Gospel Story Finder

About a year ago I had new tires put on my car. I soon heard a new sound as I drove. It wasn’t very loud and it wasn’t consistent, so I assumed it was due to the road, which was under construction. However, the noise continued, and so I brought the car back to the garage. They assured me it was just the new tires. I was relieved to hear this and drove away again, ignoring the sound. Over time the noise seemed to get a bit louder, but I unconsciously just turned up the radio a bit more, ignored the noise, and went on my way.

Months later I was in Salt Lake City picking up several friends to go to a concert. As the first friend got into my car, she immediately heard the sound and asked what was wrong with my car. I replied that nothing was wrong—did she hear something? (That tells you how much I had tuned out the sound.) She heard it loud and clear, as did the others in the car.

I brought my car to the garage the next day and was told the noise was due to an abnormal rubbing that had caused major damage. It was a dangerous situation that needed immediate repair. I thought back on the miles I had driven and how I had learned to completely tune out what became a very loud noise.

I still can’t believe I had been able to tune it out. I realize it was quite crazy! I wonder what else in my life I had “tuned out” simply because I was too busy or distracted by other things in life—because I did not stop and listen.

As John started down the hill toward home, fog mixed with smoke rolled over him in smothering waves. The frightened ten-year-old boy sat down to try to light the lantern Mr. West had loaned him to use in just such an emergency, but the dampness blew out the flame of the matches. John stood up, pulled his oilskin coat tighter about him, and tried to see ahead through the fog and darkness of the late afternoon.
Earlier that day John’s mother had sent him with a basket of food to the home of an old shepherd who lived alone about three miles northeast of Milnthorpe, England, where John lived with his family. It was the first time Mother had ever let John go on this errand alone, and he was both proud and excited. But he had stayed at Mr. West’s home too long, and when a dark cloud blacked out the sun before a soft rain started, John jumped up quickly and said goodbye to his old friend.
Mr. West offered to walk back with the boy to Milnthorpe, but John shook his head. “This is my first trip alone,” he explained, “and my mother wouldn’t let me come alone again if you had to take me home.”
Now John wished that Mr. West were with him. He imagined all kinds of strange sounds and movements in the fog that closed in thick around him. He had no idea where he was. Suddenly he came to a big iron gate that marked the end of the road, and from beyond the gate came the frightening growl of a dog.
John was almost paralyzed with fright. Then he remembered that his mother had told him that God was always near, even though he might sometimes think that he was all alone.
John dropped down on his knees and asked for help. As he did so, all his fear left; and he was not surprised a few minutes later to hear a voice call out of the mist, “Johnny, I’ve come to take you home.” It was Mr. West!
The young boy was John Taylor, who became the third president of the Church. Although he lived to be eighty years old, he never forgot the quick answer to his prayer as a frightened boy on that lonesome foggy evening.

A few years ago when I was serving in the Europe Area Presidency, I was assigned to a stake conference in Lisbon, Portugal. As part of the agenda for Saturday morning, I invited the stake president to identify some families that we could visit briefly together. As we drove to one particular home by appointment, the president told me of this wonderful man and his family. The father had served a full-time mission, had married a wonderful woman, and had four precious children. But he had slipped away from activity. He had been distracted.
The president explained how much this man was needed in leadership in the ward. When we arrived for our visit, we found a beautiful family, all dressed in Sunday best on a Saturday morning, waiting for us. We gathered in a circle in their living room. Their oldest son, age 15, was the teachers quorum president in the ward. I turned to him and asked, “What are you planning to do three years from now?” He responded immediately without any hesitation, “I will be serving a mission.” Then I asked the key, inspired question: “Who will help you to prepare?” Without any hesitation, he looked directly at his father, pointed his extended arm and finger right at him and said, “He will.” The Spirit came into that room with such power. The father began to weep and, after a moment’s quiet contemplation, asked me if he could bear his testimony to his children and to his wife. He did so with tears streaming down his cheeks. In that moment, his son had prompted his heart to change. He knew instantly what he needed to do.
As we were closing our visit, which was a mixture of English, Spanish, and Portuguese, I taught the parents through the children three words in English as a reminder of the little things they needed to do as a family each day: “Read, pray, and obey; read, pray, and obey; read, pray, and obey,” we chanted together.
The following morning, the family came to stake conference, sought me out, and wanted a picture of their family with me. Today, the son is on a mission, and the father is a counselor in the bishopric.

Vandana and Tamanna Bahtti’s parents had joined the Church some years ago. But the girls had to make their own decision about baptism. They read the Book of Mormon and the Joseph Smith story. They prayed. And they received the witness they needed. Vandana, 20, says many people had told her not to be baptized, that the Church is not true. “I was confused,” she says. “I really prayed to God. I just remember that one week before my baptism I prayed about it, and the Spirit was so strong.”

I’m not what most people would consider a convert to the Church. I was baptized when I was eight, and I have gone to church all my life. But when it came time to serve a mission, I decided not to go.
I thought about a mission, and I even prayed about it. But I never felt that I received an answer. I decided I didn’t want to go on a mission for someone who didn’t answer my prayers.
As the months went by and my friends started to leave for their missions, I started to grow farther away from the Church. Soon I quit going to church altogether. Before long I noticed I wasn’t very happy with my life. I couldn’t understand it. I was going to college and working at a ski resort. I had a nice car and a girlfriend. But I still wasn’t happy. It was about this time that the stake president’s secretary called me for an appointment. I couldn’t imagine why the stake president wanted to see me, but I went ahead and set up a time.
When I arrived at his office, the stake president said, “You probably wonder why I wanted to speak with you tonight.” I told him that I did. He explained that he was talking with all the young men of the stake who were my age to find out what they were doing with their lives.
Oh great, I thought, another person who’s going to tell me to go on a mission. But the stake president surprised me when he told me that my decision about a mission was between me and the Lord. We talked about my plans for the future, and then he said, “I want you to do two things for me. Will you pray and read the Book of Mormon?”
I told him that I would, even though I had no real intention of doing so. But over the next few days, I couldn’t get the stake president’s words out of my head: “Pray and read the Book of Mormon.”
One morning a couple of days later, I got up and got ready for work. Before I left, I grabbed my mom’s old copy of the Book of Mormon and stuck it in my backpack. That day, I was assigned to work at one of the slowest lifts at the resort. As I was sitting in the top shack, I decided to read some of the Book of Mormon. I’ve read 1 Nephi about 300 times, so I decided to start at Jacob and read from there. I remembered that when you read the scriptures, you are also supposed to pray to know if they’re true, so I offered a brief but sincere prayer, and then began my reading. I read Jacob, then Enos, Jarom, and Omni. The crew foreman called and told me someone was going to come and relieve me for lunch. I told him I’d like to skip lunch and stay at that lift the rest of the day. I kept reading.
By the end of the day I had read from Jacob to Alma, and I understood it. I had an overwhelming feeling to share the things that I had read with everyone that I could. The things I read made me happy. I felt excited but also peaceful. I knew that the Book of Mormon was true. There was no way to deny it.
Earlier I had felt that the Lord hadn’t answered my prayer about whether to serve a mission or not. What I hadn’t thought about is the fact that I already had an answer. I already knew that it is the responsibility of every young man to serve a mission.
Although I’m not what most people would consider a convert to the Church, that day at the ski lift I was converted, and the desire I felt to share the things I read stayed with me. I’m now serving a mission in San Bernardino, California. I’m so grateful that I didn’t pass up this chance to serve.

Which would you rather do: Spend a day cruising the San Francisco Bay on a ship, or clean up a house in your neighborhood so that needy families can use it? Seems like a no-brainer, right? A hot summer day calls for some rest and relaxation. Case closed.
Closed, that is, unless you’re a priest or a Laurel in the Manteca California Stake. They gave up a planned one-day cruise to join with the younger youth to paint and clean a house designated for families that are getting back on their feet financially.
Okay, okay. So they helped. But they probably didn’t have a very good time, right?
Wrong again. Outside, young people doing yard work trimmed bushes into smiley-face designs. Inside, they raced to see who could clean up the fastest. All of the youth made the projects into games and had a good feeling about what they were doing.
“I could really feel the Spirit there, and I knew I was doing the right thing,” says participant Cherie Farnes.
Apparently, town leaders agree. The activity was covered in a local newspaper article, and an editorial urged others to follow the lead of the youth, saying, “The project shows what can be accomplished by volunteers who are committed and organized.”

Now, brethren, we are going out now with a determined activity to bring these our brethren into activity—activity of some kind. One of the mission presidents, with a group of his missionaries back in the Eastern States some years ago, was meeting in a hall with pillars that ran down the center of the hall, and he said to one of the missionaries, “Get up and push that pillar over.”

“Well,” said the missionary, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the weight of that ceiling is all on top of the pillar.”

Then the president asked, “Suppose that weight were lifted off. Could you push the pillar over then?”

The missionary replied, “Why, sure, I think I could.”

Then the president said, “Now, brethren, you and I are just like one of those pillars. As long as we have a weight of responsibility in this church, all hell can’t push us over; but as soon as that weight is lifted off, most of us are easy marks by the powers that drag us down.”

The first things I noticed among the hustling paramedics and the wailing sirens that cold January morning in Utah were Esther’s hands. Her long, strong fingers, which had always been so busy serving others, were now cramped and motionless. My own hands reached out to warm hers, and her closed eyes fluttered open briefly. She looked around as though to identify who was near her.
“It’s okay, Esther,” I said, trying to comfort her as I straightened her nightgown and covered her with a blanket. “The doctors will find out what has happened to you.” I felt Esther relax; then we were both swept into the ambulance and rushed to the nearby hospital.
To say Esther was only a neighbor is like describing the sun as only a source of light. Esther’s hands had reached out to me when I was a teenager and had led me to the treasures in my junior high school library. For more than 40 years, her hands had dispensed knowledge and service throughout the neighborhood. She had hired and patiently taught many young people how to prune and care for her orchards, how to improve the neighborhood, and how to love their neighbors. She had reached out to old and new alike, and her hands had sewn the fabric of our block into a quilt of friendship that spread far beyond its physical boundaries.
All that busy winter, I had yearned to help someone. But I knew it was a futile desire. I was working full time in a very stressful job, and I was the harried mother of five very involved and very busy children, ages 5 to 25, including two who were getting married within weeks of each other. My family, work, Church and community responsibilities had strained my capacity to do more than survive each day. But something in the depths of my being kept calling out, wanting to help someone in some way.
Many mornings, as I checked off my accomplishments of the previous day and plotted my strategy for meeting the struggles of the dawning one, I had recalled the Lord’s admonition to “not run faster or labor more than you have strength,” (see D&C 10:4), and I had thought, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll find time to take dinner to someone or to take flowers to a sick friend.”
Service, to me, was a physical object one presented as a gift: it was homemade candy or doughnuts at Christmas, freshly baked bread for a new neighbor, or outgrown clothes for needy families. Now, as I sat at Esther’s bedside on a cold wintry day, Esther taught me that service was something else.
“Esther, squeeze my hand,” the doctor coaxed. “Come on, Esther, you can squeeze my hand.”
“I’m trying,” Esther answered, but her words collapsed into themselves, and her voice trailed off. The doctor shook his head, slipping his hand from Esther’s unmoving one.
“Esther, they are going to move you to another room now,” I explained as they wheeled her bed out of the emergency room. “It’s going to be all right.” Her frightened eyes searched mine for reassurance and then closed in peace.
Surprisingly, despite my fear for Esther, I felt an unusual sense of peace. For once in my harried, over-full life, I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t worried about my list of Saturday chores. I wasn’t concerned about my family. They knew I was with Esther, and their prayers were with me in that cramped, bare cubicle.
Morning edged into afternoon. I called Esther’s family in another state and told them of the situation. I served as a link between the hospital, Esther, and her family members, who were trying to cope with this emergency. And I talked to Esther.
As I sat by Esther, I watched storm clouds gather and snow begin to fall. My thoughts went back 35 years to when my grandmother had had her final stroke. Others had been frightened of the silent stranger who inhabited my grandmother’s frail body, but my mother had told us to hold her hand, to stroke it, and to talk to her.
“I think she can hear you, even if she can’t communicate,” my mother had said. “She needs to hear and feel your love. Talk to her, touch her, and let her know you love her.”
I hadn’t thought of my mother’s words for many years, but they came back as I talked to Esther, stroked her immobile hands, and filled the tiny room with my whispered prayers.
Too soon the room was crowded with Esther’s family, and I eased out of their way as they gathered around her. When they reached out to caress her still hands, stroke her hair, and talk to her, the urgent need that had held me captive all morning disappeared.
“She’s slipped into a deep coma,” the nurse explained to Esther’s loved ones. “Earlier she was trying to communicate, but now she’s unconscious and unaware.”
I stood at the doorway and took one last look at Esther’s inert hands. They were more relaxed now, but they remained open and reaching out to others. I dashed tears of appreciation from my eyes and thanked Esther for her last gift to me.

I was born in the village of Waipahu, Hawaii. My father worked on the pineapple plantation there. My parents were from Okinawa, Japan, and I was brought up in a Buddhist environment. But even though I had never gone to a Christian church, I was always drawn to Christmas. I thought it was a wonderful season, and Christmas drew me to Christianity.
When I was still very young, my family moved to Honolulu. I lost both my parents at a young age. My mother died when I was eighteen months old. Later, in my teens, my father died.
My first contact with the Church came when I was fifteen years old and living with my older brother. One Sunday evening I was listening to my portable radio when I heard the beautiful strains of a choir singing the chorus from Tannhäuser, by Richard Wagner. It was a song I had learned in my junior high school choir, but the quality of this performance was vastly different. I wondered what choir could be singing it. When I heard that it was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the word Mormon stuck in my head. I later learned that the announcer for that radio broadcast was Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
During the summer, I did odd jobs to earn money. That summer I was working as a service station attendant. A man who worked there was a member of the Church, and he invited me to attend MIA (Mutual). At first I hesitated, but he was persistent, and I finally gave in. The warmth and friendliness of the members and missionaries impressed me, but again the music influenced me most. Their hymns sounded different from any I had ever heard.
When I first started reading the Book of Mormon, it seemed strange to me. The only name in the book that was familiar to me was the name of one of Nephi’s brothers—Sam! But there was a force that drew me to the Book of Mormon. I felt that if I were to become a member of the Church, my life would become much more meaningful.
When I told my older brother that I would like to be baptized, he said, “That would be fine. But if you become a member, you must be a lifetime member. You must commit yourself and be loyal.” I was baptized when I was sixteen.
After high school, I was in the military, and I had the opportunity to have an interview with Elder Harold B. Lee, who was then an Apostle and who later became President of the Church. It was a very precious time for me. For an hour he counseled me to go on a mission, to go to the House of the Lord, and to sustain the leaders of the Church. This same advice applies to every member of the Church.
I never forgot Elder Lee’s advice. I came to Salt Lake City, Utah, on furlough and went to the Salt Lake Temple. After I left the military and went to college, I saved money for a mission. During my mission, I was able to open the Okinawa area, where my father was from, for missionary work. Later, serving as president of the Tokyo Temple, I had the wonderful blessing of seeing many of the Japanese Saints receive their temple endowments. Seeing the joy in the faces of those being sealed was a great blessing.
Boys and girls, prepare yourselves to go to the house of the Lord. Going to the temple will be the greatest thing you can accomplish in your mortal life. In the temple, you can feel the Lord’s presence and know that He is there. You can kneel at the altar and make sacred covenants. The Lord will always keep His part of these covenants. When you keep your part of them, you will receive the greatest gifts, eternal life and exaltation.
You can begin now to prepare yourself spiritually, mentally, and physically by keeping the commandments, by being clean in mind and body, and by being faithful and loyal to our Heavenly Father. If you will do these things, you will be led toward the sacred covenants of the temple. Then you will have peace and be happy, no matter what trials and tribulations you meet.
You can also learn to search your family history so that your ancestors can have the same temple blessings. We will meet them some day and know them as our relatives. All the people of the world will some day have the same privilege. The Lord has many wonderful blessings awaiting us if we just take advantage of them.

I just had to write and tell you how much the New Era means to me. It is just as great a help out here in the California Los Angeles Mission as it was when I used to get it back home before that. I just love to read all the Church magazines and newspapers I can get my hands on.
I had glanced through the New Era from time to time after I joined the Church, but not being very strong in the Church for the first three years or so, I was not interested in reading it.
A few years ago I was given a very special home teacher who made the difference in my life. Both my spiritual and mental attitude had to change, a change I was ready to make when he walked into my life. We talked about my sudden strong interest to really find out about this church I had joined in 1979. I had a sudden, overwhelming desire to read all the Church books I had in my house, one right after another without worry about lack of sleep, reading most of the night. It took me no more than two weeks to complete my collection of 12 Church books.
One day while waiting at his home to go to some activity with his family, I picked up their copy of the New Era. I soon found myself engrossed with it. He asked if I received Church newspapers or magazines, as I was the sole member of the Church in the home. I mentioned that I got the Church News which was promptly put on my bed the day it arrived, but otherwise no.
A few months later I found that this special home teacher gave this hungry-for-knowledge member a gift of the magazine. The subscription ran out just before my mission began. I still enjoy the New Era here in the mission field.
Sister Robin FreemanCalifornia Los Angeles Mission

The STOMPing that took place wasn’t grapes or dance floors or each other’s toes. In fact, it had nothing to do with feet.
The STOMP that the youth of the Hermosa Vista Ward in the Mesa Arizona Red Mountain Stake participated in becomes clear when you find out what STOMP stands for—Students Trying Out Moroni’s Promise. (See the New Era, “Captains of Ten,” Nov. 1983, p. 49.)
In 17 weeks (that translates to four pages a day), the Young Men and Young Women and their youth leaders, divided into groups of ten, decided to act on Moroni’s promise in Moroni 10:4–5. [Moro. 10:4–5] They read the Book of Mormon as a group.
Each group of ten was assigned a captain. At first the captains weren’t really sure they wanted the responsibility. Blair Phelps had a little insider’s knowledge about what they were up against. His sister had been a captain the year before, so he knew what was involved. But he agreed, joining seven others as the captains.
Each week these captains contacted each member of their team and added up the points each had earned that week. Points were given for reading each day, for being up to date with their reading assignments, for memorizing certain scriptures, and for attending the firesides and activities organized to encourage participation. Each person was given a booklet with a reading chart, the schedule of events, the scriptures to memorize, and Moroni’s promise printed right there in the front. The teams were not competing. Reporting in to their captain helped each person stay interested and focused on the goal.
Michelle Shephard described what happened perfectly, “I was pretty excited”; then she paused, “at first.” It seems like enthusiasm was high for the first couple of weeks. Then school let out for the summer and the schedules started to slip. It seemed like everyone had some trouble keeping up. In fact, the Beehives took drastic measures to catch up. They had a sleep-over where reading the Book of Mormon was the planned activity. Maria Dastrup said, “It was the strangest sleep-over I ever went to. Who would have thought we would have fun just reading the Book of Mormon?” And read they did, with occasional breaks, until they finally fell asleep. Then in the morning they woke up and read some more.
Nearly everyone had a favorite character or favorite story from the scriptures. Mike Walker said, “I really admired Nephi. He’s a good role model. I kept wondering about his brothers. How could they have an angel appear to them and such wonderful things happen that should build their faith, then turn around and be wicked again? It’s hard to understand.”
Many developed a strong feeling for Moroni. Reading his last words made them both sad and hopeful. “It was sad when Moroni said good-bye,” said Lisa Corrington. “His promise works if you really want to find out if the Book of Mormon is true.”
Michelle also commented on Moroni’s last words. “He gives you a final promise after all his people have died and after all that has happened. He tells us we can still do it—we can still live as Christ taught.”
Blair adds, “It gives you a good feeling. It makes you want to try.”
The young people in Mesa were determined to finish reading the Book of Mormon on schedule. They came up with a list of suggestions that helped them finish their reading:
Pay attention.
Pray first; it helps.
Apply what you read to things going on around you.
Keep a reading chart.
Read along while listening to scripture tapes.
Read the chapter headings.
Read during the day when you’re awake. And try to read at the same time every day.
Read it with your friends or family so you can discuss it.
Read the book of Moroni first; then go back and start at the beginning.

“OK, Mom, I’m ready to go to my interview,” Jacob said, walking out of his room. He wore his church shirt, nice pants, and his tie knotted backward.
“Did you do your tie by yourself?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, I found the instructions in the back of my Cub Scout book. But it doesn’t look quite right.”
Mom knelt down and helped Jacob turn his tie around, then gave him a hug.
“Mom, why do I need an interview before I get baptized?” Jacob asked as they drove to the church.
“Well, part of the bishop’s job is to make sure you’re getting baptized for the right reasons, not just because you turn eight or your friends are getting baptized.”
When they got to the church, Jacob jumped out of the car, ran inside, and sat down to wait in the foyer. In a few minutes Bishop Simmons came out of his office.
“Hey, Jacob. Looks like it’s your turn.” Bishop Simmons shook Jacob’s hand and led him into the office. “Nice tie.”
Jacob smiled and sat down across from the bishop.
“So, Jacob, you’re getting ready to be baptized.”
“Yup! I can’t wait.”
Bishop Simmons grinned. “Glad to hear it. It’s an important step to get back to Heavenly Father. So let’s talk about why you want to become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Well, I like that we have a living prophet and the Book of Mormon,” Jacob answered. “We talked about it at home, and I prayed about it too.”
“How did you feel when you prayed about it?”
Jacob twisted his tie around his finger. “It felt right. I want to get baptized like Jesus.”
Bishop Simmons pointed at the picture of Jesus on his wall. “Jesus is our very best example. Tell me about when He was baptized.”
Jacob’s feet swung as he talked. “Jesus asked John the Baptist to baptize Him. They went to the River Jordan, and Jesus went all the way under the water. That’s called immersion. Jesus made Heavenly Father happy, and I want to be like Jesus.”
“I can tell you’ve been learning a lot about this. Have you learned what happens when you’re baptized?”
“Yup. I’ll be a member of the Church. And when I’m confirmed, I’ll get the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Bishop Simmons nodded. “The Holy Ghost will help you your whole life. And whenever you do something wrong, you can repent and the Holy Ghost can help you do better.”
Jacob smiled. “Mom says the Holy Ghost is the best gift I’ll get this year.”
Bishop Simmons and Jacob talked for a few more minutes about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and choosing the right.
“Jacob, I think you’re ready to be baptized,” Bishop Simmons said as he stood up and shook Jacob’s hand. “Congratulations.”
Jacob ran out of the office grinning. “Mom, I’m ready!”

Jason lay by the hearth, doing his homework in the firelight. But he couldn’t concentrate. The image of Mr. Rayburn’s ranch kept coming back to him, and with it the sight of the beautiful little pony the rancher had for sale. Only eighteen dollars, that’s all it would cost! he thought. But it might as well be five hundred. Jason’s father had gone to fight in the Civil War, and had left his ten-year-old son as the man of the house.
More than anything he had ever wanted before, Jason wanted a pony. But how will I ever get eighteen dollars of my own? he asked himself. All the other boys rode to school on horses. But Jason had to be up before dawn to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and then walk the long distance to school. When he wasn’t at school, Jason was busy at home, helping his mother on their farm.
Jason’s mother listened sympathetically when he told her about Mr. Rayburn’s pony. But when the boy finished, she just looked at him with a sad kind of smile. “Oh, Jason,” she said. “The pony sounds wonderful. But I’m afraid we don’t have any money to spare. We’re having a hard time now and with a new baby coming …”
“I’d forgotten for a minute about the baby. I hope it’s a girl. I’d like to have a little sister,” said Jason with a smile. “And maybe if I work extra hard, there will be enough money for a cradle.”
His mother hugged him close. “With you here to help, we’ll do just fine, Jason,” she said.
Later that night Jason climbed the ladder up to the loft where he slept. But before sleep came he couldn’t help thinking about the pony.
The next morning on his way to school, Jason saw a notice in the window of the general store:
Boys needed afternoons or evenings at the planing mill—10¢ an hour.
Ten cents an hour is a lot of money, Jason thought. I hope I can get that job after school.
The hours seemed to drag by until school was over. When the bell rang, Jason raced to the mill, but his heart sank when he saw the long line of waiting boys. At last it was his turn to apply for a job.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the man.
“Ten years old, sir. But I’ll be eleven in March. And I’m a hard worker,” replied Jason.
“I don’t think you’re old enough for a job here, son. Why don’t you try us next year?”
Jason did not move. “Please, sir, now that my father is at war, I’m the only man in the house. And I’ll work hard.”
“Well, if your dad’s away fighting, I guess we can find a job for you,” the man said.
Jason could hardly wait to tell his mother about his new job. “I know you’ll make me proud of you,” she said. “And since you’re working on your own time between school and chores, son, you may keep the money you earn.”
Jason jumped up with delight and hugged her. His chores weren’t so hard that night. In his mind he could just see himself up on the back of that little pony. It won’t matter if I don’t have a saddle. I’ll still be able to ride like the other boys, and they won’t laugh at (ridicule) me anymore, he thought.
Jason liked his work at the mill. But it became hard to study without falling asleep and even harder to get up in the mornings. As the weeks passed, Jason’s little pile of money grew. Each payday brought him closer to his goal. However, it was nearly time for the baby to be born and Jason knew that he would soon have to quit working at the mill because his mother would need more help at home. Every night when he went to bed he wondered how long he would be able to work.
The next payday Jason counted his savings. He had $19.10, and in his mind he could see the little pony in their barn. He was so busy thinking about the pony that he almost bumped into a buggy parked in their yard. He looked up and his heart leaped. It was Dr. Frank’s. The baby must have been born! He raced toward the house. Then he suddenly got sad. The cradle! Mother still didn’t have a cradle for the baby. But it really wasn’t his fault. Mother had said he could keep the money he earned. Still, he felt a little selfish. He opened the door slowly and peeked in. His grandmother was in the kitchen.
“Grandmother is it a boy or a girl?” he asked.
Grandmother smiled and put a finger to her lips, “Shh, your mother is asleep. Come and see your baby sister.”
Jason approached timidly. He had not been this close to a newborn baby before. She lay curled up in the laundry basket, wrapped in layers of blankets.
“Oh, Grandmother she’s so tiny,” he whispered.
“Your mother has named her Jenny. She looks a little like you did when you were a baby,” said Grandmother.
Jason bent down to look at the tiny fingers. They moved when he touched them and curled themselves around his larger finger. He frowned. He was the man of the house, and this little baby was partly his responsibility. How could he think of buying a pony when Jenny had no cradle?
“Grandmother I’m not very hungry. I have something important to do. Please tell Mother I’ll be back soon.”
Jason ran outside and didn’t stop till he came to the general store. Mr. Wright, the proprietor, also did woodworking as a hobby.
“Mr. Wright! My mother had a baby girl. How much would you charge to make me a cradle for her—one that rocks?”
“Well, since you’re a working man,” the storekeeper said with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll make a real nice one for you for nine dollars. I can have it ready by Friday.”
“That’d be fine,” said Jason. As he turned to leave, he saw some baby clothes inside a showcase. “How much is that pretty little gown?” he asked. “I want to get that for Jenny too.”
All the way home Jason whistled a jaunty tune. He was sure that the real man of the house couldn’t be any happier about the new baby than her big brother was.

Another example was with the young women. When each young woman reached her 16th birthday, together we reviewed her thoughts and concerns about dating. Then we looked at her eternal goals and encouraged her to discuss them with her parents and to remember them on her dates. As the years have gone by, a number of young women have told me how much it helped to remember their “sweet sixteen bishop’s interview” and the commitments they made to themselves and the Lord for achieving eternal goals.

One of the best inspiration stories I know is a football story about a young man playing fullback for the University of Oklahoma. The University of Oklahoma had gone ten years without losing a conference football game, had gone 47 straight games without losing to anyone: Army, Navy, Notre Dame, Texas, Alabama—you name the team—they played them and beat them. But on this particular day, while playing the University of Nebraska at Norman, Oklahoma, it looked as if they were going to be beaten. It was late in the game, they had the ball deep in their own territory, and they were behind. The winning streak was going to go down the drain, but in a second down and long-yardage situation, the ball was handed off to the tailback, a young man named Billy Vessels, who ran 67 yards for a touchdown that snatched victory from defeat. His run prolonged that great winning streak. The news media said, “That touchdown run was, without a doubt, the best run in the history of Oklahoma football and maybe in the history of football per se.”

On Monday, when the coaches looked at the film, they found that something strange had happened on this particular play. Billy Vessels did make a great run, but the play went differently than they had thought. The quarterback, Claude Arnold, took the snap from center and handed off to Vessels, the tailback, who was going to run around the right end. The fullback was a young man named Leon Heath; he wore number 40 on his jersey. His job on this play was to hook the end, to block him in, so Vessels could run around him. As the ball was snapped, the end came across too far. The average player would have thought, “Get back over there. The coach said you’d be right there. Get over there.” Players move around from time to time, and they are not always located where we coaches draw them on the board. Instead of trying to hook the end, Heath just drove him out of the play, and Vessels cut inside, got around the corner, and eventually was confronted by the cornerback. Vessels made a quick left, cut behind the line of scrimmage, and ran into the offside linebacker. What a hit! Two great athletes going full speed. Vessels was struggling to stay on his feet and eventually to break the tackle. Just when it looked as if he were going down, into the film came number 40, the man who had just blocked the end. Heath got a shoulder pad into the linebacker and knocked him off the tackle. Vessels spun free, balanced on his hand, headed for the sidelines and then for the tall grass of the end zone, which was about 60 yards away. Billy Vessels—six-foot-two, 210 pounds of Heisman-trophy-winning, All-American tailback—could run like the wind. As he was on his way to the end zone, here came the weak side safety, the man who plays on the weak side of the formation. You could see that he was going to get Vessels on about the 15-yard line. When Vessels got to the 25, he had to make up his mind what he was going to do—run over him, stop, call time, say “King’s X,” or something else. Just as he had to make up his mind, into the film came number 40, Leon Heath, moving like a freight train. He hit the safety, put him about eight rows up in the grandstand, and Vessels walked into the end zone for the greatest run in the history of Oklahoma football.

That’s an inspiring performance. If you and I are going to get where we would like to get eventually, we had better follow Heath’s example and not only complete that first assignment but also go get a linebacker. And if we really want an exalted hereafter, we had better hitch up our belts and go get the safety.

One major hill we encountered came at about 11:55 a.m. on June 3, 2001. I had stood up to close our ward’s fast and testimony meeting when I felt a sharp pain and a tearing sensation followed by the gushing of blood in my left pelvis. The thought came to me quite distinctly: “I just ruptured my femoral artery. I am going to bleed to death in a few minutes.” I looked out over the congregation to my family, thinking that it might be the last time I would see them in this life. I debated whether I should say something but decided that I did not want to disrupt the spirit of the meeting. So, after announcing the closing hymn and prayer, I just sat down. Our sacrament meeting was last in the block schedule, and I knew that I had several interviews to conduct and other business that needed to be addressed after the meeting. I was still alive and decided to continue in my duties.

Nearly six hours later I finally took the time to go to the emergency room. I explained to the nurse at the reception desk that I thought I had ruptured my femoral artery at noon that day. She kind of chuckled and said, “No, you would be dead by now.” She asked me to describe the pain and thought it was probably a kidney stone.

We sat in the waiting room for about 30 minutes. When we were finally taken back to an exam room and were able to see a doctor, I described the pain and said that I thought I had ruptured my femoral artery at about noon that day. He gave a little chuckle and said, “You would probably be dead if that were true.” He also indicated that he thought it was a kidney stone. He ordered a differential CAT scan to look for the stone.

A few minutes after the procedure, the doctor came back into the room and said, quite soberly, “There is a large pool of blood in your lower left abdomen.” I was rushed to another hospital and prepped for emergency vascular surgery. It turned out that I had actually ruptured my left iliac artery, which is larger than the femoral. The reason I did not bleed to death is that shortly after the aneurysm, a flap of inner arterial lining folded over, occluding the artery above the rupture. Experiences like this provide evidence for the truth that God knows each of us personally. We are cared for as individuals. He knows exactly how to succor us.

David and Michael are brothers and direct lineal descendants of Bishop Jacob Foutz, who was shot and left for dead at the Haun’s Mill Massacre in Missouri in October 1838. According to an account written by Jacob’s wife, Margaret Mann Foutz, after the massacre Jacob and another brother survived by drawing dead bodies over themselves and feigning death.

Margaret records that these two men thus
saved their own lives and heard what some of the mob said. After the firing was over two little boys that were in the [blacksmith] shop begged for their lives, but . . . one of the mob said [“Nits will make lice,” meaning] ‘they will make Mormons’ and he put the muzzle of his gun to the boys’ heads and [ended their lives].

After Margaret found Jacob, she got him home and eventually assisted him in removing a bullet from his hip with a kitchen knife. She applied a poultice to his wound and disguised him in women’s clothes to trick the murderous mob when it returned to exterminate male survivors.

Though physically scarred for life, Jacob did survive, and, what is most important, he thrived spiritually. He was called as a bishop in Nauvoo, served a mission in Pennsylvania, and moved west with the Saints in 1847, continuing to serve as a bishop until his premature death the following year. Although Bishop Foutz sought legal redress for the financial losses he suffered at Haun’s Mill, he did not allow the poisonous venom of hate and vengeance to destroy his spiritual life. Instead he bequeathed to his posterity a legacy of faith and forgiveness that continues to the present generation.

We are also told that while science deals with experiment, religion deals with faith—and faith is supposed to be an intellectual process unknown to the scientist. This is obviously not true. Galileo (1564–1642), the great Italian astronomer and physicist who is often called the founder of experimental science, is a good example of a scientist who had faith. He invented telescopes that could see farther than had been seen before. His first important observations in astronomy concerned the moon. He discovered that the moon was not a smooth sphere shining by its own light; rather, its surface was marked with mountains and valleys, and its light was only reflected light. Galileo agreed with the theory of Copernicus that the earth moves around the sun, rather than the earth being the center of the universe with everything turning around it.
These observations did not agree with the teachings of Aristotle and of the Catholic Church, so Galileo was dragged before the Inquisition, forced to endure a long trial, and punished. But he never lost faith in his finding. I believe that his confident belief in the things he had discovered was the same mental process in religion we would call faith. He stood by his beliefs even when he was treated cruelly.

The Young Women in the Hemet Third Ward, Hemet California Stake, used their artistic talents to provide a quiet activity for children waiting to be sealed to their parents in the temple. The girls painted wooden dolls and puzzles for the children to play with.
After their project was completed, the girls were told they could see their toys in use when they went on their next trip to do baptisms for the dead. Now they have other reasons to look forward to going to the temple!

I’ve made innumerable errors in my sewing projects. Those mistakes caused me to get angry and frustrated and consider giving up sewing altogether! My sewing-instructor friend taught me a great lesson one day as I was furiously ripping out a seam for the umpteenth time; she told me that ripping out a seam is like learning as we repent.
I pondered on that statement time and time again, and I realized that she was right. Every time I ripped out a seam, I learned what I had done wrong and how I could prevent it the next time. Sometimes I had to rip out the same seam numerous times, but each time found me a little better at it than the time before. And if I used that same pattern for another project, I generally avoided my earlier mistakes because I had learned from my previous experiences!
I also discovered that no mistake is irreparable, no matter how bad it may seem at the time! That lesson has brought me so much hope when it comes to learning from my mistakes of a spiritual nature. Thanks to our Savior, Jesus Christ, and His Atonement, our mistakes are repairable. We will have to work through our repentance, and it may take time, but as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has promised: “You have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines.”5