Gospel Story Finder

It was time to clean Leslie’s room. “You vacuum the floor, Leslie,” Mother said cheerfully, “and I’ll tidy and dust.”
Leslie couldn’t return the smile. As her mother lifted things to dust and straighten, Leslie felt uncomfortable. She tried to reassure herself that it was hidden so well no one could find it. While pushing the vacuum back and forth over the carpet, Leslie watched her mother anxiously. Surely Mom won’t choose today to dust all the books on my shelf! she agonized.
Leslie recalled the day she’d seen the glittering gold bracelets displayed on the jewelry counter of the department store. They’d looked just like the ones her friends were wearing. “Look, Mom,” she had said to her mother, who was hurrying to the shoe department. “These are the bracelets I was telling you about. Suzanne and Tena already have some.”
Leslie’s mother stopped for a moment and glanced at the bracelets. Then she frowned. She was thinking of the dinner she had yet to prepare. If she were delayed too long, her husband would be late for his meeting that night. “I’m sorry, Leslie, but we don’t have money for things like that,” she said. She felt frustrated. There never seemed to be any money left after paying bills to buy extra things for the children.
While her mother hurried on to look at shoes, Leslie lingered at the jewelry counter, admiring the bracelets. She could picture in her mind how pretty one would be on her arm. The clerk was on the other side of the carousel with her back turned, waiting on a customer. Leslie quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then she slipped a bracelet off the rack and into her pocket.
Although her heart was thumping like her dog’s tail against the door when he wanted in, Leslie could hardly wait to see how surprised Susanne and Tena would be tomorrow when she wore the new bracelet to school.
All the girls will envy me, she daydreamed. A smile moved across her face as she hurried to find her mother.
When she got home that day, Leslie looked around her room to find a safe hiding place. Behind the books on her bookshelf seemed like a place no one would disturb. She pulled the bracelet from her pocket. A tiny price tag marked $15.00 dangled from it.
Leslie stared at the bracelet. She finally admitted to herself that she had done wrong. Her mother and father had always stressed honesty. She could remember her mother once telling a clerk that she hadn’t been charged enough for an item. Mom would feel so ashamed of me if she knew!
It’s done now, she decided and put the bracelet behind a thick book.
Each morning when she was ready to leave for school, Leslie took the bracelet from its hiding place. She was careful to keep the bracelet in her coat pocket until she was out of sight of her house. Each afternoon when she returned from school, she repeated the deception. But the thought that she had stolen something depressed her.
It was getting harder to say her prayers each night. When she asked Heavenly Father to forgive her for sins and mistakes, she could almost see the bracelet glowing accusingly from behind the books. I’m a thief! she thought. The thought frightened her.
And Leslie was frightened now for a different reason. Her mother had started taking books from the bookshelf and was methodically dusting each one. Leslie could feel the blood rushing to her head as her mother took out the thick book and saw the bracelet.
Leslie’s mother stopped dusting and slowly turned to face her daughter. “Where did this come from?”
It was difficult for Leslie to begin. But once she started, the words came as freely as the tears that rolled down her face. Her mother’s eyes seemed to penetrate her soul.
In a voice that sounded like it came from a stranger, Leslie heard herself say slowly, “I guess … I’m a thief. Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry!”
Leslie’s mother opened her arms and hugged her daughter. “You made a mistake, Leslie. You took something that belongs to someone else.”
With an arm still around her, Mother pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t shared with anyone since I was about your age.
“When I was a girl growing up on a farm in Montana, there weren’t any children living close-by. So, of course, I often felt lonesome. A lady living on the other side of one of our fields became my best friend. Her name was Delfina.
“Whenever I was bored, I would head for Delfina’s one-room home. There wasn’t much furniture in her house, but if I took off my shoes, I could sit on her bed. Then she would share the contents of her jewelry box with me.
“It was the most beautiful jewelry box I had ever seen. In fact, it may have been the only one I had ever seen—shiny ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. To me it whispered of an exciting world I had only read about in books. Its red lacquered interior was filled with tiny trinkets and jewelry.
“One day I went to visit Delfina, but she wasn’t home. I opened her door and went inside anyway. For a while I played with her trinkets. Then instead of putting all the jewelry back into the box, I put some of it into my pocket. When I arrived home, Mom discovered the jewelry. She asked me where I’d gotten it. When I told her I had taken it from Delfina, she said, ‘I know you probably wanted to have something of Delfina’s because she is your friend. If these things are special to you, think how precious they must be to her! Of course, stealing is wrong, no matter whom you steal from. The important thing now is what you’re going to do about it.’
“As I walked back across the field, I looked for every excuse I could find to take more time. Delay as I might, my feet finally took me to her door. Shame and fear overcame me as I knocked.
“When she answered, I looked down at the floor. In a quavering voice I told Delfina what I had done. ‘I’m glad you brought them back,’ she said. ‘They’re keepsakes that belonged to my mother. We all make mistakes. I’m sure you won’t do it again.’
“Then to cheer me up, she fixed my favorite treat of chocolate milk made with corn syrup and cocoa. As I sipped it, I felt as though a heavy load had been lifted from me.”
Mom patted Leslie’s hand. “So you see, dear, we all make mistakes. The important thing is to recognize our mistakes, make amends, and then do better.”
Leslie turned her eyes up to meet her mother’s. Reaching for the bracelet, she said, “Will you take me back to the store now?”

My father and I were soon assigned as home teaching companions. One of our first assignments was to visit the mission president and his wife. They were very gracious. My father brought a lot of traditions from our previous faith. But they were kind, not critical, in explaining why things were done in different ways in the true Church. We were the home teachers, but we learned a lot from the example of our mission president.

At the birth of each of my children, during those precious, solemn moments when I held them for the first time, I felt the whisperings of the Spirit teaching me of their unique qualities. When these impressions first came, I doubted. But as my children grew, the truths suggested at their births were verified. I feel wonder for a God who would thus offer counsel to me as he, our Heavenly Father, transferred his precious children to a new father’s earthly care.

Sergio Galbuchi learned that truth for himself when he started his own business shortly after the stake presidency called him as a stake self-reliance specialist. Armed with faith, skills, and knowledge he had gained as a member of the committee, Sergio and his wife, Silvia, opened a shop in Buenos Aires featuring “crafts and flavors” of Argentina.
“I think becoming self-reliant is a way to apply faith,” says Sergio. Early on, he and Silvia did not enjoy the success they had hoped for, so faith remained central to their endeavor. But while they waited on financial fruits, they worked hard and blessed customers with their products and their missionary efforts.
“We get to know many people,” Sergio says. “And we’ve had the chance to give away copies of the Book of Mormon.”
Initially, the stake self-reliance committee identified 10 members in Sergio’s stake who needed help with self-reliance. But then the bishops got involved.
“Now we know of 35 individuals in need,” said Sergio as the effort grew. “Their bishops invited them individually to participate in groups.”
Their faith blossomed, they made needed changes, and they employed new skills.
“Every time I talk with priesthood leaders, I try to express to them that this is the most fantastic tool we’ve ever received from the First Presidency,” Sergio adds. “It’s better than any money that could be given to aid someone, and its teachings are clearer than much of the material that I learned when I was a university student.”
Most important, those who complete their 12-week self-reliance courses become better disciples of Jesus Christ and learn how to use their skills to build the kingdom of God.
“This [self-reliance] group doesn’t just focus on our business; it focuses on our relationship with God and others,” Sergio says. “We become better disciples of Jesus Christ during our three months spent in this group. After all, maybe a business will help us become more self-reliant, but the ultimate purpose is to serve.”

It all started in 1988 when three young women from the Jacana Ward in Sao Paulo, Brazil, felt a strong desire to visit the elderly ladies who live in a nursing home near the chapel.
The initial idea turned into a continuous service project called “Adopt a Grandma” and other young women from the ward soon began to participate. Later on, more young people from two other wards were also involved. Now, there are nonmembers who help with the project.
These youth have learned what it means to have the pure love of Christ. The elderly women in the rest home have different backgrounds and histories. Some don’t even know their parents or when or where they were born.
One of these is Sebastiana Maria Catarina de Jesus; a talkative, cheerful lady who appears quite small in her wheelchair. She does not know her age, and has no relatives nor visitors. She has become a different woman since these loving and giving young people began visiting her. Catarina now feels that she has a family. She loves to spend time with these youth who are her new family.
Flora Esperanca Galassi is seventy-nine years old and becomes emotional at the mention of her family. A surprise birthday party was given to Flora, who is touched as she remembers this precious day in her life. She embraces the young people warmly because they are everything she has in life.
Virginia Fernandes, who looks about seventy-five years old, also does not know when she was born. She walks around the nursing home with difficulty and does not hear very well, but her countenance reflects joy in being close to her newly made friends.
They speak words of support and are always willing to help the elderly ladies, whose simple needs are easily met: a towel to Catarina, clothing to Flora or a cake to Virginia. These young people know that they are attending to the needs of a part of the Good Shepherd’s flock. They freely give of their love, affection, and kindness, which is just as freely returned.

A few weeks after my daughter’s death, the realization and magnitude of what had happened started to creep in. It was like heavy, thick black smoke seeping in at first, followed by all-consuming billows until I was surrounded by complete darkness. Grief in its rawest has its own dimension of blackness.
Natalie had died on Thanksgiving Day. It was now Christmas. The holidays only magnified my loss. The agony lingered throughout the day and tormented me throughout the night. It was relentless. The tears poured endlessly for days. Minutes passed like hours. Hours passed like days. Days passed like years.
As a divorced woman, I did not have a husband who could go out and earn a living. If I could have, I would have curled up in a ball, locked myself in a closet, and remained there forever. But I didn’t have that luxury. I had to somehow gather the strength to function. I had to find a job. I was working when Thanksgiving Day happened, but somehow in all the chaos, I had forgotten about my job. I could have gone back to it, but my Natalie loved to hang out there, and the thought of going back without her was unbearable.
By the first week of January, I had gotten a low-paying job. I tried to act like I was normal. My body kept going, but I felt like my soul had died. No one knew I was a hollow shell of a being just going through the motions. It was only during the drive to and from work that I was able to break down emotionally. This was my new normal.
I started going to my new ward a little at a time. I just knew if someone asked me how I was doing, I would fall to pieces. I desperately wanted to go to church, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less make eye contact. I wished with all my heart that I could be invisible. More than anything, I just wanted to rip this all-consuming pain out of my chest!
I have no idea what the sisters in Relief Society thought of me, and at the time I didn’t much care. I was too busy just trying to breathe! I’m sure I gave off the impression that I wanted to be left alone, for none of them bothered me. They did, however, occasionally give me a warm smile that I found a little comforting—just the exact small dose to keep me from running out the nearest exit, which was a constant thought.
Time is a healer. It doesn’t erase events, but it allows gaping wounds to slowly close.
That fateful Thanksgiving Day was in 2011, and it took me a few years to realize just how much I was helped by my brothers and sisters in the Church. I felt like I was carried off the battlefield after having been critically wounded. I was nursed back to health and cared for until I could stand on my own.
Countless blessings have come my way, in a variety of ways. My testimony has grown to near full maturity. I know now what it feels like to be held in the loving arms of our Savior.
So to answer my friend’s question, “How did the Church help you through this ordeal?” I say, “They didn’t help me. They saved me.”

I myself was blessed with an exemplary father. I recall that when I was a boy of about 12, my father became a candidate for the city council in our rather small community. He did not mount an extensive election campaign—all I remember was that Dad had my brothers and me distribute copies of a flyer door to door, urging people to vote for Paul Christofferson. There were a number of adults that I handed a flyer to who remarked that Paul was a good and honest man and that they would have no problem voting for him. My young boy heart swelled with pride in my father. It gave me confidence and a desire to follow in his footsteps. He was not perfect—no one is—but he was upright and good and an aspirational example for a son.

Several days ago, we were discussing talks during a family meal. Clarissa, our 13-year-old daughter, was preparing a sacrament meeting talk for our branch in Moscow and felt some anxiety. I reassured her that all would be well and released a little anxiety of my own by saying that at least she didn’t have to speak in front of thousands of people in general conference. Clarissa gave me some advice of her own: “It will be OK, Dad. Just pretend it’s a big branch.” Brothers and sisters, you are indeed a very large branch.

Just like Esther, Joseph Smith, Joseph of Egypt, and many other scriptural figures, you can have the courage to stop your friends from speaking inappropriately about others. I was going through the same situation, and I had the courage to talk to my friends in a loving and understanding way. In the end, they accepted and understood how important it is to use pure and worthy language! Besides reading the scriptures and praying, fasting helps a lot in those situations. Pray and ask with faith that our Heavenly Father will give you the courage to speak and touch the hearts of your friends.
Paola H., 17, San Salvador, El Salvador

Years ago I received a phone call from a distraught mother. She told me that her daughter had moved far from home. She sensed from the little contact she had with her daughter that something was terribly wrong. She pleaded with me to help.
I found out who the daughter’s home teacher was. You can tell by that name that it was a long time ago. I called him. He was young. Yet he told me that he and his companion both had been awakened in the night with not only concern for the daughter but with inspiration that she was about to make choices that would bring sadness and misery. With only that inspiration of the Spirit, they went to see her.
At first she did not want to tell them about her situation. Under inspiration, they pleaded with her to repent and choose the path the Lord had for her. She realized then, I believe by the Spirit, that the only way they could have known what they knew about her life was from God. A mother turned her loving concerns over to Heavenly Father and the Savior. The Holy Ghost had been sent to those home teachers because they were willing to serve the Lord. They had followed the counsel and promise found in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever.”

Illustration by Glenn Harmon
Max and Blake sat on Blake’s front porch eating ice-cream treats. It was a hot day, and the cold, sweet ice cream tasted just right. They both concentrated on eating every bit of their ice cream before it dripped onto the concrete. Blake finished his and sucked on the wooden stick.
“Hey, do you wanna play in the sprinklers in my backyard?” he said.
“That sounds great!”
“Race you!” said Blake, and he hopped up and ran around to the backyard gate.
Max finished the last bite of his ice cream as Blake disappeared around the corner of the house.
“Hey, wait for me!” Max shouted as he hurried after Blake. When he reached the gate, he flung it open, remembering too late to watch out for Blake’s dog, Chief. Chief ran out through the gate, his large furry body pushing Max out of the way.
“Chief, come!” Max shouted.
Chief stopped in Blake’s front yard. He cocked his head and grinned at Max, his tail wagging.
Max spoke calmly as he inched toward the dog. “C’mon Chief. Come back.” Max was almost close enough to grab Chief, so he kept speaking gently and stretched out his hand.
Chief lurched away and raced down the street at full speed, still wagging his tail. He was fast. Max ran after Chief and tried not to lose sight of him.
Max followed Chief until he felt like he just couldn’t run anymore. His muscles ached, and his throat burned from breathing hard. All the while, Chief ran ahead of him, getting farther and farther away from home. Max was really worried now. He couldn’t go back for help without losing sight of Chief, but he just didn’t know how much longer he could keep up. And if he couldn’t catch him, Chief would be lost. The thought of losing his best friend’s dog gave Max a sick feeling in his stomach.
Max stopped running, his heart still pounding hard in his chest. He closed his eyes and said an urgent prayer that he would be able to bring Chief home safely. Max looked up from his prayer and saw Chief dash through an open gate into a neighbor’s backyard. He followed and quickly closed the gate. His shoulders sagged with relief. Max knew this was an answer to his prayer. Chief was trapped in the yard.
Max knocked on the front door of the house and explained the situation. The kind neighbor helped Max hold Chief’s collar and walk him back home. Max was tired from his run, but he felt really grateful to Heavenly Father. He was so glad he’d remembered to pray for help.
“Hey Max, where’d you go?” said Blake as Max led Chief into the backyard. “I was getting the sprinkler set up and didn’t see you leave.”
“Aw, me and Chief went for a run. Let me tell you about it.” Max smiled as he set Chief free to play in the sprinklers. Then he double-checked to make sure the gate was closed tight.

When the apostles tried to leave in August, the malaria that infested the low, swampy ground where they had settled along the Mississippi had disabled nearly everyone. Brigham’s description is typically simple and restrained, leaving us to imagine the physical and emotional suffering of this second dramatic departure: “My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. … I left my wife sick, with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other.”24 His family was even without adequate clothing because of losses to the mob in Missouri; Brigham himself was wearing a cap made out of a pair of old pantaloons, and he took along a quilt because he had no overcoat until some Saints in New York made him one. He commented that he thus “had not much of a ministerial appearance.” But though deathly ill for a time, and literally carried from place to place as he and a few companions were shuttled by the Saints across Illinois, he gradually recovered strength and began to have experiences commensurate with his calling—even though he lacked the “appearance.”

Now, I should like to read portions of a letter that came to my desk. I have changed the names to preserve anonymity and have somewhat abbreviated it, paraphrasing a few words in the process. The letter reads:
“Dear President Hinckley,
“When I met you in the elevator at the hospital I had the urge to write you and tell you of some of the things that have happened to me.
“When I was sixteen or seventeen I cared nothing for the Church and would not have anything to do with it. But a bishop who was concerned about me came over to see me and asked me to help build some scenery for a road show production, and of course I told him no.
“Well, about ten days went by, and the bishop came back to ask me to build the scenery, and again I told him no. But then he went on to explain that he had asked others, and they had told him that they didn’t know how. He indicated that I was needed. I finally gave in and proceeded to build the scenery.
“When I got it done, I said, ‘There is your scenery,’ and decided I had done my part. But the bishop insisted that they needed me on the stage to move the scenery and make sure it got put up right and that it got moved carefully as the road show moved from ward to ward. So I finally gave in again.
“That bishop kept me busy for quite a while, and pretty soon I was involved and enjoying it. He then moved from our area and we got a new bishop, and he picked up the challenge and kept after me.
“Bishop Smith had asked me to go on a mission, but I was undecided on that, and when Bishop Sorensen was put in, he asked me also, and I finally decided that I would go.
“Well, the bishop and I went to tell Mom and Dad about my decision. They told the bishop they couldn’t pay for it. Dad told the bishop that if I was really sincere about going that I should work and save, and pay for the mission myself.
“My eyesight was not the greatest, as you know, and when I went places I had to be taken. When I became sixteen, I wanted to drive a car more than anything, and Dad took me to several eye doctors, all with the same result. The vision in my right eye was 20/800, and the vision in my left eye was 20/50, and I had astigmatism. So earning enough money to go on a mission was not an easy task. I worked in the sign shop at a department store for six to eight months to save some money. The bishop finally felt it was time for me to go, and we went to talk to my parents again. I had a thousand dollars saved, and the bishop told my Dad that the elders quorum would support me for the rest. Dad sat there for a while and said if anybody was going to support his son, he would. I filled out my papers and got my call in May of 1961.
“I went to Japan, where I loved the people and the missionary experiences that I had there. My companions and I baptized several people into the Church. After I came home, I went to work again in the sign shop. During the time I worked there, whenever I went to lunch, I would see a young lady walking up the street, who evidently worked in the same general area. I knew I had met her somewhere before but could not place her.
“Well, one of my missionary companions came home, and after some time we ran around together. Of course, he did all the chauffeuring because of my eyesight. One night he called and wanted to go out on a date, and so I frantically called around to find a date. Well, we went to a party, and guess who he took out. Right, he took out Sister Marilyn Jones who also had been in Japan, and whom I now remembered meeting briefly there on one occasion. She was the girl I had been passing on the street for several months and had not recognized.
“After this party, I went to California with my family for two weeks, and when I got home I found that my missionary friend had been dating the girl I had taken to the party. I thought I’d fix him, so I called Marilyn to go out on a date. You have to realize that it’s not easy to do that when you don’t drive, so my younger sister drove, and we had eight other youngsters accompany us to a ball game. That should have been enough to discourage any young lady from ever dating me again, but I tried again when my family went to the canyon to pick chokecherries.
“Finally came our date alone, and Dad had to drive me to pick up Marilyn, and then we drove him home, and went out on our date, and then back to our house to pick up Dad, who drove us back to her house, and then we went home. On the next date I asked her to marry me, and she told me no. Well, I went out with her some more, and asked her to marry me a couple more times, and I finally got a maybe. I thought that was a step in the right direction, and persisted. Six months after we started going together you performed our marriage in the Salt Lake Temple.
“President Hinckley, I thought that I loved this young lady at that time, but seventeen years later I find that I love her more than I could ever imagine. We now have five wonderful children.
“I have held many positions in the Church: chorister, senior Aaronic adviser, everything in the elders quorum, assistant ward clerk, seventies president, executive secretary, and now I am a counselor in the bishopric.
“I am still working in the sign shop at the department store. I bought a small house about thirteen years ago, and as my family got larger, my house got smaller. I had to do something, so I added on to my house and made it twice the size. I started this a little over three years ago and have been working on it ever since. It is coming along really well.
“Now for the most amazing piece of news ever. Two years ago in June, I went to a new eye doctor who examined my eyes and asked me what restrictions I had on my driver’s license. I told him that I didn’t have a license. He said that my eyesight was probably acceptable.
“I sat there in shock, and my wife said, ‘Does this mean he could get a driver’s license?’ The doctor said, ‘I don’t see why not.’ The next day my wife had me signed up for a driver education course, and after I finished it I went to get my license and they checked my eyes. The doctor had written a note explaining my eye problem, and that maybe I should not drive at night. The examiner put the letters up and I read them right off. He went to talk to his supervisor, and came back and approved my license with only a minor restriction.
“President Hinckley, the Lord has blessed me more than I can ever deserve. People say how lucky I am that my eyes have improved so much, but I know that it is the Lord’s doing. I feel it is because I have tried to serve the Lord and do what I can to build up his kingdom here on the earth. I am sure there are times he is disappointed in me, and I’m sure he should be. But I will try to do my best and be worthy of his blessings upon me and my family.”
He concludes with appreciation and testimony and signs his name. I have taken your time to read this somewhat lengthy letter because I feel it tells so simply and yet so eloquently what this work is all about.
If you will recall what I have just read, this man, when he was a boy of sixteen or seventeen, was drifting aimlessly and dangerously as so many young men do at that age. He was walking the broad way which leads to destruction. Noting the course he was taking, his bishop, a prayerful and dedicated man, recognized his creative talent as an artist and found a way to challenge him to use that talent in the service of the Church. That bishop was wise enough to know that most young men will respond to a challenge when they know they are needed. No one else in the ward was quite capable of building the kind of scenery the bishop wanted. This inactive boy was capable of this, and the bishop complimented and challenged him with a request that his service was needed.
Here is a great key to reactivation of many of those who have fallen by the wayside. Each has a talent that can be employed. It is the task of leaders to match those talents with needs, and then to offer a challenge. The boy of this letter, whom I shall call Jack, responded, and he soon found himself moving in the direction of the Church rather than away from it.
Then came the challenge to go on a mission. Jack, who was now accustomed to saying yes rather than no, responded affirmatively. The father was not fully converted, and responded that his son would have to earn his own funds. That was not all bad. There was something of good in the requirement that he develop self-reliance. He went to work, he provided much of what he needed, he saved his money, and when he had a thousand dollars, the bishop, again under inspiration, felt the time had come when he should go. Jack’s brethren in the elders quorum would assist, and that is proper. But the father, with an awakened sense of pride and of responsibility toward his own son, rose to the occasion, as men usually do when properly confronted.
I first met Jack in Japan when he was serving as a missionary there. I interviewed him on two or three occasions. That was before we had the Language Training Mission. Young men and women were then sent with no language training and simply plunged in to work at the task when they arrived there. I marveled that this young man, with serious eyesight deficiencies, was able to grasp that difficult language and speak it with power. Behind that was a great effort and a great sense of devotion, and above all, a certain humility and reliance on the Lord with anxious, prayerful pleadings for help.
I can tell you, for I witnessed it, that it was a miracle in his case as it was in the case of many others.
I also first met in Japan and interviewed on a number of occasions the young lady he was later to marry. She had a wonderful spirit, a deep faith, and a moving sense of duty. Their acquaintance in the field was nothing more than having seen one another on one occasion. They worked in widely separated areas. But out of their experiences had come a common touchstone—a new language in which each had learned to share testimony with others while laboring in the great and selfless cause of service to our Father’s children.
As he indicated in his letter, they asked me to perform their marriage. It was done in the Salt Lake Temple. Each knew that only in the Lord’s house under the authority of the holy priesthood could they be joined in marriage for time and for all eternity under a covenant which death could not break and time could not destroy. They wanted the very best for themselves; they would not be satisfied with anything else. Be it said to their credit that each has remained true to the sacred covenants they made in the house of the Lord.
Five beautiful and handsome children have graced that marriage. They are a family with love and appreciation and respect one for another. They have lived in a spirit of self-reliance. A small home which has been enlarged is a home in which father and mother and children gather together and counsel and learn one from another. It is a home in which there is a reading of the scripture. It is a home in which there is prayer: family prayer and individual prayer. It is a home in which service is taught and exemplified. It is a simple home; it is an unostentatious family. There is not much of wealth, but there is much of peace and goodness and love. The children who are growing up there are growing in “the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” (Eph. 6:4.) The father is faithful in his service to the Church. For these many years he has responded to every call made upon him. The mother likewise, in the organizations for women and children. They are good citizens of the community and the nation. They are at peace with their neighbors. They love the Lord. They love life. They love one another.
Now they have witnessed a miracle in the improvement of his eyesight. To a kind and gracious God goes the credit. This, too, is of the essence of the gospel, the power of healing and restoration, followed by acknowledgment and thanksgiving.
I do not know whether the two men who served as Jack’s bishops know what has become of him. If they know where he is, there must be sweet satisfaction in their hearts. There are thousands of bishops like them, who serve night and day in this great work of reactivation. And there are tens of thousands of Jacks in this Church whose hearts are touched and who are brought back into activity by a great sense of concern, a quiet expression of love, and a challenge to serve from bishops and others. But there are many, many more who need similar attention.

Ten-year-old Ellen Pucell refused to move another step. For endless days and endless kilometers she’d been dragging herself over snowy, frigid ground. Now, with the merciless cold biting through her ragged clothes, the pain in her feet had grown unbearable, and Ellen, or Nellie as everyone called her, sat down shivering and couldn’t go on. Her older sister, Maggie, coaxed her to get up. But while her weary friends trudged on ahead, struggling to pull handcarts through the snow, Nellie still sat, unable to move her stiffened legs.
Maggie again pleaded with her young sister to walk with her before the pioneer company left them behind. As their hope of catching up faded, a horse-drawn carriage approached them. The driver, one of the leaders lucky enough to have a wagon, stopped to ask about the young girls. When Maggie explained the situation, Nellie was lifted into the back of the wagon, where her feet dangled over the edge as they hurried to catch the others.
Nellie’s family had sailed from Liverpool, England, in May of 1856 with a large group of Latter-day Saints. After a safe voyage on the ship Horizon, they docked in Boston, then traveled by train to Iowa. From there Nellie had set out with her parents, her sister, Maggie, and more than five hundred other pioneers. They were bound for peace and new homes in the Salt Lake Valley. Too poor to afford wagons or the animals to pull them, the great majority chose to build smaller, two-wheeled wagons called handcarts, which they would pull themselves. Only the most necessary provisions could be carried. Extra bedding, clothing, household supplies, and even extra food had to remain behind.
For the first few weeks the handcart company enjoyed good weather, but in October early snowstorms and bitter cold slowed down the pioneers.
Nellie’s family suffered along with the rest. Her mother became ill and had to be pulled for some distance in their cart. Nellie’s father slipped into the waters of one of the rivers they crossed, and because there was no dry clothing or warm shelter, he was bitterly cold. The family’s food supply grew scarce, and the snow hid any fuel that they might have gathered for a fire.
Nellie’s father died on October 22, 1856, from hunger and exposure to the cold. Five days later her mother died too. Graves could be dug only in the snow because the early winter had frozen the ground. Nellie and Maggie wearily and sadly walked on alone. They watched as more of the company died and the weather’s cold fierceness strengthened.
One day as Nellie and her sister made their way at the head of the group, two men appeared and motioned for them to come closer. At first the girls refused but soon decided that the men meant no harm. The men gave Nellie some money and instructed her to buy something to put on her feet at the trappers’ trading post they were nearing. Nellie gratefully accepted the money and the chance to cover her bare feet, which had long since grown numb with cold.
In Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young had called for volunteers to meet the handcart company on the plains. When the volunteers finally reached the company, near Laramie, Wyoming, they found the pitiful group nearly buried by the snow. Nellie’s feet were badly frozen. The rescue party gathered her and the remaining members of the company into their wagons and returned to Salt Lake, arriving on November 30.
Nearly everyone in the handcart company had endured painfully frozen feet, hands, and ears and had witnessed the deaths of family members and friends. The doctor had to amputate Nellie’s feet. There was no skin to cushion the bone, so she was left with throbbing sores that never healed.
Nellie and her sister eventually moved south from the Salt Lake Valley to Cedar City. Here Nellie married William Unthank and reared their six children. With a leather apron slid under her damaged legs, Nellie crawled about their small home on her knees, keeping it spotless.
Nellie willingly worked at whatever she could to help provide for her family. Along with other jobs, she took in other people’s clothes to wash, and made articles to sell to add to the family income. If anyone offered food or assistance, she insisted on repaying the favor. As a way of showing gratitude, she gathered her children once a year to clean the church meetinghouse. While the boys carried water, the girls washed windows, and Nellie scrubbed the floors.
William carved wooden “cup feet” for Nellie, but they only irritated her never-healing stumps. Later, through donations, wooden legs were given to Nellie, but these she only wore on special occasions, because they added to her constant pain.
Despite poverty and pain, Nellie rarely complained. She had come to know her Heavenly Father in her sufferings. From the shoes provided for her bare feet, the carriage sent when she couldn’t go on, help given to her through a lifetime of affliction, Nellie Pucell Unthank knew she could count on the Lord.

When I was nine years old, I committed a crime. I made a decision to steal a comic book from a store. The owner did not catch me stealing, but at home my parents were suspicious, knowing that I had no money to buy the comic book. Once my mother got the truth from me, she took me back to the store, where I confessed my guilt to the owner. He let me decide how to make full restitution and how I was going to go about learning not to steal again.
The store’s floor was made of hardwood, and each evening the owner would throw sawdust down and sweep it to get up all of the dust and dirt that accumulated during the day. That job was assigned to me. I was sure that I would only have to do it for a few days. As I came into the store each afternoon after school to do my sweeping, the proprietor would nod his greeting and motion toward the broom and cardboard box of sawdust in the back. It was weeks before he told me one night that he thought I had swept long enough.
I tell you this particular story, not to relive the sin, but to point out that it is the sweeping and the price I had to pay that I remember vividly. I still have the memory of taking the comic book, but the feelings of guilt, heartsickness, distress, and deep sorrow are long gone because I was helped to repent. I remember those long hours of sweeping now to remind me of the price of stealing. That encourages me not to be dishonest again.

While I was serving as a full-time missionary in Russia, I hurt my knee and had to rest for three weeks. I was not very happy that I could not serve during that time. I also felt bad that I was a burden on others.
For several days, I could not get these thoughts out of my mind. Then my mission president, President Efivov, and his wife brought me the latest issues of the Liahona (Russian). In the article “Brothers” by Sheila Kindred (June 1995), I read the following line: “Brothers can never be burdens.” When I read this, I felt peace and joy.
Thanks for all the work that you do. I also appreciate the wonderful testimonies from all over the world.
Bondarenko Alla Victorovna,Voskresensky Branch, Ukraine Kiev Mission

Susan awoke to the smell of sausage frying. Saturday! That’s the only day Mom cooked sausage. She sat on the edge of her bed and stretched. A familiar rattle outside drew her to the window. Uncle Gordon’s brown pickup truck drove into the driveway in a cloud of dust.
Susan quickly straightened the bed covers and tucked them in. She slipped into her blue jeans and lavender gingham cowboy shirt. Then she grabbed her cowboy boots and pulled them on as she ran down the hall.
“Good morning, Kate,” she heard Uncle Gordon greet her mother. “Is Susan up yet this morning?”
“Here I am, Uncle Gordon,” she called. “Did you get the new horses?”
“Well, now, I like that,” he teased. “I haven’t seen you since school started, and all you can think of is horses.”
“I’m glad to see you too.” Susan grinned. “How are you? Did you get the horses?”
“That’s better,” he laughed. “Yes, I did. I picked up two yesterday.”
“What do they look like?” she asked.
“They’re both mares and as black as the root cellar at midnight,” he told her. “I’m having a hard time figuring out what to call them. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping your mother would let you spend the day at the ranch with me. Then you could have the job of naming them.”
“May I please? I’ll do my chores before I go,” she promised.
“It’s fine with me if your father doesn’t need you today,” Mom agreed.
The kitchen door opened wide, and Dad entered with pail of fresh milk. “Good morning, Gordon,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but Kate doesn’t allow us to have milk shakes before breakfast.”
Susan grinned. She liked her father’s sense of humor. “May I go home with Uncle Gordon?” she asked. “He has two new horses, and he needs me to name them. May I, please?”
“Hold on just a minute, young lady,” her father said. “You can’t go anywhere without breakfast. How about joining us, Gordon?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he admitted. “No one makes biscuits like my sister-in-law.”
“Susan, will you get the pitcher of orange juice while I finish setting the table?” her mother asked. “Then we can eat.”
“The men will go wash up,” Father said.
“Don’t forget the raspberry jam,” Gordon whispered to Susan as he headed to the bathroom.
After breakfast, as Susan and Uncle Gordon drove from Pleasant Heights to Middleton, Susan studied her uncle. He looked a lot like her father, only much younger. He’d only been home from his mission a few years. He was medium in build and had strong arms like her father’s from throwing bales of hay. Both had brown arms and faces from a summer in the sun. The strong jaw and high cheekbones were the same too. But Dad’s hair was dark brown touched with gray. Uncle Gordon’s was blond.
“Why don’t you get married, Uncle Gordon?” Susan asked.
“Because I haven’t met someone just like you yet,” he laughed.
Susan blushed at his joke. Deep down she didn’t want Uncle Gordon to get married right away. He would have less time for her if he did. But she knew that someday she would have to share him.
Grandpa had been ill when Uncle Gordon returned from his mission to Brazil. Uncle Gordon had taken over the ranch and cared for Grandpa until he died last summer. At first, it was hard for Susan to go to the ranch after Grandpa died. She loved the horses, but everywhere she went, she expected to see him. Uncle Gordon understood how she felt. He knew when to make her laugh and when to let her think about the emptiness she felt without Grandpa.
When they arrived at the ranch, Uncle Gordon pointed to the pasture by the barn. “There they are,” he told her. “You go over and get acquainted.”
“Are they broke?” she asked.
“One of them is, and one isn’t,” he said, “so be careful. I have a truckful of grain to unload. I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re getting along.”
Susan leaned against the top rail of the fence and watched the two horses grazing side by side. They look just alike from here, she thought. Still, being around horses all her life taught her that no two horses were ever exactly alike. I’ll find the difference, she told herself.
She climbed the fence and walked slowly around the edge of the pasture until she could see their faces. The closest horse whinnied and tossed her head. Susan saw a brief flash of white. There must be a small blaze under her forelock, she thought. The mare tossed her head again. There was the blaze! It’s like the moon hiding on a cloudy night.
The second mare cocked her head to one side and studied Susan. Then she sauntered over to her and nuzzled at her jean pocket.
“What are you looking for?” Susan asked. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. The horse carefully put its lips around the cube on the palm of Susan’s hand, then nudged again at her pocket.
“You’ve had enough.” Susan pushed her nose away. “The other one is for your friend.”
The second mare continued to nuzzle at her, letting Susan scratch her behind the ears. “You’re pretty friendly, aren’t you, girl,” she said, stroking the horse’s slender nose. She’d keep her distance more if she was wild, Susan reasoned. Well, there’s one way to find out if she’s broke or not.
Uncle Gordon’s rule was if she could catch, saddle, and bridle it, she could ride it, so Susan headed for the tack room of the barn. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment when she entered the barn, to help her eyes adjust to the dim light. The saddles rested on sawhorses against the wall of the tack room; the bridles hung on the wall above them. She chose her favorite saddle from the farthest sawhorses, and the bridle closest to the door.
Talking softly, she approached the mare. The horse stood steady as Susan slipped the bit into her mouth and the leather strap over her ears. After putting on the saddle blanket, Susan paused for a moment. The mare acted indifferent to the blanket, so Susan slung the saddle onto her back too. She pulled the cinch tight, lifted her left foot into the stirrup, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, then took the reins and clucked her tongue. “Come on, girl,” she coaxed. “Let’s take a little walk.”
At first they swayed gently back and forth together. Then the mare went crazy. She ran full speed toward the fence. Just when Susan was sure that they would hit it, the mare turned with a jerk that nearly snapped her rider out of the saddle. Susan grabbed the saddle horn tightly with one hand and pulled back on the reins with the other. “Whoa, girl!”
But the mare just continued her wild dance. She stiffened her legs and bounced across the pasture. Each jolt forced the air out of Susan’s lungs. The horse spun around several times, then ran full speed toward the open barn door! Susan knew that the top of the door was only about a foot taller than the mare’s back, but she didn’t dare roll to the ground—the horse might suddenly turn back and trample her. Heavenly Father, help! she prayed silently.
“Lie down!” the thought pushed through her fear.
She lay back until her head rested on the horse’s rump just as the mare lunged over the threshold of the barn. The top of the door frame missed Susan’s nose by inches.
Once inside the barn, the horse stopped as though she had come in from a leisurely trail outing. She pulled a mouthful of hay from the manger and was chewing innocently when Uncle Gordon came running into the barn. “Are you all right, Susan?”
Susan was still lying on the horse’s rump, catching her breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Yeah, I’m OK,” she replied sheepishly between breaths. “I guess I got the wrong horse.”
“You got the right one if you’re training for the rodeo,” he laughed. “I couldn’t have paid for a better show than the two of you put on.”
Susan sat up, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, and slid to the ground. Uncle Gordon put his arm around her and walked her to the house. They sat on the porch steps and listened to a meadowlark calling. Susan sat on the top step, and Uncle Gordon sat two below her. It made them eye level.
“Did you come up with some names for me?” Uncle Gordon asked at length.
She nodded. “I’d call the one in the pasture Moonlight for the small blaze hidden under her forelock. And you can call the one in the barn Nightmare!”
“What great names,” he laughed. “Do you think you’ll take up breaking horses?”
“It was exciting,” she assured him. “But I think I’ll leave that to you. I did learn one thing, though—next time I’m going to ask Heavenly Father if I made the right choice before I get on a horse.”

A story shared by our beloved associate, Elder Henry B. Eyring, illustrates this principle of commitment still further. This story is about his father, the great scientist Henry Eyring, who served on the Bonneville Stake high council. He was responsible for the welfare farm, which included a field of onions that needed to be weeded. At that time, he was nearly 80 and suffering from painful bone cancer. He assigned himself to do weeding even though the pain was so great that he pulled himself along on his stomach with his elbows. The pain was too great for him to kneel. Yet he smiled, laughed, and talked happily with the others who were there that day weeding that field of onions. I now quote what Elder Eyring said of this incident:

“After all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone [said to] him, ‘Henry, good heavens! You didn’t pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway.’

“Dad just roared. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway.

“… I [asked] him, ‘Dad how could you make a joke out of that?’ …

“He said something to me that I will never forget. … He said, ‘Hal, I wasn’t there for the weeds.’”

In the fall of 1978, Jeff, as we’ll call him, was very discouraged with life. He was born in the Church but had been mostly inactive. He had married a member but after a few years became disenchanted, and because of marital difficulties they had separated. In addition to that challenge, Jeff was suffering from severe health problems. He had diabetes, which caused partial blindness.
He worked as a night watchman in a chemical plant. His work associates were not members of the Church. Over the months they chided him saying, “Come on, Jeff, let’s go have a beer,” “One cigarette won’t hurt,” or “I’ve got some pretty friends we could have some fun with tonight.” Opportunities to break the commandments were presented, but he did not partake of any of those things.
On a Friday evening, discouraged and lonely, Jeff was invited to meet a friend in Las Vegas to have a wild time. With a feeling of desperation he decided that he would go. He thought to himself, “What does it matter? No one cares about me anymore. I’m miserable. I’ll go.” Thus, he boarded a bus to Las Vegas. Sitting on the bus he conjured up evil thoughts of the things that he would do. He would show his ex-wife, the Church, and everybody else. As this evil spirit about him persisted, he became more and more determined what his course of action would be.
Then a United States serviceman boarded the bus and walked down the aisle. He could have selected any number of seats, but he sat down by Jeff. The serviceman was a very cheerful young man, and as he talked to Jeff he let slip words like “family unit” and “the Church.” Jeff began to be suspicious, wondering if this young man might be a member of the Church. The serviceman then asked, “What would you think if I told you I didn’t smoke or drink coffee or alcohol either? And if I told you that at 26 years of age I’m morally clean?” Jeff pretended to be shocked and said, “Is that right?” The serviceman asked, “Do you think there is something wrong with that?” Jeff said, “No, every man has the right to choose what he wants to do.” Then the young man began to bear his testimony about the truthfulness of the gospel and in the process told him that he had had the privilege of baptizing 15 people in the last six years. As the bus pulled into the station where he was to get off, the serviceman again bore his testimony, got off the bus, and disappeared into the crowd.
Jeff was struck with amazement. He thought to himself, “Here I am wallowing in self-pity and this young man with as many problems as I have is out facing the world positively. Here I sit criticizing myself and everything around me.” Right then Jeff knew what he must do in Las Vegas. He kept saying over and over to himself, “I’ve got to take hold of myself. I must get out of this hole and off of the defensive. He arrived in Las Vegas and did meet his friend, but this time Jeff was in charge. He returned home with his faith strengthened and thankful that the Lord had provided a “man of the hour.”
Will that young serviceman ever know that he was talking to another member of the Church? Will he ever know that he was in tune with the Lord and, as an instrument in His hands, saved Jeff from most undesirable consequences?

When Australian Latter-day Saints Bob Love and Maggie Henry were married in 1929, they had the ceremony performed by the local Presbyterian minister in his church. Then the bridal party traveled to the Enmore Latter-day Saint branch chapel, where Mission President Clarence H. Tingey held what was called, in the mission’s year-end report, a “confirmation service” to bless their marriage.
Brother and Sister Love did what circumstances forced many young Latter-day Saints to do. The nearest temple was almost 10,000 kilometers away in Hawaii, and the round trip passage for two was the equivalent of several years’ wages. The state government of New South Wales would not license Latter-day Saints to officiate at marriages, so the Loves and others like them had to have a civil marriage, in another church or at a government registry office. It was not until 1952 that the Loves were able to take their five children to the Salt Lake Temple to be sealed.