dental care. As Miss Burkhaus, who taught geography, rolled down the maps of the world and with her pointer marked the capital cities of nations and the distinctive features of each country, language, and culture, little did I anticipate or dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

Seventh, we must live our religion. We must each consistently live our religion so that other people will recognize what we stand for. Many years ago now, when I served in the armed forces, I think I never had a close non-Mormon companion who didn’t know that I was a member of the Church and who didn’t know I had been a missionary. They treated me with the utmost respect and admired my standards. I don’t believe that I ever gave my companions cause to think less of the Church in all those years that I served with them.
One of those companions joined the Church. I didn’t preach a word to him about the gospel. Somebody else found him and taught him, but I suppose he remembered a young fellow named Bangerter who was a Mormon and remembered the way I had lived. I hope so.

I remembered when I first came to Foggia, a little town in southern Italy. It was only my second city, and the Manzos were about the first people I met. Even I could tell they were special. Rita and Salverio Manzo and their two children were the kind of family missionaries dream about. A warm, close feeling was present in their home. They didn’t have much money, but that didn’t seem important to them. They were always generous, inviting us to eat more often than they could afford.
It seemed like Satan was aware of how fine the Manzos were too, because right from the beginning, he worked to keep them out of the Church. As they progressed spiritually, their trials became more and more difficult. Their children got sick. When they tried to share their new knowledge with their family and friends, they suddenly quit visiting. When the Manzos went to the homes of people who previously had been close to them, the reception was chilly. Italians are family people, so that hurt them more than they would allow us to see. Each evening we left their home convinced that the worst was over, only to find that something else would happen the next day. They had financial problems. They found themselves arguing about things that never bothered them before. Neighbors told them that the missionaries brought them bad luck and they should stop seeing us.
Brother Manzo had been out of work for some time. He finally found a job, and things seemed to be looking better for them. The day he got his first check was the day we taught him about tithing. For some time he sat looking thoughtfully around his home. You could almost see his thoughts: This little check is all I have. It’s not enough as it is; yet you want me to give part of it away. How can I do it? I must feed my children. Surely the Lord would understand that I can’t pay this tithing. We were afraid that this would be the one trial too big for them. Finally he looked at us and said, “If the Lord requires us to pay this tithing, we will pay it.”
“Sister. Sister Johnson! Hey! You’re sure a long ways away! Are you still worrying about Brother Manzo?” Sister Bullen asked.
“I, well, yes I am. How did you know?”
“Because you’ve been studying that page for about 15 minutes,” she said with a smile. “Why are you so upset?”
“I just don’t think that someone who is as good as Brother Manzo should have to start out as a deacon. It’s like they don’t think he will stay with it, so they don’t trust him with anything else.”
Sister Bullen liked to joke around, and she kidded me a lot, but she was really serious when she asked, “Do you think that Brother Manzo is too proud to be a deacon?”
“No, he’s not too proud. But he’s a grown man, and he’s so dignified and kind of shy. I don’t want him to be embarrassed to be passing the sacrament with all those little boys. After all he has been through, I think he deserves to be a priest.
She smiled at me. “I think he’ll be okay.”
Sitting in the chapel on Sunday, I felt a little nervous again. The deacons were standing around the table, waiting to pick up their trays. Brother Manzo towered over the rest of the deacons. I noticed he was wearing a new white shirt and a tie. He was watching carefully to make sure he did the right things.
As he turned and reverently carried his tray of bread toward us, I could see that his face was shining. He caught my eye and smiled warmly. I looked down at my scriptures. They were open to the 26th chapter of Matthew, and I read verse 26: “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat …”
I couldn’t see the words through the tears in my eyes. It had been me, not Brother Manzo, who needed to learn about the priesthood! I felt a squeeze on my arm, and Sister Bullen smiled at me and winked.
I guess there’s no such thing as being “only” a deacon.

“Hey, Coach,” he called as I was working with the senior shot putters and discus throwers. I ignored him.
“Hey, Coach Crowe,” he persisted, “that other coach over there said I should come over here and throw. He said you should watch me.”
I turned around and looked at the kid. His black hair hung unevenly over his forehead, his bony shoulders angled out of his baggy tank top, and his long skinny arms hung low, almost to his knees. When the wind blew, his practice uniform flapped around his bony frame like clothes on a scarecrow. He was obviously a freshman.
In his right hand he held a discus, the black rubber kind we issued to beginning throwers. “You wanna watch me throw?” he asked.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Darwin Hughes.”
“Where’d you get that discus, Hughes? You’re too small to be a weight man.”
“Well, Coach,” he answered, “I like throwing, and I’m pretty good. If you’ll watch me, I’ll …”
“Not now, Hughes. I’m working with the seniors. Tell you what, go over to that discus ring over there,” I pointed to the opposite end of the field, “and you throw. I’ll come down in a little while and see how you’re doing, okay?”
“Sure, Coach.” He turned and loped off to the other end of the practice field.
I went back to work with my seniors. Boy, these freshmen, I thought. Why are they so goofy? That kid has as much chance of becoming a discus thrower as I do of becoming president of the United States.
Practice went pretty much as usual that day, and I was too busy with my seniors to find the time to go watch Hughes. The next two days he hung around the throwing areas, and each time I banished him to the opposite end of the field to throw by himself so he couldn’t bother me as I worked with the upperclassmen.
Finally, on the fourth day, some of the throwers came to see me. “Hey, Coach,” said one, “have you seen that freshman throw yet?”
“You mean that scrawny little kid Hughes? I can’t believe he’s still wasting his time. Look, if you guys want to throw down there, just tell him to go work with the distance runners. He’d have a better chance of making the team with them.”
“But, Coach,” interrupted one of them, “maybe you ought to see him throw. He’s throwing over 130 feet.”
That got my attention; 130 feet would make him the number two thrower on my varsity squad. These guys must be pulling my leg, I thought. But I’d better go down and watch, just to make sure.
By the time I got down there, a little crowd had gathered around the discus ring. In the center stood Hughes, just beginning another throw. He held his arms out, bent his knees, spun twice through the ring, and launched a throw that was easily 130 feet.
After he finished his throw, he looked over at me and grinned sheepishly, as if I had caught him doing something wrong. “Come here, Hughes,” I said. He trotted over. “Where’d you learn to throw like that?”
“I dunno, Coach. I threw a little bit in eighth grade, but mainly I just like to throw.”
“Tell you what, Hughes,” I said as I put my arm around his shoulder, “from now on you can throw down at the other end with the upperclassmen so I can watch you a little more.”
Never let it be said that I didn’t recognize talent when it hit me in the face.
By his sophomore year, Darwin had developed into a fine discus thrower. He won nearly every dual meet and placed in every prestigious invitational meet he attended. At five-foot-nine, 145 pounds, Darwin looked out of place among the Goliaths of the shot put and discus rings, and many times when he first began competing on the varsity, throwers from other schools would laugh at skinny Darwin Hughes. Their laughter, however, changed to amazement as soon as he took his first warm-up throw.
By the end of his sophomore year, no one laughed at him anymore because little Darwin finished third in the state championships by throwing 165 feet, two inches.
In his junior and senior seasons, the littlest weight man was the best thrower in Arizona. Spectators, coaches, and other throwers marveled at how such a small thrower (by his senior year Darwin was five-foot-ten, 165 pounds) could throw a discus more than 185 feet and a 12-pound shot more than 57 feet. And I have to admit, even as his coach, I was often amazed at all Darwin accomplished. I’m convinced that, considering his size, Darwin was the best high school weight man in the United States.
People would often ask me, “How does he do it? What’s Hughes’s secret?” I wish I could have answered that Darwin owed all his success to me, but that wasn’t true. First of all, Darwin had some inherent ability, some natural skill for what he was trying to do. Based on that ability, he then applied some basic principles of success.
Second, he had a desire to excel, to be the best discus thrower he could possibly be. “Coach,” he told me one day at practice, “I don’t know how far I can throw, but I’m going to do everything I can to be one of the best weight men Arizona has ever had.”
At the time he was only a sophomore, and considering his size, I was afraid he was setting his goals too high. “Look, Darwin, you’re doing super right now. You should feel great about what you’ve already accomplished. This is a big man’s sport, so with your size, you can’t expect to get much better.”
“But, Coach, I know I can do better. I just know it.” He was right. The next year, Darwin improved his best throw by 20 feet.
But it wasn’t only his drive to excel that helped Darwin succeed. He also believed in himself. Ignored by his own coach as a freshman, scoffed at by competitors as a sophomore, Darwin remained convinced that he could and would be successful. Near the end of his senior season I asked him why he didn’t give up during those first years. He shrugged and explained, “When no one else believes in you, you’ve got to believe in yourself.”
Confidence alone, however, wasn’t enough to make a mountain of a thrower out of a molehill of a boy. Darwin was a dedicated, hard worker. Every day he’d be out to practice a half hour early, throwing by himself. And on most spring afternoons and evenings, he and I would be the only ones left on the practice field, working on his technique until it was too dark to see anymore. Darwin would even spend hours on Saturdays throwing and throwing and throwing.
I’ve never coached an athlete who worked harder than Darwin, and I’ve never coached an athlete who was as successful as he was either. Someone said once, “If you want to be a superstar, you’ve got to start early and stay late.” That was certainly true for Darwin.
But all his hard work wasn’t without direction. Darwin listened intently to every coaching tip he ever received and worked diligently to turn that advice into improvement. When I asked Darwin to do something differently or advised him to spend more time in the weight room, he’d say, “Okay, Coach,” and he’d do it.
Darwin also studied his event. He poured through every track-and-field textbook in our school’s library and was able to quote extensively from the Track and Field News about recent events and technique development. He read coaching journals, sports pages, and anything else that might have a bit of information he could use to become a better weight man. By the time he graduated, Darwin knew more about his event than I did.
And finally, Darwin followed great examples. As a freshman and sophomore, he would carefully watch and study the throwing methods of the leading weight men in the state. As he increased his knowledge, he began to attend college meets to study the methods of collegiate weight men. He even talked me into ordering films of the world’s greatest discus throwers, and he spent hours watching them.
His talents and his efforts made Darwin Hughes the best weight man ever at our high school and ranked him as the fifth best discus thrower in the history of Arizona. All at five-foot-ten, 165 pounds.

I was only three when my parents got divorced, but I could still remember the guilt I felt when mom told me my father wasn’t going to live with us anymore. I thought it was my fault. I thought I’d done something wrong. For months I tried to be as perfect as I could, hoping that if I was a good girl he would come back, but he never did.
Then mom met Edward. I liked him immediately. He smiled a lot and brought me candy and tickled me to make me giggle. When he asked mom to marry him, I was happier than I had been for a long time. I even started calling him dad, a name I had stopped using for my real father long before. Edward wanted to adopt me and have me sealed to him and mom. I loved the idea. Then I overheard mom talking to Edward.
"It was my mistake," she said. "I should’ve talked to John before I said anything to Cathy. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her, but John simply refuses to let his daughter be adopted by another man."
I cried myself to sleep that night.
After that, I still called Edward dad. I waited outside the temple while he and mom were married. Edward baptized me and took me to all my daddy-daughter parties and treated me just as if I were really his own daughter. And when he and mom had children of their own, I was excited to finally have brothers and sisters. But every once in awhile, I would look at them and realize that they were a family—all of them sealed to each other. I wasn’t sealed to anyone, and it was all my father’s fault.

As Dad and I walked home, I thought again how weird Latter-day Saints were. Who else would leave cookies and stuff at people’s houses without being seen? Crazy!
The next Monday night our doorbell rang. Mom, Dad, and Tina were all watching TV, so I went to see who was there.
Nobody was there! At first I thought it was somebody’s idea of a dumb joke. Then I looked down. The Blanchards had phantomed us! They’d left a plate of brownies and a silly drawing of a ghost.
Nutty, right? Absolutely nutty. But I must say, the brownies were delicious. Maybe family night phantoms aren’t so weird after all.

The time had come. I was finally in college! I thought I’d be able to handle anything that life had to offer.
I had just moved into my college dorm, and the excitement of the first few days had died down. I sat on my bed, contemplating my future. I wasn’t excited or happy, like I thought I should be. I was scared and homesick, even though my family wasn’t very far away.
Just then my roommate, Liz, called over to me.
“Tam,” she said, “can we talk?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Have you ever felt like no one is there for you? Like you know God is there and everything, but you don’t feel him comforting you?”
I couldn’t believe it. Liz was feeling the exact same way I was. We discussed it for a few minutes and then decided to look in our scriptures for some comforting passages. Liz read from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“But behold, verily, verily, I say unto you that mine eyes are upon you. I am in your midst and ye cannot see me; But the day soon cometh that ye shall see me, and know that I am; for the veil of darkness shall soon be rent” (D&C 38:7–8).
Never before had I felt the Spirit so strongly. I knew at that moment that I was not alone. I knew that the Lord was aware of me, and that he was there for me. I knew that, although I was still unsure of my future, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.

My first brush with the priesthood was when I was baptized. I was baptized in an irrigation canal in the little town of Oakley, Idaho. I was with my friends on the bank of that irrigation canal. We had on our bib swimming suits, which consisted of bib overalls with the legs cut out so you wouldn’t sink and holes cut in the pockets. We had never seen a swimming suit made out of knit or of other fabric. My father came out from the First Ward meetinghouse with his counselors. He was carrying a chair, and he put the chair on the side of the irrigation ditch. My father said, “David, come on over here; we’re going to baptize you.”
I dove in the canal and swam over to the other side, shivering. It was in September and a little cold, and young boys get the shivers, you know, when you have only bib overalls on. My father got down into the canal. As I remember, he didn’t take his shoes off or change anything but was just in his regular clothes. He showed me how to hold my hands, and then he baptized me. After I came up out of the water, we both crawled up on the bank of the canal. I sat in the chair, and they put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church. After that I dove in the canal and went over on the other side and joined my friends.
This was my first experience, really, with the priesthood.

Cambodian. Laotian. Vietnamese. I don’t speak any of these languages, thought Elizabeth Dutton of Dallas, Texas. Two weeks after becoming a Beehive, she received a rather unusual assignment for a girl of 12. She was called, along with the rest of her family, to be a stake missionary in a Dallas Asian branch.
Initially, Elizabeth had a few worries. With all the different languages, how would she communicate with people? And as a new Beehive, how could she help new converts adjust to Young Women when she had only been there a couple of weeks herself? She didn’t know the answers. But Elizabeth, determined to face the challenge, agreed to serve.
Her first Sunday in the Asian branch turned out to be, well … incredible. “When we first went, we were welcomed with open arms. Everyone was really friendly,” says Elizabeth.
As it turned out, many of the youth in the branch spoke English, and the adults who didn’t still made efforts to befriend her. Missionaries and ward members translated sacrament meetings into Laotian, Cambodian, Vietnamese, and English, so everyone could understand the speakers. At first, one of the biggest adjustments was simply figuring out when to say amen after prayers, which are not always translated.
For her younger sister, Alice, attending a branch where some members wear headphones to hear translated talks and where cultures from around the world come together is seriously fun. “It’s small and friendly and all the people are very close. It’s neat because you get to know a lot about different cultures,” says Alice.
Five years have passed since the Duttons were called as stake missionaries. Now Elizabeth, 16, and Alice, 15, know exactly when to say amen, but they still have much to discover. For example, one of Alice’s favorite cultural learning experiences is the branch’s monthly potluck dinner. The dinners give her a chance to load up on egg rolls and sticky rice and to interact with the 20 or so young people in the branch.
In a branch with many recent converts, the girls have had several opportunities to fellowship new members and to do missionary work. After Elizabeth had been a stake missionary for about a year and a half, one of her Cambodian friends from elementary school began investigating the Church. Missionaries asked Elizabeth to attend the discussions to support her friend, Phally Chhim. Elizabeth happily agreed, and a few months later Phally was baptized.
Elizabeth and Alice say they are just following the example of missionary service set by their older siblings. Their two older sisters, Catherine and Deborah, as well as their brother Daniel, are serving missions. Also, the girls feel a special desire to serve because their own parents were introduced to the gospel by missionaries many years ago. “Missionary work is important in our family, because if our parents hadn’t met the missionaries, none of us would be members,” says Alice.
Spending time together is important for the Dutton girls because they attend different high schools during the week. Alice, who wants to be a pediatrician, is a sophomore at the High School for Health Professions at Townview Center; and Elizabeth, who plans to major in agriculture at Texas A&M, is a junior at Dallas’ Skyline High School. And although they don’t see each other all that much during the week, they do have Sundays. Both sisters agree that their work in the Asian branch has blessed their family.
“I think it has brought us closer together,” says Elizabeth.
And their callings have also brought them closer to Church members they otherwise may never have met. “I just really like the people,” says Alice. “Even though you are listening to a translation from the elders, you can feel the speakers’ testimonies through the Spirit.”
“When they call us back [to our home ward], I’m hoping I don’t have to go,” Elizabeth adds with a laugh.
Whether the girls are tying white yarn around people’s wrists for good luck during the Laotian New Year or smacking their lips in appreciation for a Cambodian dinner, their five-year calling has taught them to appreciate different cultures. They have also learned that the gospel can bring people of different backgrounds together. Although the girls still occasionally struggle to find the right word or right motion to communicate with a member who speaks another language, they say it doesn’t matter. Take it from Alice, who says, “This experience has helped me because you learn that everyone is a daughter or son of our Heavenly Father.”

I love dinosaurs! I have lots of dinosaur books, toys, and pictures. There is a boy in my ward who doesn’t come to church with his family. He loves dinosaurs too, so I decided to share some of my dino books and pictures with him. But then I started feeling sad about giving away some of my things. My mom told me to think about it. When I thought about it, the Holy Ghost told me to share my dinosaur pictures and books. I gave them to my friend, and he felt happy. I felt happy too!

In Tokyo, Japan, Natsuko Soejima doubted she could teach well. “When I was called to be a youth Sunday School teacher,” she says, “I told the bishop I would be scared. But he said the call was from God, so I accepted.”
As a group, the class intimidated her because of the individual challenges they presented. Two of the youth had hearing disabilities. Some class members who had moved to Japan from other countries spoke only English. She also feared the age difference between her and her class members.
Then, in a teacher council meeting, Sister Soejima found an answer. “We talked about loving each class member, learning their names, praying for them one by one, and teaching—guided by the Spirit—according to their needs,” she explains, “so that’s what I began to do.” She also did something else she’d learned in the council: “I used language that conveyed my love.”
The result? “My heart changed. I began to feel affection for my students. I cared about those who were missing and prayed for them too. As soon as one lesson ended, I started preparing for the next, to have time to think about teaching opportunities. I was overflowing with joy.”

On July 26, 1847, their third day in the valley (the second having been the Sabbath), Brigham Young, with members of the Twelve and some others, climbed a peak about one and a half miles from where I now stand. They thought it a good place to raise an ensign to the nations. Heber C. Kimball wore a yellow bandana. They tied it to Willard Richards’s walking stick and waved it aloft, an ensign to the nations. Brigham Young named it Ensign Peak.
Then they descended to their worn-out wagons, to the few things they had carried 2,000 miles, and to their travel-weary followers. It was not what they possessed that gave them strength but what they knew.
They knew they were Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ. They knew that the priesthood had been delivered to them by angelic messengers. They knew they had the commandments and the covenants to offer opportunity for the eternal salvation and exaltation for all mankind. They were sure that the inspiration of the Holy Ghost attended them.
They busied themselves plowing up gardens, putting up shelters against the winter soon to come. They prepared for others already on the prairie following them to this new gathering place.
A revelation, written nine years earlier, directed them to “arise and shine forth, that thy light may be a standard for the nations;
“And that the gathering together upon the land of Zion, and upon her stakes, may be for a defense, and for a refuge from the storm, and from wrath when it shall be poured out without mixture upon the whole earth” (D&C 115:5–6).
They were to be the “light,” the “standard.”
The standard, established by revelation, is contained in the scriptures through the doctrines of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The principles of the gospel life we follow are based on doctrine, and the standards accord with the principles. We are bound to the standards by covenant, as administered through the ordinances of the gospel by those who have received priesthood and the keys of authority.
Those faithful Brethren were not free, and we are not free, to alter the standards or to ignore them. We must live by them.
It is not a cure or a comfort to simply say they do not matter. We all know they do matter, for all mankind is “instructed sufficiently that they know good from evil” (2 Nephi 2:5).
If we are doing the best we can, we should not become discouraged. When we fall short, as we do, or stumble, which we might, there is always the remedy of repentance and forgiveness.
We are to teach our children the moral standard to avoid every kind of immorality. The precious powers within their mortal bodies “are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.” We must be completely faithful in marriage.
We are to keep the law of tithing. We attend to our responsibilities in the Church. We gather each week for sacrament meeting to renew the covenants and earn the promises in those simple and sacred prayers over the bread and water. We are to honor the priesthood and be obedient to the covenants and ordinances.
Those Brethren on Ensign Peak knew that they were to live ordinary lives and keep the image of Christ engraven in their countenances (see Alma 5:14).
They understood that the stakes were to be a defense and a refuge, but at that time there was not one stake on the earth. They knew their mission was to establish stakes of Zion in every nation of the earth.
Perhaps they wondered what kind of wrath or storm could be poured out that they had not already experienced. They had endured savage opposition, violence, terrorism. Their homes had been burned, their property taken. They were driven from their homes time after time after time. They knew then, as we know now, that there would be no end to opposition. The nature of it changes, but it never ends. There would be no end to the kinds of challenges that the early Saints would face. New challenges would be different than, but certainly not less than, that through which they had made their way.
Now the stakes of Zion number in the thousands and are all over the world. The members number in the millions and growing. Neither of these can be held back, for this is the work of the Lord. Now members live in 160 nations and speak over 200 languages.
Some live with an unspoken fear of what awaits us and the Church in the world. It grows ever darker in morality and spirituality. If we will gather into the Church, live the simple principles of the gospel, live moral lives, keep the Word of Wisdom, tend to our priesthood and other duties, then we need not live in fear. The Word of Wisdom is a key to both physical health and revelation. Avoid tea, coffee, liquor, tobacco, and narcotics.
We can live where we wish, doing the best we can to make a living, whether modest or generous. We are free to do as we wish with our lives, assured of the approval and even the intervention of the Almighty, confident of constant spiritual guidance.
Each stake is a defense and a refuge and a standard. A stake is self-contained with all that is needed for the salvation and exaltation of those who would come within its influence, and temples are ever closer.
There has been no end to opposition. There are misinterpretations and misrepresentations of us and of our history, some of it mean-spirited and certainly contrary to the teachings of Jesus Christ and His gospel. Sometimes clergy, even ministerial organizations, oppose us. They do what we would never do. We do not attack or criticize or oppose others as they do us.
Even today there are those preposterous stories handed down and repeated so many times they are believed. One of the silliest of them is that Mormons have horns.
Years ago, I was at a symposium at a college in Oregon. Present were a Catholic bishop, a rabbi, an Episcopalian minister, an Evangelical minister, a Unitarian clergyman, and myself.
The president of the school, Dr. Bennett, hosted a breakfast. One of them asked which wife I had brought. I told them I had a choice of one. For a second, I thought that I was being singled out for embarrassment. Then someone asked the Catholic bishop if he had brought his wife.
The next question came from Dr. Bennett to me: “Is it true that Mormons have horns?”
I smiled and said, “I comb my hair so that they can’t be seen.”
Dr. Bennett, who was completely bald, put both hands on the top of his head and said, “Oh! You can never make a Mormon out of me!”
Strangest of all, otherwise intelligent people claim we are not Christian. This shows that they know little or nothing about us. It is a true principle that you cannot lift yourself by putting others down.
Some suppose that our high standards will repel growth. It is just the opposite. High standards are a magnet. We are all children of God, drawn to the truth and to good.
We face the challenge of raising families in the world in darkening clouds of wickedness. Some of our members are unsettled, and sometimes they wonder: Is there any place one can go to escape from it all? Is there another town or a state or a country where it is safe, where one can find refuge? The answer generally is no. The defense and the refuge is where our members now live.
The Book of Mormon prophesies, “Yea, and then shall the work commence, with the Father among all nations in preparing the way whereby his people may be gathered home to the land of their inheritance” (3 Nephi 21:28).
Those who come out of the world into the Church, keep the commandments, honor the priesthood, and enter into activity have found the refuge.
A few weeks ago in one of our meetings, Elder Robert C. Oaks, one of the seven Presidents of the Seventy (a retired four-star general and commander of NATO air forces in Central Europe), reminded us of an accord signed by 10 nations on board the battleship Missouri in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945, which ended World War II. Some of us were in Asia at the time. Said Elder (General) Oaks: “I can’t even imagine a circumstance today in which such a meeting could be held or such an accord could be signed to end the war against terrorism and wickedness in which we are engaged. It is not that kind of war.”
We are not to be afraid, even in a world where the hostilities will never end. The war of opposition that was prophesied in the revelations continues today. We are to be happy and positive. We are not to be afraid. Fear is the opposite of faith.
We know that activity in the Church centers in the family. Wherever members are in the world, they should establish a family where children are welcome and treasured as “an heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). A worthy Latter-day Saint family is a standard to the world.
Not only are we to maintain the highest of standards, but each of us is to be a standard, a defense, a refuge. We are to “let [our] light so shine before men, that they may see [our] good works, and glorify [our] Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16; see also 3 Nephi 12:16).
All the struggles and exertions of past generations have brought to us in our day the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the authority to administer, and the wherewithal to accomplish the ministry. It all comes together in this dispensation of the fulness of times, in the which the consummation of all things will be completed and the earth prepared for the coming of the Lord.
We are as much a part of this work as were those men who untied that yellow bandana from Willard Richards’s walking stick and descended from Ensign Peak. That bandana, waved aloft, signaled the great gathering which had been prophesied in ancient and modern scriptures.
We speak of the Church as our refuge, our defense. There is safety and protection in the Church. It centers in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Latter-day Saints learn to look within themselves to see the redeeming power of the Savior of all mankind. The principles of the gospel taught in the Church and learned from the scriptures become a guide for each of us individually and for our families.
We know that the homes we establish, and those of our descendants, will be the refuge spoken of in the revelations—the “light,” the “standard,” the “ensign” for all nations, and the “refuge” against the gathering storms (see D&C 115:5–6; Isaiah 11:12; 2 Nephi 21:12).
The ensign to which all of us are to rally is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father, whose Church this is and whose name we bear and whose authority we carry.
We look forward with faith. We have seen many events in our lifetime, and many will yet occur that will tax our courage and extend our faith. We are to “rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great [will be our] reward in heaven” (Matthew 5:12).
Willingly defend the history of the Church, and do “not [be] ashamed of the gospel of [Jesus] Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Romans 1:16).
We will face the challenges, for we cannot avoid them, and teach the gospel of Jesus Christ and teach of Him as our Savior and our Refuge, our Redeemer.
If a well-worn yellow bandana was good enough to be an ensign to the world, then ordinary men who hold the priesthood and ordinary women and ordinary children in ordinary families, living the gospel as best they can all over the world, can shine forth as a standard, a defense, a refuge against whatever is to be poured out upon the earth.
“We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Nephi 25:26).
This Church will prosper. It will prevail. Of this I am absolutely certain. I bear this testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was a young boy, we had no running water in our homes and no electricity. I can remember clearly when electricity first came to Bunkerville. I also remember my father and me taking horses and a big water wagon up to a spring in the mountains and bringing back drinking water to fill our man-made cistern. We would have to clean out the cistern before putting the fresh water into it. When we needed drinking water, we pumped it out by hand and carried it into the house in buckets.

Elder Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told the true story of a loyal sheep dog. When some sheep got stuck in the mountains, the dog stayed with them, circling in the snowy weather, protecting them from coyotes. The dog finally led the sheep back to the shepherd and the flock. Heavenly Father loves us and, like the sheep dog, will never leave us, even when life gets stormy. We should also love and protect others.