Gospel Story Finder

Humphrey of the Upper Hill Ward is also a teacher. He was baptized into the Church just two years ago. As Martin did, Humphrey currently attends boarding school. Part of the reason his faith has grown so much since he joined the Church is that he receives all his seminary assignments by post (by mail), does them, and returns them promptly to his seminary teacher.
When boarding school closes, Humphrey typically has to walk 45 minutes one way on Sundays to get a ride to church. Nevertheless, he is always early at church and ready to serve as assigned.
Whenever he receives an assignment to speak, Humphrey is diligent in his preparation. It is clear to all who listen that he has put much effort into preparing his talk.

I was really excited to go to the temple and do baptisms.
At first it was hard. I was worried about what the older girls would think about me. I was a little nervous until we all went to the temple together. That’s when we became good friends.
It was very special. Going inside the temple of the Lord was a spiritual experience. I’ve always wanted to go to the temple. In Primary we sang, “I love to see the temple. I’m going there someday.” Now I can say, “I love to go to the temple.”
That first time in the temple, I did baptisms for some of my aunts, some relatives of my grandmother (my mom’s mom), and other people I didn’t know. The temple and family history are part of my testimony.

Christmas is a giving time of year for the young people of the Mt. Pleasant Second Ward, Mt. Pleasant Utah Stake. The youth were involved in service projects that helped emphasize the true spirit of giving.
The Mia Maids of the ward spent weeks collecting pictures of all the children of the ward, which they used to make special Christmas tree decorations. The ornaments were presented to the parents after they were used to decorate the ward Christmas tree.

“During the war, my father had to work on Sundays. Whenever he could find time, he attended sacrament meeting. During these years, Mother had to become a strong spiritual leader in the family. One of my vivid childhood memories of her is of the time she went to tithing settlement and discovered that we still owed about twenty-five dollars. As ward Relief Society president, she wanted the family to close the year as full tithe payers. Dad was working as usual and could not be reached. Mother suggested to the children that we talk about our family tithing problem and have a family prayer. When the prayer was over, Mother had an idea. We were living on a walnut ranch, so we sold enough of the walnuts in our cellar to pay our tithing in full!”

Let me give you two or three vignettes.
The first is that of a young man who served in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. He lives with his faithful mother and nieces in a poor neighborhood. Their little home has a concrete floor, one lightbulb, the roof leaks, and the window is broken. He was a successful missionary. He says:
“My mission was the best thing that I have been able to do in my life. I learned to be obedient to the commandments and to be patient in my afflictions. I also learned some English and to manage my money, my time, and my skills better.
“Then, when I finished my mission, going home was difficult. My American companions went back to a university. But there is a lot of poverty in our country. It is very difficult to get an education. My mother does her best, but she can’t help us. She has suffered so much, and I am her hope.
“When I learned of the Perpetual Education Fund, I felt so happy. The prophet recognized our efforts. I was filled with joy. … There was a possibility I could study, become self-reliant, have a family, help my mother.
“I will study accounting at a local school where I can study and work. It is a short course, just three years long. I have to keep working as a janitor, but that is OK. Once I graduate and get a job in accounting, I will work toward higher education in international business.
“This is our opportunity, and we cannot fail. The Lord trusts us. I have read many times in the Book of Mormon the words the Lord told the prophets, that as we keep the commandments, we would prosper in the land. This is being fulfilled. I am so grateful to God for this great opportunity to receive what my brothers and sisters did not have, to help my family, to accomplish my goals. And I am excited to repay the loan to see others be so blessed. I know the Lord will bless me as I do it.”

Once when I was six years old, my sister, Jessica, and I were at the department store at the mall with my mom. We were looking at things, and we didn’t know our mom was leaving. I went to another section close to where my sister was. Then I noticed that my mom and Jessica were gone. I said a prayer, and I felt like I should find Jessica first. I found her, and then we found my mom in the shopping line. I am glad I listened to the Spirit.
Natasha Jones, age 8Copley, Ohio

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

By December 1827 there had been several attempts to steal the plates, so Joseph decided to move with Emma to the home of her parents in Harmony Township, Pennsylvania.
Emma Smith
When Joseph and Emma arrived, Joseph allowed Isaac Hale, Emma’s father, to heft the plates in a box. Isaac later stated, “I was allowed to feel the weight of the box, and they gave me to understand, that the book of plates was then in the box.” Yet he was unconvinced and dissatisfied with the situation. He told Joseph to either show him the plates or remove them from his house. Joseph hid the plates in the nearby woods until he and Emma moved into their own home on the Hale property.10
An adjacent farm was owned by Joseph and Sarah McKune. Their granddaughter later reported that Joseph McKune had been allowed “to take in his hands a pillow-case in which the supposed saintly treasure was wrapped, and to feel through the cloth that it had leaves.”11
In Harmony, Joseph Smith began his translation of the Book of Mormon by the gift and power of God. His initial scribes were his wife, Emma, and his friend Martin Harris.12 Like members of the Harris and Smith families, Emma hefted the plates, as she “would lift and move them” while cleaning.13 She also felt the individual leaves and heard the sound they made when moved, describing them in this way: “I once felt of the plates, as they thus lay on the table, tracing their outline and shape. They seemed to be pliable like thick paper, and would rustle with a metallic sound when the edges were moved by the thumb, as one does sometimes thumb the edges of a book.”14

—Melanie Finch, 20, of Idaho Falls, “always wanted to be a nurse.” But after candy striping and a high school vocational program which earned her status as a Certified Nurse’s Assistant, Melanie switched to another field.
“In nursing, you have to associate with just about every kind of person in the world, and have compassion for them all. I found out that’s not always easy to do.”
A year later, however, she became a nursing student again.
“I did a lot of growing during that year,” she said. “I realized just how important it is to take care of people, even if it is hard and dirty. Now I’m dedicated to helping others. And I’m happy to know I’m helping people who really need the help.”

Estelle ate her last bite of Mama’s yummy enchiladas and scooted her chair away from the patio table. It was a warm summer night—perfect for eating outside. And perfect for playing! She couldn’t wait to play fetch with her dog, Rufus.
But first she had to clear the table. She piled the plates into a tall stack. She knew the stack was getting too wobbly. But she didn’t want to make a lot of trips inside.
Estelle balanced the stack in one hand and carefully opened the door with the other. But the stack started to tip. Crash! Two plates smashed onto the patio, right in front of the door. Dad ran out to see what happened and went to get a broom. Then Estelle saw Rufus. He was trotting toward the door.
“Rufus! Don’t step on the broken plates!” She ran around the table and jumped in front of him. “No! Rufus, stay!”
But Rufus didn’t stop. He tried to get around her. Estelle bent down and put her hands in front of him.
“Rufus, I’m trying to keep you safe,” she said. “The pieces are sharp. They’ll cut your paws.”
Then Estelle had an idea. “Where’s your ball? Do you want to play fetch?” Rufus turned away to look for his ball. Now he was safe!
As she swept up the broken plates with Dad, Estelle thought about why she told Rufus no. If he stepped on the pieces, he would have been hurt. He wouldn’t be able to do what he liked to do—like playing fetch.
Dad always said that Heavenly Father gives commandments to keep us happy and safe. But Estelle sometimes thought that commandments felt more like rules to keep her from doing what she wanted.
Estelle looked down at the broken pieces. Maybe Heavenly Father says no to some things because He’s trying to keep me safe too, she thought.
Rufus ran to Estelle and dropped the ball at her feet. She scratched his ears. Then she threw the ball and laughed as Rufus ran after it.
Rufus was safe. And he was happy! Estelle wanted to keep following Heavenly Father’s commandments to stay happy and safe too.
This story took place in the USA.

Samuel and Anna-Maria Koivisto showed both commitment and willingness. Soon after their marriage, the Koivistos moved from Jyväskylä, Finland, to Göteborg, Sweden, to pursue career opportunities. After arriving, Brother Koivisto was invited to visit with President Leif G. Mattsson, a counselor in the Göteborg Sweden Stake presidency. Because Samuel did not speak Swedish, the interview was conducted in English.

Following a brief visit, President Mattsson asked Samuel to serve as the ward mission leader in the Utby Ward. Samuel pointed out the obvious: “But I don’t speak Swedish.”

President Mattsson leaned over his desk and pointedly asked, “Did I ask if you could speak Swedish, or are you willing to serve the Lord?”

Samuel answered, “You asked if I was willing to serve the Lord. And I am.”

Samuel accepted the calling. Anna-Maria also accepted callings. Both served faithfully and learned to speak beautiful Swedish along the way.

Commitment and willingness to serve the Lord have characterized the lives of Samuel and Anna-Maria. They are ordinary heroes in the Church. They have faithfully served every time they have been asked. They have taught me that when we serve, we use the talents we have (see Doctrine and Covenants 60:13), and the Lord then helps us accomplish His purposes.

After a great deal of prayer and planning, we presented to our stake in September 1980 a program for raising funds to build our new stake center. Because of the projected high cost of the building, we knew that a lot of faith would be required of our people to raise the large amount of money needed. While we were considering the problem, I had an unusual experience that I shall never forget.
About 2:00 P.M. on a very busy day at the office, my secretary told me that Paul Goodwin would like to see me. I looked at my schedule and found I didn’t have an appointment with Paul Goodwin; furthermore, I didn’t even know a Paul Goodwin. I felt I should tell my secretary that because I was so busy and he didn’t have an appointment, I woudn’t be able to see him. But for some reason I felt prompted to talk with Paul Goodwin.
Still acting under the pressures of the day, I hurriedly opened my office door and was surprised to see a little four-year-old boy standing there. Recognizing his mother seated in the reception area, I knew immediately that this was the son of David and Marilyn Goodwin from the Four Corners Ward of our stake. Little Paul stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, looking up at me with such confidence that I sensed it was important to talk to him.
I invited him into my office. When we sat down, I could barely see his big eyes over the top of my desk. “Now, Brother Goodwin, what would you like to see me about?” I asked.
He didn’t say a word, but reached into his pocket, pulled out a very wrinkled one dollar bill, and laid it on the desk. Then he reached into his pocket again and pulled out 25 cents, laid it on the desk, reached into his pocket again, pulled out another 25 cents and then 10 cents and 5 cents. As he laid the 5 cents on the desk, he looked up at me and said, “That’s for the new building.”
“You mean our new stake center?” I asked.
He nodded.
“That’s wonderful!” I told him. “But where did you get one dollar and sixty-five cents?”
He said, “This summer I planted pumpkins in my garden and they’re ripe now, so I picked them and put them in my wagon. I went to all the neighbors on my street and sold them, and there’s the money. I want to give it for the new building.”
It was difficult to hold back the tears, and I couldn’t resist picking the boy up in my arms and telling him how very, very important that one dollar and sixty-five cents was and how very happy Heavenly Father must be that he had sold his pumpkins to raise money for our new stake center.
I felt sure then that there was sufficient faith among our people to raise the large amount of money needed.

Even if you feel your talents are small, you can still achieve. Where the desire is strong, seemingly weak talents may be strengthened and developed. As a boy, President Heber J. Grant became aware of some limitations. He was not blessed with athletic talent. He could not sing well—in fact he couldn’t even carry a tune. He could not write legibly.
With a burning desire to achieve, and through long and consistent hours of practice, he became a member of the state-championship baseball team. He learned to sing many of the Latter-day Saint hymns. He became an expert penman and supplemented his income by writing Christmas cards.
President Grant summarized his achievements with these words from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “That which we persist in doing becomes easier for us to do, not that the nature of the thing itself is changed, but that our power to do is increased.” (Heber J. Grant, Gospel Standards, Salt Lake City, Utah: The Improvement Era, 1941, p. 355.)

One beautiful morning my family and I passed our bishop’s home. We noticed two enormous trees had been chopped down and the wood was in a huge pile. We have a fire pit at home, and we were almost out of wood. So we asked our bishop if we could have it. He told us, “You can have all of the wood you want.”
I was so excited. We would finally have more wood! When the day arrived to get the wood, we got right to work.
After a long day, our trailers were overflowing with wood. Then our bishop came outside and told us that a less-active family in our ward heated their home with a fireplace and they were out of wood. Mom and Dad decided to give the wood to them. That made me very upset. We had worked hard without any breaks.
I wasn’t quite sure if I should complain and ask if we could keep the wood. If I help give it away, all the work we did would be for nothing. We wouldn’t have the wood, I thought. What should I do?
It took us over an hour to unload all our precious wood. When we finally finished, we went home. We were very exhausted. When we got home, I went to check how much wood we had left. Guess what I saw? No wood at all. I thought we were giving some wood away, not all of it. I started pacing back and forth, thinking about how much work we did for nothing!
Then I remembered how the family heated their home with a fireplace. We just liked to have fires. It would have been really, really nice to have a surplus of wood. But the other family absolutely needed it. We just wanted it to do things like cook hot dogs and s’mores.
Giving the wood to the other family was hard, but I knew it was the right thing to do. After all, what would the Savior do?

A lovely lady of more than 90 years visited with me one day and unexpectedly recounted several regrets. She mentioned that many years earlier a neighboring farmer, with whom she and her husband had occasionally disagreed, asked if he could take a shortcut across her property to reach his own acreage. She paused in her narrative and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “Tommy, I didn’t let him cross our property but required him to take the long way around—even on foot—to reach his property. I was wrong and I regret it. He’s gone now, but oh, I wish I could say to him, ‘I’m so sorry.’ How I wish I had a second chance.”

Anna liked going to Sunbeam class. She liked her teachers, Brother and Sister Lee. She liked the lessons about Jesus. She liked knowing the words to the songs.
But now she wouldn’t be in the Sunbeam class anymore. Today she would be in a new Primary class. She would have new teachers. She would sit in a new row in singing time. She would have a new classroom.
Anna was nervous. She wanted to sit with Sister Lee. She tried not to cry as she walked into the Primary room.
One of her new teachers smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Sister Ball. What’s your name?”
“I’m Anna,” Anna said.
Sister Ball patted the chair next to her. “Would you like to sit by me? This is my first time in Primary.”
Anna sat down by Sister Ball. “I can help you. I know all the songs!”
“Thank you,” said Sister Ball. “That would be a big help.”
Soon her friend Beth came in. Last year she was in the Sunbeam class with Anna. Beth sat by Anna.
“This is Beth,” Anna told Sister Ball.
Anna smiled. She liked her new Primary class after all!

Nancy Lovern was excited. It was June 27, and today she turned five years old. In some ways, the day had been just like any other. She’d fed the chickens and collected their eggs, slopped (fed) the pigs, and helped Mama clean the house. But in some ways, it was different. Everyone had sung “Happy Birthday” at breakfast and paid extra attention to her all day long.
Now it was late afternoon, and Nancy couldn’t help peeking out the window every few minutes. Papa had promised to bring her a surprise from Nauvoo. Mama was making a special dinner and a dried-apple molasses cake. There would be a grand birthday party.
The hour grew late. Long shadows spread across the barnyard, and still Papa didn’t come. Nancy thought that she would burst. Mama just laughed and said, “Staring out the door won’t make Papa get home any sooner.” When Nancy could wait no more, she went out to the road that led to Nauvoo. She was swinging on the gate when she finally heard the clippety-clop of horses’ hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels. She saw a lone figure driving slowly down the dusty road. It was Papa! He must be dawdling to make me wait longer for my birthday surprise, she thought, running to meet him.
She was stopped short by the sadness on his face. And he was crying! Nancy didn’t know what to do. Papa never cried except when he bore his testimony. She was surprised to feel tears in her own eyes. “What’s wrong, Papa?”
He climbed down from the wagon and held her close. “They did it, Nan—they killed Brother Joseph!”
Nancy completely forgot her birthday. She loved the Prophet. He always took time to talk with her whenever he visited her parents. She truly felt that he was a prophet of God.
Sorrow was thick in the house as Papa gathered the rest of the family around him and told how an angry mob had stormed the jail in Carthage, killing their beloved prophet and his brother Hyrum, and seriously wounding Brother Taylor.
The next day Nancy’s family filed through the Mansion House to pay final respects to the slain leaders. Later they listened to Brother W. W. Phelps preach the funeral sermon. Sorrow hung like a heavy fog over the whole community.
Nancy celebrated seventy-nine birthdays after that eventful day, but never without some melancholy recollection of her birthday in 1844.
More than one hundred fifty years have come and gone. Nancy has thousands of descendants, most of whom faithfully sing praises to “the man who communed with Jehovah”*—the prophet and martyr who was killed on her fifth birthday.
Nancy Francis Lovern Oliver was a real person! She was my great-great-grandmother. When my grandmother, Lenna Kathryn Bryce Blain, was a little girl, she sat by the fireplace on cold winter nights and listened to pioneer stories told by her Grandma Nancy. Grandma Lenna said that she couldn’t remember all the stories, but she would never forget the one about the death of the Prophet. This fictional account is based on that true story.

This time I took the things of God more seriously. I even set a goal to investigate more churches. Before I would go to church, I would kneel down and ask Heavenly Father to give me more wisdom so that I would be able to choose good and reject evil.
I began to visit other churches in addition to the Christian church I attended, but I often felt confused by their different doctrines. The more confused I got, the more I prayed. It seemed that every time I visited a church, I felt something was missing, but I didn’t realize what it was. That’s why I set a goal to keep investigating other churches and not rest until I found the truth.
One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

A few years ago, I was in line to make a purchase at my local grocery store. Ahead of me stood a young woman, about 15 years old. She appeared confident and happy. I noticed her T-shirt and couldn’t resist talking to her. I began, “You’re from out of state, aren’t you?”
She was surprised by my question and replied, “Yes, I am. I’m from Colorado. How did you know?”
I explained, “Because of your T-shirt.” I made my accurate supposition after reading the words on her shirt, “I’m a Mormon. Are you?”
I continued, “I must tell you that I’m impressed by your confidence to stand out and wear such a bold declaration. I see a difference in you, and I wish every young woman and every member of the Church could have your same conviction and confidence.” Our purchases completed, we said good-bye and parted.
Yet for days and weeks after this random everyday moment, I found myself seriously reflecting upon this encounter. I wondered how this young girl from Colorado came to possess such confidence in her identity as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I couldn’t help but wonder what meaningful phrase I would figuratively choose to have printed on my T-shirt reflecting my belief and testimony. In my mind, I considered many possible sayings. Eventually, I came upon an ideal statement I would proudly wear: “I’m a Mormon. I know it. I live it. I love it.”
Today I’d like to focus my remarks around this bold, hopeful statement.

Nathan Wakefield could hardly wait for dawn to break across the paddock. Today was his eleventh birthday, and Father had told him last night that in the morning the big flintlock rifle that hung over the cabin door would be his. “I have the Winchester,” Father said, “and you’ve been carrying a man’s load around here for some time now. You’ve earned Grandpa’s flintlock.” Then he looked deep into the lad’s eyes and added, “But be wise, my son. These are God’s mountains.”
Nathan sat in his rumpled nightshirt in the small, upstairs log bedroom, staring out into the predawn chill and dreaming about the big rifle. It had first been used by Grandpa Ephram as he, along with other frontiersmen, blazed trails through the wilderness for those who would follow. There were few primitive woodlands that had not heard the crack of the old musket as it spit fire and smoke—felling great beasts, warding off hostiles, and echoing the sound of brave men moving west.
Nathan’s father inherited the long gun and had used it all these years to keep his family in meat and to safeguard their stay in the rugged Montana mountains.
Perhaps, more than anything else, it had been the tales told about the old gun that had whetted Nathan’s yearning for the ruggedly handsome piece—tales told and retold around the fire-warmed hearth on cold, howly winter nights.
Nathan held his breath and his eyes widened in anticipation when the first rays of frosted light finally slanted across the top of the gray woods and lit a place on the paddock.
The young farm boy hardly tasted his breakfast that morning. Quickly wiping the goat’s milk off his chin, he bounded out the door with a leather pouch of homemade bullets strapped on his waist, a powder horn bouncing over his shoulder, and the long musket held firmly in his arms.
The woods were still more dark than light as Nathan waded through the high drifts of snow that bordered the icy white, mist-wrapped timberline. He tingled with a strange new sense of power as he pushed deeper into the eerie wooded silence. Nathan longed to become a part of the history of the big Wakefield flintlock, and these woods were full of opportunities!
Suddenly, a snow rabbit hopped into a clearing a short distance away. The animal paused to lift its head toward a myriad of silver slivers of light, shining like tinsel on the ice-coated branches above. Nathan hurried to load the musket, but in his excitement he hit the butt of his rifle against one of the great spider-leg roots, and the rabbit disappeared at the sound into the gray morning light.
Next time I’ll be more careful. And I’ll make a kill, he promised himself as he pressed deeper into the hush and haunting grandness of the living wood.
Nathan suddenly stopped dead still. Through a tangle of brushwood he spied a fawn in a patch of cold sunlight, nibbling on the leaves of a low-hanging limb. The young hunter lifted the flintlock, rested it across the bow of a small tree, and cocked the hammer. The fawn raised its head, pricked its ears, and its soft brown eyes stared into the brushwood and at the boy beyond. Nathan’s heart pounded and his eyes stung. His lips became summer-creek dry as his finger began to squeeze the trigger. His face twitched with excitement at the anticipation of a kill. Then his finger seemed to freeze in position. Was it from the cold? No—from somewhere his father’s voice came. “Be wise, my son. These are God’s mountains.”
The boy slowly lowered the rifle. And for a long moment the young deer and the young hunter traded looks.
The sun was high in the sky when Nathan emerged from the woods and crossed the frozen field toward home. Father paused in his woodchopping as the boy, toting the long rifle across his shoulder, stopped by the woodpile. “Well, son, what did you find?” he asked, leaning on his axe.
Nathan’s eyes shone. “Wisdom, Pa. I hope I found a little bit of wisdom.”
Nathan walked into the cabin and got a chair. But before he stepped up onto it to replace the flintlock over the door, he took out his pocketknife and carefully carved a small NW on the stock of the gun next to his father’s and Grandpa Ephram’s initials. Then he went outside to help his father cut wood.