Gospel Story Finder

With an angry mob of more than 300 promising to destroy them in the morning, the group of Saints who made up Zion’s Camp was hoping and praying for a miracle.
Under Joseph Smith’s leadership, Zion’s Camp had been marching for weeks from Ohio to Missouri. These Church members were hoping to help the Saints who had been driven out of Jackson County, Missouri, USA, to regain their lands. But they faced threats and opposition throughout their march. And now, yet another mob was threatening them.
The miracle that the Zion’s Camp Saints prayed for would soon arrive. It came in the form of dark clouds gathering in the distance. A violent thunderstorm erupted on all sides and dumped massive hailstones. The storm stopped the mob in its tracks.
“It seemed as if the mandate of vengeance had gone forth from the God of battles to protect his servants from the destruction of their enemies,” Joseph Smith’s history explains. “The hail fell on them, and not on us, and we suffered no harm except the blowing down of some of our tents and getting some wet, while our enemies had holes made in their hats and otherwise received damage, even the breaking of their rifle stocks and the fleeing of their horses.”1
Destructive hailstones were just one part of the storm. Rain poured down so hard that Fishing River, the river separating the two groups, swelled to almost 40 feet (12 meters) deep. It had only been ankle deep in the morning.
The Lord promised the members of Zion’s Camp, “I will fight your battles” (Doctrine and Covenants 105:14). When that happens, there’s no doubt which side is going to win.

But changing colors is not the only unusual feat performed by octopuses. Since they have no bones, they can also dramatically change their shape and squeeze through extremely small openings. The story is told of a naturalist who caught an octopus about a foot long. He put it in a wicker basket and went for a ride on the streetcar with it. About ten minutes later there came a bloodcurdling scream from the other end of the car. Sure enough, the octopus had squeezed through a half-inch crack in the basket and was now sitting on the lap of a hysterical passenger.

When Wade first showed up at school, he let me know right away that he didn’t have any use for me. Thanksgiving was three days away, and the class was working on a report about the Pilgrims when he marched into Mrs. Steinhart’s fifth grade class with a huge scowl on his face.
He was wearing a pair of dusty blue jeans with black grease marks below the knees. His faded sweatshirt was a bit ragged at the neck, and the sole of one shoe was pulling away at the toe.
“It’s nice to have you in our class,” Mrs. Steinhart welcomed Wade with a smile.
“I’m not going to be here long,” he grumbled. “I have better places to go.”
“Well, we want to make sure you’re comfortable while you are here,” Mrs. Steinhart answered, as polite and cheerful as always. She looked around the classroom. “Why don’t you take that desk back by James,” Mrs. Steinhart said, pointing at me. Suddenly I felt sick. “James, will you make sure Wade feels comfortable? Answer his questions and help him in any way you can.”
Wade stomped back and dropped into the desk next to mine. I turned toward him, and he muttered, “Just stay out of my way, kid. I don’t need anybody holding my hand.”
I tried to pretend that Wade wasn’t there, but I couldn’t help sneaking a glance at him now and then. He was big for fifth grade, probably the biggest kid in the class. Once Mrs. Steinhart had him read out of our social studies book, and he stumbled over the words, even some of the little ones.
At noon, he snapped at me when I told him where to get his tray and pick up his milk. “I’ve been in a cafeteria before.” But not our cafeteria! He picked up a plate from the wrong side of the counter, and the cook yelled at him. When he left the serving area, he went out the wrong door, and Mr. Hansen, the principal, made him go back and use the right one. He found a place to sit—at the sixth grade table. Mr. Hansen made him move.
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, even though he had been so unfriendly. “You can sit over here with me,” I offered. He glowered at me and found a spot at the end of the table by himself.
Wade wasn’t any friendlier on his second day of school. He didn’t speak except to snap at someone or brag about how much money his dad made. At recess he sat in a corner of the playground and glared at the rest of us as we played.
The next school day was the last before Thanksgiving break. When I got home, Mom called me into the kitchen. “James, Sister Wray called. Wilbur ran away again. She’s wondering if you’d mind looking for him.”
“Not again. Why doesn’t she just get rid of that crazy cat? He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
Mom smiled. “Sister Wray loves that old cat, and you do, too. Maybe you could bike around the neighborhood and see if you can spot him.”
Grumbling a little, I buttoned my coat, climbed onto my bike, and started riding around. A couple of blocks from home, I spotted the big orange tomcat dart down a dirt lane to a vacant lot overgrown with bushes and trees and filled with junk. It was just the kind of place that Wilbur loved to explore.
I was so busy looking for him that I didn’t notice that I’d ridden right up to a small trailer. Wade and a younger boy were in front of it, smashing aluminum cans. Wade and I were almost face to face before either of us realized it.
“What are you doing snooping around here?” Wade demanded. “This is private property.”
I stood straddling my bike. I’m l-looking for my n-neighbor’s cat,” I stammered.
“Well, we don’t have him,” Wade fired back. “Now get out of here!”
The younger boy stepped forward. “I’m Wade’s brother, Russell,” he said with a friendly smile. “I saw a big orange cat over there just a minute ago.” He pointed to a pile of trash near the tiny trailer.
We all looked. A moment later, Wilbur’s tail twitched into view, and then his head peeked over a cardboard box. “That’s him!” I said.
“Well, take him and get out,” Wade growled. “Dad doesn’t like anybody coming around here without permission.” He stomped into the trailer.
“Don’t mind Wade,” Russell remarked, mashing a soda can and tossing it into a rusty barrel. “He’s just embarrassed for people to see where we live. You’re in Wade’s class, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “I’m James.” I pressed my lips together. “So, you collect cans?”
Russell set another one down. “It’s the only way Wade and I get any spending money.” He stomped on the can, then shrugged. “Mostly though, we give the money to Dad for milk or something.”
I looked around. “I didn’t know anybody was living here.”
“Dad works over at Mr. Aylor’s wrecking yard. Mr. Aylor owns this place, too, and he said we could stay here if we’d clean things up. Dad’s trying to get enough money so we can move to Colorado. He thinks he can get a good job there so we won’t have to stay in a dump like this.”
“Where’s your mom?” I asked.
Russell looked away. “She died a couple of years ago. Dad looks after us, but it’s not the same as when Mom was here.” Russell smiled. “Dad can’t cook, so Wade and I are learning.”
“Why are you still here?” Wade barked from the trailer door. He clomped down the shaky wooden steps. “Get your cat and go. We have work to do.”
“I was talking to him,” Russell said. “I was telling him that we’re going to move to Colorado if Dad can get that job.”
“Don’t tell him anything. It’s none of his business. He’ll just go back to school and tell everyone how we’re living here, and they’ll start making fun of us.” Wade jabbed an angry finger at me. “You open your big mouth, and you’ll answer to me! Now go away and stay away.”
Slowly I went over and picked Wilbur up, then started back to my bike. “I’ll say whatever I want,” I called back. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Wade started toward me, but Russell grabbed his arm. “Leave him alone, Wade. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
I took Wilbur to Sister Wray, then went home. As I started up our walk, I took a good look at our house. We weren’t rich or anything, but we had a real house and a nice yard. I had a mom and a dad, three sisters and a brother. I hadn’t ever thought of myself as having a lot, but compared to Wade and Russell, I was rich. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like living in a tiny trailer surrounded by trash and weeds, without a mom, and not knowing how long we’d be there.
I wanted to dislike Wade, but I couldn’t, not without feeling guilty. The last few weeks in Primary, Sister Pearce had talked about Jesus and what He did when people were mean to Him. What would Jesus do if He ran into somebody like Wade? I wondered. I knew one thing for sure—He wouldn’t just walk away and forget about him.
As I pushed my bike into the garage, I spotted a plastic bag that was lumpy with several dozen empty pop cans. I wondered what it would be like to collect aluminum cans just for a little spending money. Or for buying milk.
Mom was making pies. “Are we having lots of company tomorrow?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “Not this year. Your Aunt Renae and Uncle Albert were going to come, but they’ve had a change of plans, so it looks like it’ll be just us. Do you think we can eat all this food by ourselves?”
“What if I invited somebody to help us out?”
Mom laughed. “Just tell me how many and how hungry.”
I returned to the garage, grabbed the bag of cans, and rode my bike back to Wade’s. He and Russell were still smashing cans. Wade saw me coming. “I told you to stay away from here.”
I climbed off my bike and handed him the cans. “We had these in the garage. I thought that maybe you could use them.”
Wade glared at me without moving. Russell took the bag. “Thanks. Every can helps.”
For a moment we all stared at each other without speaking; then I asked, “Could I help smash cans? I’m not doing anything right now.”
“Are you just trying to—”
“He wants to help,” Russell cut him off. “We don’t have to be mean to everybody. He didn’t have to come back, and we’re already behind.”
“Nobody comes by just to help. Nobody ever has. You wait and see what happens,” he barked at Russell. “He’ll be telling everybody about us.”
“You obviously don’t know me very well,” I said quietly.
Ignoring Wade, Russell said, “We’re supposed to have all these smashed by the time Dad gets home.” He jabbed a thumb toward Wade. “Don’t mind him. He’s not half mean.” He grinned. “Sometimes he’s even nice.”
For a long time Wade just watched as Russell and I stomped cans flat and tossed them into the barrel. Finally he bent over and started helping. We worked fast, none of us saying much. Thirty minutes later we were finished.
“Thanks,” Russell said. “You can help anytime.” He grinned.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked him.
“Dad has to work late tomorrow. But he is going to pick up some chicken for our supper.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “Why don’t you and Wade come over to my place for dinner? Usually we have lots of company for Thanksgiving, but not tomorrow. There’ll be plenty to eat. I already told Mom to set a couple of extra places. She’ll be upset if you don’t show.”
“We have work to do,” Wade spoke up. But he didn’t sound as gruff and angry. He even looked a little disappointed. “Thanks anyway.”
Russell nodded and motioned around the trailer. “We’re supposed to clean a bunch of this up.” He shrugged. “Dad’s counting on us.”
“I’m not doing much tomorrow. What do you say I come over and give you a hand?” I looked at Wade. “Then—if it’s OK with your dad—you can come eat with us and still have supper with him tomorrow night.”
“What are you doing this for?” he asked suspiciously, but he was starting to soften.
I thought for a moment. “Everybody can use an extra friend. Even guys like me.” I smiled. “I’ll be here early in the morning. Then we’ll head over to my place for dinner about one—unless we get hungry before then. Mom always has a few things we can snack on before the big dinner.” I grinned and started for my bike.
“Hey, wait,” Wade called to me. I stopped and turned, half expecting him to growl at me again. “Thanks.” He glared at the ground, then sneaked a look at me. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

One of the most profound means of instilling a righteous image in our children is through the use of scripture and family stories. My own image of what I wanted to be began with stories of my great-grandfather, Robert D. Young. He lived to be ninety-five years old and died when I was fourteen years old. But I love the man as much as if he had walked with me and taught me every step I was to take.
I have few recollections of my own concerning him, but I was raised on stories about him. One of my favorites told of how as a young teenager he had hired on with a group of cowboys to run a herd of cattle from Colorado to Texas. During the first few days of the journey, the owner of the herd, a very wealthy man with no family of his own, rode with the group, but then left to attend to other business. As the cowboys made their way to Texas, the other men, all older than grandfather, spent their free time in pursuits that grandfather didn’t consider worthwhile. Instead of joining them, he would find a quiet spot and study mathematics and engineering.
The night before they arrived at their destination, the other cowboys decided they wanted to go into a nearby town and celebrate their safe arrival. They tried to get grandfather to go, but grandfather insisted that he had been hired to tend the cattle, and he would do just that. Later that night, the owner returned to find grandfather alone with his cattle. He was so impressed that he offered grandfather one-half of all he owned if he would become his business partner. Grandfather would have never again wanted for anything, but he refused. He said he just didn’t feel like that was what the Lord wanted him to do.
Many times during my youth I remember thinking, “I want to be just like my grandfather!” Other times I would ask myself, “Now what would grandfather do?” and then act accordingly.

During the autumn of our freshman year in high school, one of my close friends lost her youngest sister to leukemia. The day I heard the news, I saw my friend from a distance, standing apart from the others at the bus stop. I could see her grief stamped clearly across the features of her face, and I yearned to do something to comfort her, but the situation made me suddenly shy. Although I had known the girl for years, I did not know what to say or do. So I avoided her. Some time later, after the shock of her sister’s death had subsided, my friend said to me, “I always thought it strange that neither you nor any of my other friends said anything to me when Katy died.”

When our Heavenly Father made provisions for us to become mortal, he knew, of course, that we would all one day travel through a “valley of shadow and tears.” Painful changes, illness, death—we cannot avoid them. Yet if there is anything more difficult than dealing with these things ourselves, perhaps it is watching a good friend attempting to cope with them. Witnessing a friend wrestle with the effects of any personal tragedy can often leave us feeling helpless. “What can I say? What can I do?” we may ask ourselves at such times. This sense of helplessness, unfortunately, causes many of us to do what I did: turn our backs on the problem.

That we should do otherwise is made clear by the scriptures. Through word and deed the Savior indicated that we must not neglect those who are suffering. Recall, for example, his response to the news of Lazarus’ death. John tells us that “Jesus wept.” Although Christ surely knew that he could raise Lazarus from the dead, he still grieved for his friends Mary and Martha to the point where he was actually moved to tears. His concern for them then caused him to take specific action to alleviate their sorrow and glorify his Father by commanding that Lazarus return to the realm of the living.

Perhaps we cannot work miracles in the manner of Christ, but as with all things, we can follow his example of caring. What can we do, then, when a friend is suffering? Perhaps one of the most important yet difficult things to do is to verbally and frankly acknowledge the problem a friend is facing. My friend remarked, “If any of you had even approached me and said, ‘I’m sorry,’ we would have both been more comfortable, more at ease with each other and the situation.” It is crucially important that we do not allow tragedy to become a barrier to communication. Verbalizing sympathy may be exactly what a sorrowing friend needs.

A word of caution may be in order here, however. A friend of mine named Doug lost his father in an automobile accident when he was in junior high school. Though he knew they meant well, it was difficult for him to hear peers whose parents were still living say, “I know exactly how you feel.” The fact is they probably didn’t, and consequently their well-intentioned remarks sounded callous. A simple “I’m sorry” would have been more appropriate. Furthermore, Doug felt oppressed by those people who felt it was their duty to get him to “talk about it” every time they associated with him. Once he felt the concern and sympathy of his friends by their simple expressions of sympathy, he preferred to bring up the subject himself.

As important as acknowledging a situation is, it would be wrong to assume that words alone are enough. Though we may truly mean it when we say, “Let me know if there is anything I can do to help,” most people might hesitate to call on us, fearing that they would be imposing on our time by doing so. How much better it is to take the initiative and actually do something for a friend without being asked.

I know of one Laurel-aged girl named Diana who will always appreciate what a good friend did for her without being asked during a critical period of her life. When she was 17, Diana became extremely and chronically depressed. Her depression was so severe that she eventually required medical attention. When her friend Rachel learned of this, she made quietly sure that she was available whenever Diana needed her. To this day Diana maintains that the phone calls, long walks, tennis matches, and lengthy conversations on a variety of subjects, including her illness, were instrumental in helping her return to full health and activity.

Finally, it is important to remind ourselves that the effects of many personal tragedies can be long lasting. Painful feelings are not always resolved quickly, and it often takes a great deal of time for a person to work through his or her grief. We must be careful not to assume that just because an individual has resumed his normal activities, he no longer requires special attention.

A boy named Stan related the following experience to me. One summer afternoon his younger brother was involved in an accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Immediately after the accident, friends of both boys, as well as ward members, were very supportive and attentive. Within a few weeks, however, the visits and offers to help became fewer and fewer. Before long Stan, his brother, and other members of the family felt isolated because of the tragedy. A few short weeks were simply not enough time for them to come to terms with the new and difficult realities that confronted them individually and as a family. Continued support from caring friends would have been truly appreciated.

As much as we would like to, we cannot often change the circumstances causing a good friend pain. We can, however, help him to deal with that pain by caring, the kind of caring that translates itself into words and deeds of genuine compassion. Expressing sympathy, demonstrating concern through specific action, and making a long-term commitment to the person in need are all important steps we can take in helping a person we love come to grips with the circumstances of his or her life.

Some time later another family crisis occurred. My teenage daughter lost her contact lenses—both of them. She accused herself, saying—“How could I be so stupid”—and other family members silently agreed. Again everyone scurried around looking everywhere for contact lenses. As I was doing my part in the search, I passed my daughter’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see her kneeling by her bed and could hear her soft, pleading words asking if Heavenly Father would please, please help us find those contact lenses. We all hunted for hours, but despite our best efforts the contact lenses never appeared. My daughter was perplexed; she said, “After I said my prayer I knew we would find those contact lenses. Grandmother’s prayer helped us find the keys. But we didn’t find the contact lenses and I don’t understand why not.”
This teenage girl was wrestling with one of the great issues faced by many people—does the Lord truly hear and answer our prayers, for it seems that sometimes our prayers are answered, and sometimes they appear to be ignored. And some further questions arise because of experiences such as those with the contact lenses and keys—does the Lord answer prayers for Grandmothers and not for teenagers? Do some people have greater influence with the Lord than others? Or is the finding of keys or contacts merely a matter of chance, and the Lord has nothing to do with it?
To answer some of the above questions, let us go to the scriptures. When the Savior was on earth, he gave us the pattern for our prayers. He said, “After this manner therefore pray ye.” (Matt. 6:9–13.)
A. “Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.”
First there is a recognition and acknowledgment of God as our Father in heaven and an expression of our personal reverence for him.
B. “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”
As we pray, Jesus advises us to ask always that God’s will be done. Many people do not include this as a part of praying. Even for lost keys or contact lenses we often want our will to be done—we want them found right now, please. When even more important matters are of concern—a loved one is ill, a child is away from home, a difficult decision must be made—many people want the Lord to answer their prayers in a specific way. They are afraid that if they ask for God’s will to be done, his will or plan may be different from theirs. It takes great maturity or faith to pray that our own desires be put aside and the Lord’s will be done. Even in little matters like lost contact lenses, the Lord might feel that the lessons learned from not locating them at all may be more important than giving a person what he wants immediately. In the Lord’s perspective of things, what is needed may be far more important than what is wanted.
C. “Give us this day our daily bread.”
Should we pray for such simple things as lost articles? Certainly. The Lord is aware of everything that happens to us. Jesus clearly taught that the very hairs of our head are numbered. (See Matt. 10:29–30.) We are advised to pray always, about all of our concerns, our fears, our sorrows, hopes, aspirations, and problems. In the Book of Mormon we are told to pray over all things in our daily lives. In the case of the Book of Mormon people, they were told to pray over their flocks and fields, representing the concerns of each day just as the Savior said we should ask for our daily bread. But recall that the admonition is to pray for the necessities, not luxuries, the unnecessary things or what you might like to have today. When you are not sure whether you are praying for a necessity, the basic rule is always to pray but ask that “thy will be done.”
D. “And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
This matter of forgiveness is so important that immediately following the Lord’s prayer in Matthew, the Savior emphasized again the matter of forgiving. He said, “For if ye forgive men their trespasses your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
“But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” (Matt. 6:14–15.)
When we pray we should consider our own lives and pray for help in putting our own lives in order. It is interesting that the Savior identified the issue of forgiveness as one area we should all try to improve in.
E. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
Would God ever lead us astray? Of course not. James E. Talmage comments about this part of the prayer: “We are not to understand that God would ever lead man into temptation … The intent of the supplication appears to be that we be preserved from temptation which we do not have the power to withstand.” (Jesus the Christ, Chapter 17, pp. 240–241, paragraph 20.)
When we look at the counsel of the Lord to us in these latter days, we find that many of the references to prayer in the Doctrine and Covenants have to do with praying that we will be able to resist the power of the adversary, that we will not be overcome, that we can be delivered from evil. Sometimes we pray only for the little daily crisis—for lost keys and contacts—and the more important matters are ignored. Surely we should ask for help in small matters, but we also should pray constantly that we will have the power to resist temptation.
F. “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.”
Again at the end, we should acknowledge the greatness and power of God. He is our Creator, our Heavenly Father, and we are dependent on him. Sometimes, if we think about all the matters that are important in his kingdom and the greatness of his power and glory, we may feel ashamed that we even bother him about misplaced glasses. But he is aware of every sparrow and hair of the head, and he is never too busy to hear the sincere prayer.
Sometimes it seems that Heavenly Father might be more influenced by the prayers of a grandmother than of a teenager, because Grandmother has lived a long life of dedication and service, and teenagers are beginning life. God is no respecter of persons. (See D&C 1:35.) He does not favor one person over another. Each is precious in his sight. But we know that an increase in our own worthiness qualifies us for the blessings of our Father in heaven. It is not so much who prays, but the spirit in which the prayer is given and the faith of the person offering the prayer.
We must also remember that Jesus condemned those who prayed to be seen of men, (see Matt. 6:5) who used vain repetitions (see Matt. 6:7) and were boastful and proud. He was impressed by the humble prayer of the sinner who would not even lift up his eyes to heaven and who prayed only that God would be merciful unto him—a sinner. (See Luke 18:13.)
We are told in the scriptures, “Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers.” (D&C 112:10.) The Book of Mormon teaches us, “And he inviteth them all to come unto Him and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God, both Jew and Gentile.” (2 Ne. 26:33.)
Isn’t it possible that the keys would have been found whether Grandmother prayed or not. Yes, that certainly is possible. Good things occur by chance, or by diligence, or by practice and not just by prayer. Jesus indicated that the rain fell on the just and the unjust—everyone will receive some measure of good fortune (see Matt. 5:45). We are told that there are laws established “before the foundations of the world upon which all blessings are predicated. When we obtain any blessing it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” (D&C 130: 20–21.) Anyone who obeys a law will receive the blessing attached to that law. Sometimes we will receive some blessings because of our obedience to a law not connected to a prayer.
The golfer, Arnold Palmer, once hit a golf ball into a hole that was quite far away to win a tournament. An observer remarked, “Arnold, you certainly were lucky.” Mr. Palmer then commented, “It is interesting that the more I practice the ‘luckier’ I get.” Would the Lord answer prayers to hit golf balls into holes far away if we didn’t practice? Probably not. Some blessings require more than just prayers for as James observed, “Faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” (James 2:17.)
However, the scriptures are also clear that God is aware of everything that happens. Jesus told us that the Father was aware of our needs even before we asked him. The Lord has said, “And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.” (D&C 59:21.) The Lord’s hand is in all things, and we should acknowledge that Heavenly Father can have an influence in those things that are for our good.
How then do we understand prayer? It is one of our most effective connecting links with Heavenly Father. We should be careful to use it wisely and in the right spirit. He knows what we need and in his wisdom will grant us the blessings we need and quality for. In all things we pray for his will to be done and we also pray for the faith to accept his will in our lives.

In 1836 Parley P. Pratt went to Canada following a great prophecy uttered by Heber C. Kimball in which Brother Pratt was instructed to go to Toronto. He was told that he would there find people waiting for him who would receive the gospel, and that from there the gospel would spread into England, where a great work would be done. In Toronto he found President John Taylor, the Fieldings, and many others.

In August of the next year, 1837, the Prophet Joseph Smith, with Sidney Rigdon and Thomas B. Marsh, then President of the Twelve Apostles, visited Toronto. Riding in a carriage and holding evening meetings by candlelight, they visited the churches. Elder Taylor accompanied them. He said: “This was as great a treat to me as I ever enjoyed. I had daily opportunities of conversing with them, of listening to their instructions, and in participating in the rich stores of intelligence that flowed continually from the Prophet Joseph.”

Ricardo and his friends stood outside one of the sealing rooms in the São Paulo Brazil Temple, wondering why they couldn’t go in. No one was stopping them; after all, the temple was being rededicated, and this was its open house. They asked the leader they were with why they couldn’t go in, but he couldn’t tell them. He felt the same restraining spirit. It was a good spirit, but still it stopped them from entering.
Then it occurred to the leader. This room was reserved for President Gordon B. Hinckley. He would be there shortly, looking for some time alone in the Lord’s house, seeking the Lord’s peace and inspiration in prayer.
Ricardo and his friends quietly left.

Katie Patterson, 12, and Ingrid Millard, 13, were buddies to Kathy. She, too, is wheelchair bound with cerebral palsy and severe retardation. A lack of vital brain chemicals causes her to bite herself. For this reason, her arms were strapped to boards.
“I was scared at first,” said Katie Patterson. “But after I pushed her around for a while I wasn’t scared anymore. She’s nice.”
Ingrid Millard agreed. “We take her to see everything.”
What does Kathy think? Well, she had a big smile, which is her way of telling the world she’s happy.

The great wonder of writing and reading is indicated by the experience of an early-day explorer in the dark continent of Africa. He desired to send a message to a friend many miles away, and it was arranged for a trusted native to be his messenger. The native watched as with his pen the explorer made some marks on a piece of paper, which had no significance to him. Then the explorer gave the native the letter for delivery.
After traversing the many miles of wilderness, the native put the message in the hands of the one for whom it was intended. The native discovered that as soon as the recipient had studied the paper, he immediately knew exactly where the explorer was and what his problems were. He knew all about his health and as much about the needs that prompted him to send the letter as though the explorer had come in person.
The miracle involved in this mysterious communication so impressed the native that he fell down on his face and worshiped the paper.

A few years ago I had just reported to the mission field in Sacramento, California, as the new mission president. I had some questions that I thought were important, so I wrote a very formal letter to the First Quorum of the Seventy.
“Dear President Young.” He was the senior president then, and I listed the questions. Pretty soon, back came an answer. “Dear President Buckner.” And he listed all of the answers. Then at the bottom, in his own handwriting, he included a P.S. “Got your head above water yet, kid? If not, keep cooking.”
You know, it taught me a great lesson. Young men, you need to learn to do your best, wherever you are.

“Be sure you have a canteen. Make sure each girl has water.”

No one knew how ironic that advice was going to be as the girls from the Dallas Texas Stake set out on their certification hikes. Because the camp was in a farming area, the hike was confined to the outer perimeters of the camp. In the 100-degree heat, plenty of water would be essential.

The group had no sooner walked to the farthermost point from camp than a thunderstorm unleashed a torrent of rain. Sliding down the trail that had in moments become a stream, the girls broke out into song about Noah’s ark and headed for camp. Drenched to the skin, water running down their faces, the girls discarded soggy lunches, poured out full canteens, and tried to find dry clothes as their hike ended rather abruptly. Although backpacking is not a common recreational activity in this section of Texas, the Adventurers fill their requirements by being dropped off outside of camp and hiking in along farm lanes carrying all their gear.

Some years ago, when our oldest grandson, Jose, was four, he was playing with my wife. While they were laughing and having a good time together, our grandson asked her, “Grandma, do you love me?”
She answered him, “Yes, Jose, I do love you.”
Then he asked her another question: “How do you know that you love me?”
She explained to him her feelings and also told him all she had done and was willing to do for him.
Later my wife asked Jose the same questions, including this penetrating inquiry: “How do you know that you love me?”
With an innocent but sincere response, he said, “I love you because I feel it inside my heart.” Jose’s loving behavior to his grandmother that day and always demonstrates that love is a combination of actions as well as deep feelings.

“I remember being called into the bishop’s office for an interview,” said Elder Steve Lloyd of the Casper (Wyoming) Fifth Ward and the Switzerland Geneva Mission, “and realizing that I’d been thinking about the same things the bishop had. He said the Lord had called me to be the first assistant in the priests quorum, and I realized the Spirit had been preparing me to accept the call. It would be tough to be a missionary and not have had experiences like that with the Holy Ghost. You might not recognize what it was when it tried to prompt you.”

“Slow down, Tobias,” cautioned Mrs. Thornock.
Obediently ten-year-old Toby ate more slowly. “Papa,” he said, “I’ve done my chores and homework. May I go see Saffron now?”
“Who is Saffron?”
“Well, Saffron is … uh … one of the canaries, Papa.”
“One of the canaries!” Papa shook his head. “What have I told you about getting attached to those birds? You know how hard it is on you when we have to choose one for the mine.”
It was 1843, and at thirty-six, Mr. Thornock was the youngest foreman ever to work for the Pennsylvania coal mine. Hard work and self-education had gained him the position, and he wanted to keep it. He went on, “You also know that the birds will die eventually because they are needed to monitor the safety of the air in the mine. In fact, we will need one on Monday when we open a new tunnel. Have you forgotten that they belong to the mine owner? Besides, the time that you spend with the canaries prevents you from studying. You had a test today. How did you do? Did you study?”
Toby hung his head as he answered, “I didn’t do very well, Papa.” Raising his head again, he continued hopefully, “But Saffron is different, Papa. Can’t I please keep her? What’s one bird? The mine owner doesn’t have to know.”
“Mr. Mallory certainly would know, Toby. You know that I have to account for all expenditures, including the money spent for the canaries and their upkeep. Besides, keeping even one bird is dishonest, and your education is more important than any bird. You must spend more time with your studies.”
“That’s right, Tobias,” Mother agreed. “When will you learn how lucky you are? It took Papa a long time to get Mr. Dawson to allow you to attend his school. How would you like to have to go down into the mine as other boys your age do and as your father did when he was younger? He had to work very hard just to become a foreman. Papa and I want more for you than that.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Come on, Son. Let your mother do the dishes, and we’ll go choose the bird for Monday.”
Father and son went out together, but Toby’s reluctance was undisguised. More than anything else, he hated choosing a canary for the safety test.
In the building where the canaries were kept, Papa moved among the cages, commenting about this one or that one. Toby was not really paying attention, and when his father finally stopped in front of one of the cages, Toby bumped into him. When the boy lifted his head, he was horrified to see that his father was in front of Saffron’s cage.
Toby poked his father’s arm and pointed to a bird farther down. “How about that one, Papa?”
Not looking at his son, Mr. Thornock said, “No, I want this one. That other one isn’t big enough yet.” Hearing Toby gasp, he turned and looked steadily into his son’s eyes. Then he looked again at the bird. “So this is Saffron. She’s a fine bird. I’m sorry, Son, but she’s the one that I’ve chosen, and you know that I don’t change my mind once I’ve chosen a bird.”
Feeling tears come to his eyes, Toby turned and ran. His father shook his head, tagged the cage, then went back to the house.
After receiving an “I don’t know” from his wife as to his son’s whereabouts, he decided that Toby was off crying somewhere and left it at that. Sometime later Toby came home and went to his room.
The next morning was Saturday, and Toby was up and gone before his father. Because Toby had already done his chores, his father went unconcernedly to the mine.
That evening at dinner Toby was quieter than usual, and Papa finally said, “Toby, this has gone on long enough. I’m as sorry as you that we have to use those gentle birds for testing, but the men must be protected. Now, what did you do today?”
“Nothing, Papa.”
“Nothing! You must have done something.”
“No, Papa. After my chores, I just went to the creek and watched the birds and fish.”
Toby would say no more, and Papa gave up, deciding that maybe it was best to let his son talk about it when he was ready.
Sunday passed quietly, but as Toby ate his breakfast Monday morning, Papa went to get Saffron to take with him to the mine. Soon he came back into the house. “Tobias,” his father said, trying to control his anger, “where is the canary?”
Toby was afraid to look up but managed to answer him clearly. “In my secret place, Papa. I had to take her. I couldn’t let you have her.”
Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Mr. Thornock said, “I don’t want you to be late for school, so this evening you and I will have a serious talk. For now, I’ll have to choose a different bird.”
“Yes, Papa,” Toby whispered and fled the house.
All day Toby wished that school would never end. When it did let out, he slowly started home. Mrs. Wickstead, the postmistress, stopped him and gave him a letter for his father. The letter took his mind off his problems until he read the return address. It was from Mr. Mallory, the mine owner! Toby hoped that it wasn’t bad news and that maybe, because of the letter, his father would forget about Saffron.
“Well, that does it,” his father said that evening when he read the letter. “Tobias, you must bring the bird back. Mr. Mallory will be here in a few days to check on things. He says that expenses are too high and that I must cut back. I have to account for everything—even the canaries and their food. He says that if I can’t, I’ll no longer be a foreman.”
“Please, Papa. I can’t. Couldn’t you say that the bird died?”
His mother was shocked. “Tobias! You know that your father doesn’t lie.”
“Tobias, get the bird.”
“No, Papa. You can’t make me.” Tears streamed down Toby’s cheeks.
“If I can’t get through to you one way, it’ll have to be through another. Tomorrow you won’t go to school; you’ll go to the mine with me instead.”
Eyes wide and wet, Toby turned to his mother, who only lowered her eyes. The boy swallowed hard and looked again at his father. “Yes, Papa.”
Down in the mine the next morning Mr. Thornock introduced Toby to a few of the miners. He asked one of them, Mark Grayson, to show Toby around.
Mark took Toby to the newly opened tunnel and explained what Toby already knew—that when the tunnels were opened, sometimes there were poisonous gases that could kill because, having no odor, they were undetectable. “The birds are affected by the gas before we are,” Mark explained. “If the birds die, we have enough time to get everyone away so that the gas can thin out and mix with the less harmful air until it is safe to breathe. I like those birds, but I’d rather have a dead bird than be dead myself.”
That evening as Toby walked home with Papa, his thoughts were in a turmoil. He pictured Saffron down in the mine, dead from the gases. Then he imagined his father and all the miners dead in the mine. What if it actually happened! Toby loved his father very much.
After supper Toby said to his father. “Papa, I’ve put Saffron back with the other birds. And from now on I’m going to work really hard in school because I’ve decided that I want to be a scientist. I’m going to find a way so that we won’t have to use canaries.”
His father looked at him, opened his arms, and, when Toby went into them, hugged him tightly.

One beautiful night in April 1972, Elders McIntire and Richards knocked on my door. At that time my wife and I were searching for answers to many questions that confused and troubled us.
The powerful testimonies of those two representatives of the Lord deeply touched our souls. A marvelous new feeling filled our hearts. We received our answers.
Our first visit to church helped our testimonies grow because of the Spirit there and the love those people showed us. Their messages and testimonies confirmed that we had found the true Church.
We attended the meetings with respect and reverence, but we postponed baptism because we feared a negative reaction from our families.
During that time, the district of Rio de Janeíro held its quarterly conference. A strong spirit filled the hall. Brother Val Carter, a counselor to the mission president, spoke, declaring his complete dependence on Christ for salvation and exaltation.
A miracle occurred in that moment. The Holy Ghost reconfirmed the truthfulness of the gospel, and our fears vanished. On July 2, 1972, my wife and I and our eldest son, Marcus, entered the fold through the gates of baptism.
Since then, our families and friends have come to respect the Church. My sister Ivette and some of our best friends have accepted baptism.
What made these miracles possible? The testimonies of faithful Saints upon which I was temporarily dependent. They prepared my mind and heart to receive a full confirmation of the Holy Ghost.

Last February I saw this joy personified as I accompanied the missionaries in Santiago, Chile, to visit some of their converts. At the Basuare home, eight-year-old twin boys, Nicolas and Ignacio, met us at the door, dressed in white shirts and ties, just like missionaries. Their father had been baptized three weeks earlier, and the following week he baptized his wife and sons. We talked of their conversion. They shared their feelings of love for the missionaries and the joy they were experiencing in living the gospel and keeping the commandments. They proudly showed us the picture of the Santiago temple displayed in their living room, a symbol of their goal to become an eternal family one year from the date of their baptism.

I asked Nicolas if he would like to be a missionary when he grew up. He answered yes, and we shook hands on the promise that he would prepare for the day. Then I asked Ignacio the same question. He hesitated and replied, “I’m not sure I can make that promise. I’m only eight years old.” I persisted, “Nicolas made the promise. Wouldn’t you like to do the same?” He still hesitated and said, “I don’t know if I could be ready.” I could see I had taken on more than I could manage, so I said, “Perhaps you’d better talk this over with your father.”

He went to his father, who took him in his arms and said, “Ignacio, Jesus was a missionary. He walked the streets like Elder Sheets and his companion and made the people happy by teaching them to keep the commandments. Wouldn’t you like to be like Jesus?” “Yes, Papi, I would.” “Do you think if we work together, you can be ready to be a missionary when you are nineteen years old?” “I think so.” “Wouldn’t you like to make the promise to Elder Mickelsen that you will do that?” He came to me, and we shook hands to confirm the promise. I marveled that this young father, a convert of just three weeks, could be so sensitive in helping his family follow the Savior and how he emulated the missionaries in teaching his son. Their goal of becoming an eternal family will surely be reached under the guidance of this faithful father.

“He’s still afraid of snakes,” said Grandma A’Dell, looking at Grandpa out of the corner of her eye. “I loved snakes, especially the blow snakes that we caught in the cow pasture. Once, right after we were married, your grandpa and I were out on a walk, and I picked up a bitty little garter snake. Your grandpa told me to put it down right then and to never touch another snake if I wanted to touch him again. I let it go because I’d lots rather hug your grandpa than hold a snake.”

As children, my younger brother, Luke, and I were always excited for our father to return home from work. We would wait in our pyjamas and rush down the stairs to greet him in the garage when he arrived. Our father always let us know how excited he was to see us. He would refer to us as his “main men”. He would ask us how our day had been and how our mother was.
Sometimes our father would not return home until after we were tucked up in bed by our wonderful mother. On those occasions, he would come visit us in our rooms. We would always ask him to share a bedtime story with us. We loved his bedtime stories. They were always about us, Jared and Luke. Most importantly, the stories would always end in the same way: Jared and Luke would grow up to be good men and to serve missions.
These stories had a profound effect on us as growing boys. Through these stories, our father reinforced to us that our identity centred around the gospel of Jesus Christ, being good men of character, and being able to do whatever we set our mind to. When we travelled together as a family, our parents would emphasize we were children of God and that we could be successful at whatever we focused on in life.
I am convinced that these stories helped build our self-esteem and emotional resilience. By teaching us who we were and about our divine potential, our parents prepared us to be successful and to overcome adversity and challenges in life.

As I was coming home this afternoon, I saw a bride and groom coming out of that pretty little church on Spring Street. I thought, “That could well be one of my own children soon: beautiful, strong, happy, and in love—but marrying for only “until death do us part.” As I did. The thought made me feel wistful—it would be so beautiful to look forward to being forever with the one you love. I would like my children to be married in the temple, even though the Spring Street church is charming and a thousand miles closer to home.
By the time I got to the driveway my mind had turned to more daily thoughts: “Tomorrow is Sunday. I wish my love would even just go to church with us, to say nothing of going to the celestial kingdom. I hope he won’t be annoyed about using the car and the money for gas to drive the kids to the stake dance tonight, where I will sit alone and wait for them while he goes bowling.”
Our three teenagers were eating egg sandwiches and drinking lemonade on the deck and invited me to join them. They had been teasing Beth about her crush on a boy who had grown tall and handsome over the summer. He is a very nice person, but he is not at all interested in the Church. This was a perfect excuse for me to talk about those things which I had on my mind right then.
Our children have always chosen friends we felt we could trust, and I told them I was proud of them for that. But I also told them, “It is possible to find a lifetime love even while you’re a teenager, so it is important to date members of the Church.”
Melody said, “Well, Mom, I’m quite sure the Church is true, but I’m not really into it. So why should I date just members?”
“The gospel and the way of life it teaches will be more important to you than you realize now,” I told her. “It is important for your earthly happiness as well as your eternal happiness to marry someone who cares about the things you care about. Can you believe that life-style can ruin a relationship with someone you live with? You know how hard it is to get along with Beth just sharing a room, and you already have the same beliefs!”
They both laughed and told about the agreement they had finally come to this morning about tolerating each other’s noise and clutter. (Let’s hope it works!)
Then I said, “I know you each will marry people who we will be proud to take into the family. However, because of the painfulness of an interfaith marriage, it is important to date people who share your values. Becoming seriously involved with someone who would not go to church with you, much less the temple, could lead to temptations, lowering your standards, and interfaith marriages.”
Billy saw the pained look on Beth’s face, and turned to me and asked, “Why couldn’t we marry out of the Church, like you did?” (Ouch!) “And we could each believe whatever we want?”
I felt surprised by the question. After all, Billy has lived with this dilemma all his life. He used to wait to ask his questions about religion until his father wasn’t around. He did not like to hear that annoyed sigh when a gospel topic came up.
I chose not to remind him of these things. So I said, “The most important reason for marrying a Church member is so you both can love and be loved for who you truly are. Isn’t that better than loving someone in spite of who they are? When you marry a member you will be able to love and admire each other and respect the beliefs that are so much a part of you. Otherwise you have to make too many compromises. Have you noticed how hard it is to work out acceptable compromises here about how much time, energy, and money we should be giving to Church activities? Once one begins compromising it gets easier to slip about reading scriptures, going to meetings, paying tithing, even praying.”
They all agreed that the families they know who are all active members do seem to be more strongly founded in the gospel, support each other in activities, and help each other with challenges.
“Yes, a person’s belief is a person’s way of life, values, and understanding,” I pointed out. “Every decision is based on your belief. A marriage should begin with at least a common base for problem solving and goal setting.”
“Hey! I know what to do!” Beth said, brightening. “Marry them; then convert them!”
“Hey, yourself! That’s unfair!” I answered quickly. “Like I said, you have to marry someone for who he is, accepting each other; not planning to change him. Anyway, the only person you really can change is yourself. Besides, very few who marry nonmembers ever get to the temple with them. Some go inactive and lose the blessings of the gospel, many get divorced, and some remain somewhat active, at a price.”
Billy had turned away and been so quiet that I asked him what he was thinking about.
“Dad,” he answered slowly. “He’s been a good sport for us. I know Church things bother him, but he’s never said anything bad about it. I wonder what it’s like for him to be living with us, having us go off without him to meetings and activities and, well, you know.”
Oh, how I knew! “He has been a good sport,” I agreed. “And as sad as we are about not having him with us at church, he is sad that we are not with him at those times. And along with his feelings of sadness or annoyance, how do you think he feels about our loyalty? Could you imagine how scary it must be for a nonmember to worry whether the people he loves might love the Lord, His Church or His people more than they love him? So while the nonmember is sad, annoyed, and worried, the member is yearning and praying for him to join the Church.”
Melody said, “Yeah, but—,” which made the rest of us chuckle and join in our family chant of, “yeah, but; yehbut!”
“But we do have to be realistic, Mom. It’s not like there are even any kids in seminary with us. We will be dating nonmembers unless we move to Utah or somewhere out there. So what would you suggest if one of us does fall in love with a nonmember?”
I did have to be realistic; out here there are very few LDS people to date, and they are scattered. So I answered what I had been thinking over for months.
“I would hope that by then you would have realized your beliefs were important to you. You should plan to go to all your meetings during your courtship and invite them to activities and meetings. Also, if there is talk of marriage between you, ask them seriously to take the discussions.”
Melody looked annoyed and said, “Oh, Mom, that would scare them off!”
Beth suggested, “Maybe we could just cool the activities and meetings while we’re getting to know one another.”
I felt like she hadn’t really understood; then I remembered that people have to hear things at least three times before they remember and understand. “It would be important to continue your normal way of life during courtship so that anyone you’re going to marry gets to really know you and how you want to live. It would not be fair for you to drop it now to keep the peace, then plan to pick it up later. That’s like changing the rules in the middle of the game.
“Besides,” I reflected, “you may not be able to get yourself back to Church activity, for many reasons.”
“I have heard of people getting too busy or living too far away, or even just getting out of the habit of going to church,” said Bill. “I guess if staying active meant giving a rude surprise to someone you love, you’d probably decide not to do it.”
“Yes, then blame them for the sadness you’d feel about not going, like Sister Z.,” said Melody, who was friends with this inactive, part-member family.
Beth said thoughtfully, “Isn’t there some way to keep your love and your activity? What did you do, Mom?”
Bill’s face flushed and he looked a little sad as he blurted, “Why doesn’t he—?”
I interrupted because I did not want to feel emotional. “Dad doesn’t talk about religion, and it has to be between him and Heavenly Father. Just keep praying and loving. But to get back to your choosing someone—”
Beth interrupted this time. “What would you do if one of us was going to marry a nonmember?” “I would ask you a lot of questions and ask you to talk with each other about your life-style, hopes, and compromises before you married. Would you pray together? Could you plan to remain active in the Church and magnify callings? Could visiting teachers, home teachers, and missionaries be welcome in your home? Could beliefs be openly discussed? What would you have to do to accommodate his beliefs? What would you do about religion for the future children? You would probably think I was too nosey, so I would ask our home teachers and the branch president to help you with these things. I might even ask Dad to help; he knows the other point of view! And, if worse came to worse, I’d consider talking to your intended.”
“Boy, you’d sure make a big deal of it!” exclaimed Melody, sounding exasperated.
“Of course,” I replied. “It is necessary to plan how to make each other happy while being true to yourselves. After all that, if you still went through with the marriage, I would remember how Dad has blessed my life and I would be happy for your happiness. I promise, too, that I would stand back and try to be a good mother-in-law like both of your grandmothers are. You know I will always pray for your happiness and for the happiness of those you love. Each of you has the potential of bringing joy to someone’s life; you deserve the best.”
While we were speaking, Dad drove in. Billy went to greet him. I gave Beth a quick hug as she and Melody went to get a piece of cake and some lemonade for their father. When I caught his eye, I blew him a welcoming kiss, and waited.