Gospel Story Finder

As a boy, I made a startling discovery in Sunday School one Mother’s Day which has remained with me all through the years. Melvin, a sightless brother in the ward, a talented vocalist, would stand and face the congregation as though he were seeing one and all. He would then sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” The bright, glowing embers of memory penetrated human hearts. Men reached for their handkerchiefs; women’s eyes brimmed with tears.
We deacons would go among the congregation carrying a small geranium in a clay pot for presentation to each mother. Some of the mothers were young, some were middle-aged, some were barely hanging on to life in their old age. I became aware that the eyes of each mother were kind eyes. The words of each mother were “Thank you.” I felt the spirit of the statement “When someone gives another person a flower, the fragrance of the flower lingers on the hands of the giver.” I have not forgotten the lesson learned, nor shall I ever forget it.

When Daddy came home, Marie opened the door for him. “Mommy went to bed,” Marie said. “Oh dear, let’s go see what’s wrong,” Daddy said. Mommy coughed and sniffled and blew her nose. “I have a cold, and there is a frog in my throat,” she said. “You sound hoarse,” Daddy said. “I had better go to the store for some medicine. Then I will make supper.” Daddy got in the car and drove away. Marie waved good-bye from the window. “I want to help take care of Mommy too,” Marie said. “What can I do? I know! I can make supper.” Marie spread peanut butter on one slice of bread. Then she spread jam on another slice of bread. She put the sandwich on a plate and took it to Mommy. “Supper in bed!” Mommy said. “Thank you, honey. You are a good cook.” “You are welcome,” Marie said with a big smile. “Now I have to get busy and make two more sandwiches—one for Daddy and one for me!”

I remember my father awakening me one cold night in February when I was about 16. I remember feeling startled; I had only been asleep about an hour. He explained that a steer from our farm had wandered onto the highway and been hit by a truck. The animal was dead. To save the meat we would have to act quickly.
We dragged the steer to an open shed with our old tractor. Our next task was to hoist the animal up. We tied its hind feet together, then threw the rope over a beam. I remember struggling to get my arms under the animal’s hindquarters and lift as my father pulled. To lift with any effect required wrapping my whole body around the slippery animal. By the time the body was hung, the mud and stench was ingrained in my clothes. I felt miserable, but our work had only begun.
Together my father and I cleaned the dead animal. We didn’t finish until about three in the morning. The smell, the slime, the dirt, and the filth clung to me as I went back to the house.
Although it has been more than 25 years, the events of the next hour are vivid in my mind. I remember the satisfaction of removing my shirt. Peeling off each layer of clothing brought relief. I began washing—first my hands, then my arms. It was not the kind of dirt that disappeared quickly. Then I showered, first washing the ears, then the hair, back to the hands and fingernails, and to the hair again. It was some time before the cleansing was done.
Slipping into clean pajamas, I lay awake for a while. It was four in the morning. I was exhausted, but the tiredness did not approach the satisfaction of being washed and clean.

She also held her own with the other missionaries. Once, as a joke, two elders replaced her coconut’s natural water with regular water at breakfast. The joke “disappointed” Emma, but she paid the elders back by serving them coconut covered with salt instead of sugar.

Such joking aside, the missionaries had an immense respect for “Sister Purcell.” One missionary observed that she was “full of the spirit of her office and calling.” Another elder wrote with appreciation about her kindness. Once, Emma left some bananas along a trail so that he and his companion had something to eat while traveling.

I understand Joseph Smith’s need to pray. I had always prayed before I went to bed at night. When I became a teenager I didn’t stop believing, but I stopped taking the time to pray. One day that changed.
I had gone on a campout with some young men, and one of my good friends and I were in a tent together. I jumped into my sleeping bag, and I looked over to see my friend kneeling on his sleeping bag and praying. When he got into his sleeping bag, he said, “Lynn, don’t you pray?”
I answered, “Not as much as I should.” And I made up my mind then that no one would question again whether I prayed.
I also understand Joseph Smith’s wanting to be alone as he prayed. On another occasion a few years later, I was in a similar situation, this time with a young man I didn’t know. I was nervous about praying in front of him, so I waited for him to go to bed so I could kneel and pray without him watching me.
But he wouldn’t go to bed, so I finally knelt and prayed and got into my sleeping bag. When he got into bed a few minutes later, he said, “Lynn, do you always pray like that?”
“Yes, I try to. If I ever hurry and get into bed forgetting to pray, I get out of bed and kneel and pray.”
He said, “I should do that.”
I am so grateful to the Prophet Joseph for his courage and faith to ask and his preparation to believe the things he came to know. I love the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Through the revelations of Joseph Smith, I came to understand my need for the Savior. I knew about Jesus Christ, and I knew He was the Son of God. But the more I’ve come to understand how the Atonement works, the greater my testimony and love of the Savior is. Only His Atonement can allow us to be forgiven of our sins. We can repent, but that does not forgive us; it only qualifies us for His forgiveness.
We need to gain a testimony of who we are, to know we are spirit children of our Father in Heaven. When we know that, we can feel His love for us and His great desire for us to return to live with Him. When we have truly repented and He forgives us, we become clean. We become new creatures, as if the sin had never been committed. And when we understand that, then we really come to know Him.

As time passed, I inclined more towards God. I was diligent in reading the scriptures, attending church, and doing prayers. However, my fiancé, who was a recent convert, requested that I visit the Mormon Church. With lots of struggles in my life as well as being a longtime investigator, I finally became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Later, we got married in the Hong Kong China Temple. Today, I am blessed with a happy family with a wife and two beautiful children.
We always try our best to follow the teachings of the Church. My parents used to observe us. After a while, I invited my parents to come to church with us. Following many discussions, my mother became a member of the Church.

African Latter-day Saints are special people who openly show their love for the Savior. There is a unique spiritual nature about the African Saints. They love Christ. They love the scriptures. They love the prophet. They are obedient. They are eager to learn. They need only be taught to understand. They have been prepared for these last days in the Lord’s vineyard. I can remember going to a district conference in West Africa when it was extremely hot—110° F (43° C) and very humid. Everybody was suffering from the heat. Afterward the children came up to me with big smiles, offering me bananas, plantains (a type of banana), yams, and many other fruits of the season just because they love people. It touched my heart.

One Sunday in July, I could feel the Spirit in the room as I passed the sacrament. After passing to the people in the back, I checked to make sure everyone had a chance to receive it. I then reverently walked over to the line of the other young men who had finished passing the sacrament.

As the other young men lined up, I looked around and saw a family on the far side of the chapel. I realized that they had not received the sacrament yet. It seemed too late, because the priests stood up and the line started to move. As the young men in front of me took the sacrament, all I could think about was that family and how they didn’t receive the sacrament.

I felt a great urge to break from the line and pass to that family. I knew it was the Holy Ghost telling me to do it, so I left the line and walked down the aisle toward the family near the back. As I grew closer, I felt warmth overcome me. I looked up and saw the family smiling at me. I could feel their appreciation for not forgetting them.

I passed the sacrament to the family even though I felt like everyone in the congregation was looking at me. I could almost sense the Holy Ghost whispering, “Good job.” You don’t need words to know that someone truly cares and appreciates your love and respect for them. All you need to do is a good deed.

Some of our most vivid and significant memories of living in the Midwestern United States as young parents are of yearly visits to the temple in Washington, D.C. At the time, it was the only temple in operation east of the Mississippi River. Knowing that temple ordinances are essential for all of Heavenly Father’s children gave a sense of urgency to our efforts.
Like many of you, we arranged for friends to care for our small children, traveled through the night with a busload of fellow members, spent a couple of precious days doing as much temple work as we could, and then rode the bus home through the night so we could attend our Church meetings on Sunday. Those trips did not seem to be sacrifices; they were cherished because of the spiritual uplift that fed our souls for months afterward.
A few years later, we were thrilled to welcome the Chicago Illinois Temple, the first temple built in the North America Central Area since the Cardston Alberta Canada Temple 62 years earlier. With a temple only 45 minutes from our home, it was a joy for us to attend more often than once a year and to receive that spiritual food on a regular basis.
Yet today, though some of us live within closer reach of a temple, we may still find it difficult to attend frequently. It may be that the easier availability of a temple lulls us into thinking, “I’ll go tomorrow, when I have more time.” It is easy to become distracted by immediate pressures and let more important opportunities slide away. Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “I encourage you to establish your own goal of how frequently you will avail yourself of the ordinances offered in our operating temples.”1
If we neglect the opportunity to attend as often as our circumstances allow, if we take lightly the opportunity to go to the temple when it is right in our backyard, so to speak, we may forfeit future blessings and opportunities our Father and His Son have in store for us. “I, the Lord,” He said, “am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
When it seems that events conspire to prevent us from going to the temple, we can remember Jesus Christ’s assurance: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). As we persevere and attend the temple despite stumbling blocks, we’ll have the Savior’s help to overcome the world in which we live. One time as my husband and I were preparing to leave for the temple, one problem after another cropped up. Finally, as we were nearly out the door, we had a strained “marital moment.” As the two of us walked silently to the car, we could hear our oldest daughter reassure her sister, “Don’t worry; they always come home happy from the temple.” And she was right!
Whether we come to the temple with hearts full of joy or heavy with sorrow, the temple is the place for every worthy member with an open heart to be lifted and strengthened.
I have come to the temple almost floating in deep gratitude for a blessing granted to a struggling loved one; I have also shed quiet tears of great sorrow for my own failures. I have received promptings and instruction and even rebukes from the Spirit while serving as proxy for someone receiving the ordinances that will allow her to progress through eternity. All of those experiences have lifted and strengthened me. And yes, I’ve sat through many an hour in the temple as a “duty,” simply fulfilling my obligation, and I even found myself dozing off during temple sessions in my years as an early-morning seminary teacher! But every single time I’ve gone to the temple, I have been blessed. Whether we are granted an immediate blessing or our efforts accrue toward later blessings, every bit of time we spend in the temple results in some personal increase.
Being in the temple reminds us of the span of eternity, both looking back at our ancestors and forward to our children. Our children are also strengthened in their eternal perspective when they focus on the temple. How can we best prepare them for the temple—a vital step in their eternal progression? President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, counseled, “Parents should teach the importance of the temple from a child’s earliest days.”2 President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) advised parents to put a picture of the temple in their children’s bedroom so they can look at that sacred reminder every day until it becomes part of them.3 You can also share with your children the blessings you receive from attending the temple as well as your testimony of the joy you anticipate in eternal relationships with them. And you can support your teenagers in their desire to perform baptisms for the dead. Remember in your family home evening lessons and teaching moments that “the temple is the object of every activity, every lesson, every progressive step in the Church.”4
As you sing with your children, “I love to see the temple. I’ll go inside someday. I’ll cov’nant with my Father; I’ll promise to obey,”5 you will help them feel a desire to enter the Lord’s holy house. And your own heart will swell with gratitude for Heavenly Father, for His plan of salvation, for the Savior and His Atonement, which have made it possible for you to be with your loved ones forever. The Savior’s “way is the path that leads to happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come.”6 That path leads to and through the temple!
Worldly influences can pull us away from the temple. A dear young friend has been troubled by opinions and speculations about the Church that he read on the internet. He decided to forego attending the temple until his questions are resolved. With all my heart, I plead with you who may have questions that affect your testimony to continue participating in personal prayer and scripture study and to continue attending the temple while you work to find the answers that will bring you peace. Stay focused on the gospel to avoid being distracted by clever but false ideologies. One wouldn’t seek to heal a physical ailment by asking a star football player for medical advice any more than significant spiritual questions can be correctly resolved by someone who has a limited understanding of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. The Holy Ghost, who bears witness of “the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5), “will tell you in your mind and in your heart” (D&C 8:2) what is eternal truth.
One of the places to access that Spirit most abundantly is in the temple. If you are worthy to enter the house of the Lord (as determined by you and your bishop), please come to the temple with your questions and receive the assurance that even if you do not understand all things now, the Lord does. Remember all that you do know and understand. The things you do know and have received a spiritual witness of will lead you to “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, [and will] keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7). I testify that the understanding and peace you seek will come as you continue to have faith that your Father in Heaven will lead and guide you to the truth.
Isaiah reminds us that the temple is “a place of refuge … from [the] storm” (Isaiah 4:6). President Thomas S. Monson’s words are equally reassuring: “As we enter through the doors of the temple, we leave behind us the distractions and confusion of the world. Inside this sacred sanctuary, we find beauty and order. There is rest for our souls and a respite from the cares of our lives.”7
As troubles in the world increase and the pressures of daily life build up, we must keep our focus on the things that really matter. It is easy to focus on the negative and on worldly woes, as if we were looking at our failures and problems through a microscope. Being in the temple reminds us to keep an eternal perspective. Like a massive telescope focused on stars beyond our immediate sight, the temple opens our minds to a higher and broader vision. It allows us to see, hope for, and work toward becoming all that Heavenly Father has designed us to be. It helps us focus on eternal truths—on Heavenly Parents who love us and desire to help us, on our true worth as Their children, and on what we are capable of becoming as “heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17). In the temple, the plan of God is taught and eternal covenants are made. In the temple, we are given the tools to become our highest and best eternal selves.
“As we attend the temple,” counseled President Monson, “there can come to us a dimension of spirituality and a feeling of peace which will transcend any other feeling which could come into the human heart. We will grasp the true meaning of the words of the Savior when He said: ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. … Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid’ [John 14:27].”8
The spirit you bring from your service in the temple will touch many within your circles of influence—some you may not have even considered. At the conclusion of one of our visits to the temple in Washington, D.C., the group of members shared testimonies as the bus rolled across the miles toward home. One after another, participants shared their joy and gratitude for the immediate and eternal blessings of the temple. Our nonmember bus driver finally couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed the microphone and expressed appreciation for being with us. He then said, “I don’t know what you people have, but I feel something different here.” Of course, a ward mission leader on the bus got his contact information and later gave it to the missionaries.
May I invite you to take advantage of the gift of the temple near you as often as your circumstances allow. You will be strengthened and find peace in the house of the Lord Jesus Christ, for He is the light and the life and the hope of the world. As these latter days progress toward His promised return, may you receive His light and feel the hope that is offered in His holy temples.

I sometimes compare myself to others and feel bad that I’m not as beautiful or “perfect” as them. Because of this, I went through some tough mental and emotional trials. I searched online for resources to get through them, but I couldn’t find anything that helped.

One day I decided, “I just need to get down and pray, because there’s someone up there who can give me the biggest hug.” So I relied on Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and genuinely prayed.

When I did, I remembered that Heavenly Father made me individually and in His image, so I need to appreciate myself. He put me here for a purpose, and I’m glad that I’m on the earth! Through the Holy Ghost, He reminded me that I’m so much more than I think, and that gave me strength.

I decided to get rid of social media and make sure that I was surrounding myself with the right people—people who showed me Christlike love. I’m so grateful for my friends in my Young Women class because they’re such lights. Anytime I criticized myself, they reminded me that I’m beautiful and have worth.

I still compare myself to others sometimes. But every time I pray, a still, small voice tells me, “Amara, you’re beautiful.”

Jesus Christ is my Redeemer and best friend. He’s always there for me, even when I feel like I’m not always remembering Him like I should. I know that He and Heavenly Father love me, and I love Them. I don’t think I would ever experience the type of love They give me anywhere else.

One day when President Hinckley was about five years old, he was sitting on his front porch with some friends. A family of another race walked down the street. Young Gordon and his friends made some unkind remarks. His mother talked with them and told them that all people are sons and daughters of God. That day he learned we must respect and help one another, regardless of race, religion, wealth, or anything else.

One day my friend got angry with me. She yelled and shouted at me. For two weeks I was angry with her. After the first week, she asked me if I wanted to walk with her. I said no. Then one day I prayed and asked Heavenly Father if He would help me not be angry. The next week my friend asked me if I would walk with her, but I still said no. The next time she asked me, I wasn’t angry, and we walked together from then on. Heavenly Father helped me forgive my friend. And that’s how I learned that self-control works, just like Elder Gibbons said in the Friend.

The sun was setting when Mikel and his little sister, Ainhoa, drove the cows home from the mountain pasture. The days were shorter now with a nip of fall in the air. It would get colder in the Pyrenees Mountains as winter approached.

“There’s our house!” shouted Ainhoa, waving her stick.

Although other Basque homes were built similarly, Mikel thought their house was the most beautiful one in the village. The house was of whitewashed concrete, two stories tall, with a red roof and green shutters at the windows. The sign written in Basque above the door said, “May Peace Be in This House.”

Their dog Eguzki barked at the heels of the cows until they were all in the pen and the gate shut behind them.

“Patxi said he might take me to market tomorrow!” Ainhoa said excitedly as they reached their house. “He was gone so long in the mountains with the sheep, I almost forgot what he looked like!”

Mikel walked slowly to the door. He wanted to go to market tomorrow, too, but someone had to stay and watch the cows. He wondered if anyone would remember his birthday. No one had said anything about it for the past week. Everyone had been too excited about seeing Patxi, Mikel’s older brother, who had been with the sheep for four months in the high mountain pastures.

Inside the house the family was gathering for dinner. Patxi, with his broad smile and white teeth, his sunbrowned face and twinkling brown eyes, was sitting in the dining room talking to his father. His mother and sister Garbiñe brought in platters of bread, cheese, and roasted lamb from the kitchen.

After dinner Ainhoa put her arms around Patxi’s neck. “Will you take me to market tomorrow, Patxi? You said I might go with you to sell our fat pig and some cheeses. You will take me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Patxi said. “I never forget a promise.” Garbiñe put a plate of butter on the table and sat down near her big brother. “My friend Mirentxu has been waiting to see you since you left last May, Patxi,” she said. “She will be at the market tomorrow too. Don’t forget to say hello to her.”

“I won’t,” Patxi promised.

Mikel pulled off his jacket and beret. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace next to Amama, his old grandmother, who was mending a torn pair of pants. She nodded at him and smiled.

Amama always understood what Mikel was thinking. She said, “Tomorrow we will have three men in our family. Your father and Patxi and Mikel, who will be twelve years old.”

Mikel looked up at his grandmother and smiled.

In the morning when it was time to take the cows up to the pasture, Ainhoa watched Mikel put on his jacket and beret. She gave him the lunch his mother had packed. “I will get you some lemon drops while I am at the market,” she promised.

“If you want to,” Mikel said unhappily. Although he stumped out the door, his rope-soled abarcus (shoes) did not make much noise.

As he opened the cow pen, his father appeared with the two mules, ready to go to town. “I know you would like to go to market with Patxi, Son, but I hope you understand that you are needed here.”

“I understand,” said Mikel. He waved his stick, and Eguzki barked at the cows. They started, one by one, up the mountainside.

When Mikel reached the high pasture, he could see the roofs of the village far below. How he wished he could have gone to market with his big brother, Patxi.

From the cow pasture, Mikel could look up and see the shepherds’ huts high on the mountainside where Patxi had lived while he watched the sheep. It was lonely up there except when someone from the village brought food and supplies to the shepherds once a week.

Mikel patted Eguzki’s head. “Patxi is a brave man,” he said to his dog, “to live up in that hut through summer storms and heat. There are wild animals there too!”

Mikel didn’t mind spending time alone with the cows. He loved them and had a name for each one. They trusted him and followed him readily, so he rarely had to use his stick. He liked to sit in the shade of a beech tree or put his feet in the stream on hot days. But looking up into the high mountains now, he thought he might get a little lonesome if he couldn’t come home for dinner every night.

During the summer Mikel helped his father on the farm, and a man from the village watched the cows. However, these few weeks, Mikel and Ainhoa had to watch them until the men had stored enough fodder to feed the animals through the winter.

At midday Mikel ate his lunch—a ham sandwich, cheese, and some artichokes. Then, knowing that Eguzki was nearby to watch the cows, he lay down and took a nap. When he woke up, Mikel felt lonely on the mountainside and wished Ainhoa were with him. To occupy his time, Mikel sang a song Patxi had taught him about a captive bird.

In the evening as the cows walked slowly home, one by one, Mikel saw his entire family waiting by the cow pen. When they saw him coming, they shouted and began to sing a birthday song. Ainhoa handed him a bag of lemon drops when he met them, and Patxi gave him a heavy package. “I bought it for you in the market,” Patxi explained. “It is for you when you are in the high pastures and feel lonely.”

When Mikel was inside the house, he opened the package. There were three books—a Bible, a book by a man named Shakespeare, and Robinson Crusoe. “These will be good companions on the mountainside,” he said, holding them out.

Mikel’s father looked proudly at his son. “We have another man in our family now. Mikel is twelve years old today.”

“We need another man in our family,” Patxi said, “because I’m going to America. It will be your job to watch the sheep, Mikel.”

“When did you decide this?” Mikel asked. He knew that men sometimes went to America because they were better paid and that some of them had sent money back home. But few of them ever returned.

“We talked to a man in the market today,” Mikel’s mother said sadly. “America is still a land of opportunity. A young Basque sheepherder can make good wages there. Patxi will work for a man who lives in Idaho and who owns many more sheep than we do. Patxi will send money home to help us.”

“Then I will take care of our sheep,” Mikel promised.

“I wondered if you were old enough to do it,” Patxi said. “Then today when I saw how you stayed with the cows without complaining, I knew you were almost grown up.”

“Thank you,” Mikel said as he carefully placed the books in his knapsack. He looked over and saw Amama sitting by the fire, nodding and smiling at him.

“Generally, I will start with the trip. It was the longest that I have ever been on and the most uncomfortable, but it was a new experience for me.
“Aside from that, getting to Abia State, where the temple is and getting to the apartment gave me relief. I really appreciated the idea of all the sisters staying together because it gave me the opportunity to create friendships with those that I never thought I would talk to.
“Visiting the temple itself was a whole different experience. The temple was beautiful, comforting, and welcoming. My favorite part of the temple experience was when I went to perform baptisms for the dead. That was the best experience for me personally. I was skeptical about it at first because I did not exactly know what it felt like. But once I went into the water and started the process, it felt really nice. It gave me a comforting feeling that I wanted to keep going.
“I was happy that I was able to perform this ordinance on behalf of someone. I love this temple trip because it brought us together and made us feel united. This experience was very nice and if I am given the chance to go to the temple, I would love to go again. I am very happy for the opportunity I had to go to the temple.”
– Emmanuel Erina Esonazi, Jos Branch, Jos Nigeria District

Because of my suspicions and selfishness I was undecided about whether I wanted to try all of my mother’s ideas. But I soon learned that when people go on dates there are doors, cars, dances, meals, rooms to stand in, introductions, and movie theaters. There are times during each of these situations when someone needs to do something, and if no one does there is a silent awkwardness which makes you feel like a true klutz. I know.
I was at one of my first dances and somehow I’d gathered the courage to remove myself from the wall to ask someone to dance with me. The young lady I asked said, “Yes,” and suddenly I found myself out on the dance floor feeling rather uncomfortable. Fortunately, however, some of my friends had found partners also and joined us. As we danced, my friends and I made comments to one another and before I knew it, our talking had turned into a full-fledged conversation that excluded our partners. Immersed in the discussion, I became oblivious to the young lady I was dancing with and somehow drifted off of the dance floor without even realizing it. Back at the wall again I glanced out at those still dancing and, to my embarrassment, saw my partner out on the floor, alone. An uncomfortable feeling settled itself in my stomach. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what or how to even go about it in an awkward situation like this. So I did nothing. That night I decided that some of my mother’s ideas might be worth trying.

“It’s a neat day for a crosscountry tour to Clear Falls!” exclaimed Randy.
“The snow’s great,” agreed his older brother Tom.
“Looks good to me,” said Randy’s friend Boyd.
Turning back to their car they pulled their skis and poles from the trunk. “I’m glad we waxed our skis last night,” said Randy. “Did you wax for powder conditions, Boyd?”
“Yeah, mine are doing great,” said Boyd as he tested them on the light, powdery snow.
Tom bent over to adjust his bindings and secure his gaiters. The colored tubes of sturdy nylon around his ankles would help keep snow out of his shoes.
Boyd handed canteens and day packs to Tom and Randy. They had packed matches in waterproof containers, goggles, a small candle, compass, pocketknife, extra mittens and socks, snack food, and a small first-aid kit.
“Every time I go on an all-day outing I pack all this stuff,” said Boyd disgustedly, “but I’ve never had to use it.”
“In this kind of terrain and weather, it’s not safe to take chances,” said Tom emphatically. “It’s clear and sunny now, but we have to be ready to meet any kind of trouble.”
Boyd nodded. “Which way to Clear Falls? This is my first time in this area.”
“We’ll cross this field and head toward Twin Peak. The falls are at the base of the peak. It’ll take us about three hours to get there,” explained Tom.
The three boys set out, their skis gliding smoothly and quietly. After traveling uphill for a couple of hours, they rested by a snow-covered stream. “It sure is peaceful here,” said Boyd as he sat on a bark-stripped log.
Tom reached into his pack and pulled out a plastic bag. “Who wants some gorp?”
“I do!” said Randy and Boyd together.
“What did you put in it this time?” asked Randy.
“Raisins, peanuts, coconut, dried fruits, and bits of candy,” replied Tom.
They ate a couple of handfuls of gorp, sipped the cold water from their canteens, and relaxed a few minutes. “Are you guys ready to go?” asked Boyd anxiously.
The others nodded. Then they all put on their skis, checked the bindings, and set off toward Clear Falls.
After skiing a short distance, they stopped abruptly when Tom said, “Look! There’s a skier heading this way.”
“I wonder where his partner is,” said Randy. “It’s not safe to ski alone.”
“Hello!” called Boyd.
The man looked at them in surprise and skied toward them. “I didn’t know there was anybody else in this area. I’m heading toward Summit Ridge by way of Left Gully.”
But the gulley’s a common avalanche trail, Tom thought. “You can see the sunballs rolling down the slopes from here. There’s a lot of loose snow because of the afternoon sun. It wouldn’t take much to set off an avalanche,” he cautioned.
“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Boyd. “We’re heading for Clear Falls.”
“It’s a neat place,” added Randy.
“Thanks, but I’m going to stick to my route,” said the man, and he skied away.
“What are we going to do?” asked Randy. “We can’t force him to stay away from Summit Ridge.”
The boys reluctantly turned away from the retreating skier. But as they moved forward slowly, they kept glancing over their shoulders toward Summit Ridge, trying to keep the foolish skier in sight. His bright orange day pack looked like a small dot against the white snow. “He’s almost in the middle of Left Gully,” said Randy quietly.
Just then they heard a roaring sound from the direction of Summit Ridge and knew what was happening before they even turned around. “Avalanche!” whispered Boyd hoarsely.
Although no one mentioned it, they knew their own lives could be in danger from other slides that might be set off from the main slide. While Randy tried to watch and listen for secondary slides, Tom and Boyd turned back toward the main avalanche. Its initial force spent, the snow billowed high into the air as it swept into Left Gully.
After several seconds, Boyd yelled, “I see some orange on the north side of the gully!”
Three pairs of eyes strained as they tried to follow the orange spot sweeping downward—sometimes on top of the snow and sometimes below its surface.
“It’s stopping!” they all cried together.
“Remember where you think the orange stopped. I think it’s safe enough to check now,” directed Tom.
The boys skied quickly toward Left Gully, and in less than five minutes they reached the avalanche trail. Breathing heavily, Randy gasped, “I hope the man made an air space for breathing when he went under.”
“It’s a good thing the snow is light and powdery instead of wet and slushy. The air space won’t seal as quickly. Take your hands out of your pole straps. If another avalanche starts, we don’t want anything to drag us under. If we get caught, try to stay on your back and keep an uphill swimming motion,” said Tom. “Boyd, where did you see him last?”
“To the right where that pine tree stood.”
They glanced at the splintered remains of the tree. The avalanche had bent or shattered everything in its path. “Where did you see him last, Randy?”
“About ten feet below where Boyd saw him.”
“The same area where I saw him,” replied Tom. “Let’s start there. Turn your poles upside down so we can probe.”
They quickly removed their skis and began searching for the buried skier.
“How long has it been?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.
“Almost nine minutes since the avalanche began,” answered Boyd.
They shouted, then listened carefully as they searched, hoping to hear a noise from the buried man.
“I found a ski!” called Boyd excitedly.
Several minutes went by as the boys searched slightly uphill.
“I’ve found him!” Boyd said as he pointed to a gloved hand he had uncovered in the snow.
The boys dug frantically to uncover the skier.
“Is he alive?” asked Randy when Tom uncovered the man’s face.
Tom quickly checked. “He’s breathing OK. Looks like he made an air pocket. He has a bad cut on his head, though.”
“No sign of compound fractures,” said Boyd.
Tom bandaged the victim’s head wound while Boyd and Randy quickly treated him for frostbite and shock.
The man began to rouse and tried to lift his head. “Oh! My head,” he groaned. He looked at the three boys in surprise, then relief. “How did you find me?” he asked weakly.
“We’ll tell you later. Right now, we need to find out how badly you’re hurt,” said Tom.
After more questioning and checking, the boys were satisfied that the man wasn’t too badly injured. “Looks like we’ll be able to get you out of here ourselves,” said Randy. “It would take four or five hours for a rescue party to reach you.”
Tom glanced around warily. “We’ll have to get out of the area as soon as possible. Another avalanche could start anytime.”
The boys hastily constructed a stretcher from their ski poles and jackets and carefully started down the snowy trail. Several hours later, after slow and difficult travel, they finally reached their car.
“We’ll soon have you taken care of,” said Tom. “I’ll bet this has been a pretty painful trip for you.”
“It has. But it would have served me right if you’d left me up there in that snow hole when I didn’t pay any attention to your warning about an avalanche. I’m grateful to you, boys.”
“I can’t believe it’s still Saturday,” said Boyd. “So much has happened since morning.”
“It’s a Saturday we’ll never forget,” Randy added.
“And neither will I,” said the injured skier quietly. “Thanks to you.”

From the very first day Ellen had seen the cameo ring in the display case at Mr. Henry’s general store, she could think of little else. Even while at the Oklahoma homestead, where she lived with her grandparents, she could close her eyes and picture every detail: Tendrils of hair curled down its neck, a half-smile graced its lips, and a bead necklace was carved around the dainty throat. It was mounted on a coral base and enclosed by an oval of gold; its fancy ring box was lined with crimson velvet. The ten-dollar price, however, was more than Ellen thought that she would ever have.
Still, she mused, like Gram always says, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Dreams cost nothing.”
Ellen’s daydreaming was interrupted as Gramp reined in the plow horses in front of the livery stable. As soon as the wagon stopped, the gangling girl was off and running, her flaxen braids streaming out from under her white sunbonnet, and her calico skirt whipping around her long legs. She skittered to a stop at the general store.
The ring box was still there! She knew that the day might come when the ring would be gone. I just have to find a way to buy it, she thought. She straightened her shoulders determinedly, then turned reluctantly from her heart’s desire to the shopping list that Gram had given her. As Mr. Henry filled the order, Ellen wandered around the store. It was a fascinating place. Blue-speckled enamel pots and pans hung from wires attached to large hooks in the wooden ceiling. Kerosene lamps of different sizes and jars of lemon drops and licorice sticks took up much of the counter space. A pickle barrel stood under a black-and-white cardboard sign announcing the events for the town’s annual picnic.
As Ellen slowly read what it said, she realized that it could be the answer to her prayers! A footrace for ten-to-twelve-year-olds had been added this year, and first prize was a ten-dollar gold piece! She turned to Mr. Henry and said, “Please enter me in the race.”
Figuring that it would be hard beating boys, especially the older ones, Ellen knew that she would have to train hard. The one-room school that she attended was about a mile down the hardpan path from home, so she decided to use it as her training track. And she’d run it barefoot so that she could run the race that way and not be slowed down by heavy shoes.
“Gram,” she said one afternoon while catching her breath on the wooden steps to the cabin, “sometimes I wish that I were a boy!”
“What on earth for? Gramps and I are glad that you’re a girl. Just you wait and see, someday you will be too.”
“Oh, I’m glad to be a girl most times. It’s just that boys get to wear trousers. They aren’t bothered with skirts when they run. I could run a lot faster if I didn’t have to wear an old skirt!”
As her speed increased over the next three weeks, so did Ellen’s determination. When the prairie wind whipped the bonnet from her head the day before the race, she yelled defiantly, “These dumb skirts won’t stop me from doing mybest!”
That evening she sat on the step by Gramp’s rocker. In the distance they heard a coyote’s mournful howl. The moon was huge and golden, bathing the dirt yard with soft light.
“That’s a beautiful harvest moon,” remarked Gramps. He cleared his throat and tweaked Ellen’s braids. “Lass, I know that you’re all het up about tomorrow. Gram and I want you to know that even if you don’t win, we’re mighty proud of you for trying. Being the only girl in the race is a courageous thing to do.”
Ellen was about to answer, when she heard Gram calling her from inside the cabin. Gram was in her bedroom, putting the finishing stitches in a piece of denim. When she held it up, Ellen could only stare.
It was a skirt, her size, but it had legs!
“Oh, Gram!”
“It’s the kind of divided skirt that they make for riding horses these days,” Gram said with a big smile. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
The day of the race dawned bright and crisp. As Ellen joined the boys at the starting line, she bowed her head in a silent prayer. “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for all Thy blessings. And especially for Gram and Gramps.”
“On your mark!” the starter shouted. “Get set!”
The pistol shot cracked.
Ellen scarcely noticed the cheers as the onlookers chose their favorites. Her long gangly legs soon left most of the runners behind. Only three were ahead of her. You can do it! she told herself as she approached the halfway mark. She passed one of the runners—then the second. Only one to go! Every breath hurt now, and her arms and legs felt like lead weights. Just as she passed the last boy, she felt the finish-line ribbon snap across her body.
Ellen collapsed in a heap, tears of joy and exertion running down her face. Mr. Henry brought the prize ribbon and the ten-dollar gold piece to her. She whispered something in his ear, and he straightened, smiling broadly, and rushed off.
Her grandparents hurried over to help her up. They were still excitedly congratulating her when the store-keeper returned and pressed something into her hand. She gazed up at him with thankful blue eyes, then turned to her grandmother and said simply, “Gram, this is for you.”
As the surprised woman opened the velvet-lined box, her brown eyes shimmered with tears. She lifted the cameo ring and eased it gently onto her finger.

These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU player, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our missionary book I wrote ‘good prospect.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw what I had written, went to see her, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far.”

As we talked about it and as I looked at that beautiful little baby, I thought of last summer. Ruby and I were up in Idaho for a short visit, and we met some people from Mountain Home, Idaho, the Goodrich family. Sister Goodrich had come to see us and had brought her daughter Chelsea with her. In part of the conversation that we were having, Sister Goodrich said Chelsea had memorized the proclamation on the family.

To Chelsea, who is now 15 years old, I said, “Chelsea, is that right?”

She said, “Yes.”

I said, “How long did it take you to do that?”

She said, “When we were young my mother started a program in our house to help us memorize. We would memorize scripture passages and sacrament meeting songs and other types of things that would be helpful to us. So we learned how to memorize, and it became easier for us.”

I said, “Then you can give it all?”

She said, “Yes, I can give it all.”

I said, “You learned that when you were 12 years old; you’re now 15. Pretty soon you’ll start dating. Tell me about it. What has it done for you?”

Chelsea said, “As I think of the statements in that proclamation, and as I understand more of our responsibility as a family and our responsibility for the way we live and the way we should conduct our lives, the proclamation becomes a new guideline for me. As I associate with other people and when I start dating, I can think of those phrases and those sentences in the proclamation on the family. It will give me a yardstick which will help guide me. It will give me the strength that I need.”

A dance festival? Sharon Leo had never seen one, and now she was invited to dance in one. An 18-year-old nonmember living in central Utah, Sharon had been around Mormons all of her life. Now her friend Jolynne Taylor of the Orem Utah Sharon West Stake had asked Sharon to join her in a five-stake dance festival to be held in the huge BYU Marriott Center. With reservations, Sharon accepted.
Rehearsals occupied every Saturday morning for months as Sharon found herself practicing square dances, Swiss polkas, disco numbers, karate exercise numbers, Greek line dances, the English quadrille (her specialty), and many other dances with 600 fathers, mothers, young adults, teens, and children. Sharon’s view of Mormonism began to expand as she met new people and made more friends.
Then there were the costumes to make. While Sharon was struggling to put in a zipper and get the length of her costume correct, others were also sewing like crazy—especially where whole families were participating. Cori Dawn Anderson, 16, of the Orem Utah Sharon West Stake, commented, “Being in the dance festival as a whole family was a good experience. The hardest part was making seven costumes in two weeks. But with everyone helping and sewing in their spare time, we got them all finished. It was really fun, and despite all the work, it was worth it.”
During the rush of practices and costume making, Sharon Leo began taking the missionary discussions.
As Sharon grew in gospel knowledge, the dance festival grew in excitement among its participants. Bishops, stake presidents, and high council members responded to the challenge to participate and brought their families. Miriam Abegg, 17, whose father is on the Orem Utah West Central Stake high council said, “The dance festival was fantastic! I could feel that the Lord’s Spirit was with us during our performance. And I enjoyed practicing with my family. It helped me to see my dad with different eyes—enjoying square dancing, whirling and throwing my mom and us kids up in the air. It was a lot of work, but it was fun to work with other people—especially my own family, even though my brother did drop me on the floor one time.”
Suddenly, the day of the performance was upon them. Between the final dress rehearsal and the evening performance, a different kind of event took place. As Sharon’s family, friends, missionaries, teachers, and priesthood administrators watched, she stepped into the waters of baptism. Jolynne’s father performed the baptism, and Jolynne’s mother accompanied the hymns at the piano. Jolynne waited at the top of the baptismal steps to be the first to give Sharon a hug of fellowship. It was a beautiful time of reverence in an exciting day.
The dance performance filled the evening. As the Marriott Center darkened, over 6,000 spectators sat waiting. Suddenly the lights flashed on to the throb of Star Wars music, and the youth and their families began a spectacular show complete with bright lights, colorful costumes, and exciting dances. The dance numbers that had been such stumbling blocks—difficult to learn, difficult to find music for—suddenly were magnificent. The costumes, made mostly from donated materials, looked professional. The organization and technical details, so ragged in rehearsal, suddenly ran smoothly and professionally.
As Joycelynn Demaree, the costume chairman, remarked, “There were so many little miracles and acts of faith that took place during the putting on of the festival. It was a lot of hard work, but to see the whole thing come together was worth every minute of the thousands of hours involved.”