Gospel Story Finder

On one occasion I accompanied a stake president and bishop to visit a less-active member. We taught him, in a very simple way, about the blessings of the Sabbath. We expressed to him our sincere love. He responded, “All I needed was to have someone come and give me an abrazo,” or hug. I immediately stood up and embraced him. The next day was Sunday. This same brother came to sacrament meeting with his entire family.

Returning What Was Stolen
Many years ago when I was practicing law in California, a friend and client who was not a member of our faith came in to see me and with great enthusiasm showed me a letter he had received from an LDS bishop of a nearby ward. The bishop reported that a member of his congregation, a former employee of my client, had taken materials from my client’s work site and had rationalized that they were surplus. But after becoming a committed Latter-day Saint and attempting to follow Jesus Christ, this employee recognized that what he had done was dishonest. Enclosed in the letter was a sum of money from the man to cover not only the cost of the materials but also interest. My client was impressed that the Church through lay leadership would assist this man in his effort to be reconciled to God.
Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

Yoshio and Kikuno Nishihara exemplified what they preached as their children were growing up. Satoshi remembers well an argument with his mother when he was young; it was resolved when she asked him to kneel and pray with her. That was a sweet learning experience. Now it comes naturally for Satoshi to counsel and pray with his own wife, Noriko, and their children in handling family business. They handled one recent decision this way after a family fast; as they prayed together and as he listened to his wife and children express their feelings, it became clear to him what the family should do.

I was diagnosed with an eye disease when I was eight years old, and over the years my vision has been reduced to less than 10 percent. But I have had many blessings through the sport of running and competing in the Paralympics. A few years ago, an injury resulted in surgery, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to compete again. But I was blessed by Heavenly Father to heal well and be able to continue competing.
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants what is best for me, and that gives me comfort and reassurance that what happens is what’s best for me.

Growing up with muscular dystrophy, I had serious doubts about whether having a family would ever happen for me. Would I find someone who could see past my disability? And if I did, what kind of father would I be? I hoped for life as a husband and father; I just didn’t know if I would get it.
And then it happened: marriage, followed two years later by the wonderful news that we were having a baby. A year and a half later, more great news came: a second child was on the way.
And just like that, I was married with two kids—daughters, no less, which was crazy because even when I dared dream of having a family, for some reason I always pictured sons—yet further proof that I had no clue of what lay ahead of me.
But I “trust[ed] in the Lord with all [my] heart” (Proverbs 3:5). Put differently, I rolled with it.
I rolled with it when my sweetheart, Casey, went into labor and said, “It’s time,” and I about passed out. I rolled with it when the nurse held our brand-new baby girl in front of me and said, “She’s yours now,” and I gave Isabelle a kiss on the forehead. I rolled with it and shaved my facial hair when my scratchy kisses made her cry. And I even rolled with it when, while I was holding her on my lap, her dirty diaper gave out—fatherhood can be messy.
Being able to roll with it—to adapt—has been a key to any successes I’ve had as a dad and in life. I’ve gone from crawling to walking to running to getting weaker to slowing down to losing the ability to walk and using a wheelchair. At each phase, to make it work I’ve had to adapt to my circumstances and play to the abilities Heavenly Father has given me. It’s an important part of fatherhood.
Turns out, without even knowing it, I’ve been training to be a great dad my whole life!
We Are All in the Process
“You see, we’re all on a journey. … We are all in the process of becoming who we will one day be. Fathers and [children] can play a critical role in helping each other become the best that they can be.”
President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Fathers and Sons: A Remarkable Relationship,” Liahona, Nov. 2009, 47.
Why do I know so much about lambs, dolphins, mermaids, dolls, book characters, cross-country running, and musicals? Because those are the things my youngest daughter, Sammy, has been interested in over the past 14 years! Find out what your kids are into and get into it too.
President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said, “Find your own best way to connect,” creating a one-on-one relationship with each child as part of our fatherly stewardship. 1
I’ve never tossed my girls in the air. I’ve never pushed them on a swing, jumped into a pool with them, or spotted them in the gym.
But they’ve screamed for joy on the back of my wheelchair as I did wheelies through our neighborhood, climbed me like a ladder to reach goodies on the top shelf, and enjoyed incredible front-row parking with me their entire lives.
We all have different abilities. Figure out what you can do with your kids and then do it!
Being a dad has been and continues to be the joy of my life.
My girls have an amazing understanding of my physical limitations. We’ve never really had to detail what Daddy can or cannot physically do. They’ve always just seemed to know. Even when they were toddlers, I would ask them to grab something for me, and they’d place it right in my hand. When Casey would ask for something, they’d toss it to her or hold it near her so she’d have to reach out for it.
Being a dad has been and continues to be the joy of my life.
When I’m being the best version of myself, I love my girls the way God loves them—personally and completely. But I’m not perfect. When I’m not centered in God’s love, patience wanes, tempers flare, and feelings get hurt. Like I said before, I’m a work in progress.
Dads come from all walks of life and have different strengths and weaknesses. But thanks to the love, grace, and mercies of an all-loving Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, we can all be empowered to be exactly who and what our children need us to be.
I know our Heavenly Father will endow each of us with the strength needed to be the best dad we can be. When we seek His help and direction, blessings will follow and, come what may, we’ll have the ability to roll with it.

Brooke P. of California, USA, could feel her resolve wavering—it would be so much easier to blend in with her teammates. The other girls were pressuring her to dress like them for practices and games.
Brooke had already decided that she wanted to be modest, but she didn’t know what that meant for playing her sport. Would it be OK to dress like her teammates just during sporting events?
“I decided to do some research,” Brooke says. “I looked through For the Strength of Youth, the scriptures, Church talks—everything I could get my hands on. Nothing seemed to describe my exact situation and give me specific enough advice. But I knew that Heavenly Father knew me and that He knew what would be modest.”
So Brooke took action again. “I decided to get down on my knees and pray,” she says. As she prayed, she expressed her desire to obey the commandments and then asked whether it would be OK for her to dress like her teammates for their practices and games.
After her prayer, Brooke felt impressed that she should not alter her clothing choices to satisfy her peers. Although her decision was unpopular, Brooke found confidence and peace knowing that her choice was pleasing to Heavenly Father.

Jean-Olivier Smatti, a youth leader in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said: “This week was a miracle. We had 86 young men and women including 15 who are investigating our Church. We had passport problems and even a tornado, but we know that our stay on Lifou was an incredible tool for missionary work. The locals were impressed by our youth, and they were so pleased to meet them.”

After sacrament meeting the bishop called me into his office for a talk. Here it comes, I thought. I’m going to be the new teachers quorum president, I’ll bet. I was filled with pride and excitement. Wow, is the ward ever going to heap handshakes on me. Mom will be so proud!
I sat in the big chair across from the bishop. He was a pleasant man, smiling as always, but I felt that even so, this conversation was going to be an important one.
“Steve, we have an assignment for you,” he said. My heart raced.
“This is a special ‘good neighbor’ assignment. We’re concerned about Hasty McFarlan. He’s a pretty sad old man, you know. He needs someone to befriend him. He’s not a member of the Church, but God’s love reaches to all people, and we as members of his church have the responsibility to show it. Maybe I should say we have the privilege of showing that love.”
I guess I must have looked stunned.
“You know Hasty, don’t you, Steve?” asked the bishop.
My memory jumped back a couple of weeks to when some friends and I had made fun of the old man by singing jingles and shouting the jokes we had made up about him.
“Yes, I know him,” I said, choking down my disappointment and guilt. “He’s the old hermit who lives outside of town.”
“Right,” said the bishop. “I would like for you to go out and visit him two or three times a week.”
“Okay,” was the only answer I could manage.
The bishop must have detected my crestfallenness, because he leaned forward in his chair and looked at me carefully.
“Now, if this assignment will be too much, don’t be afraid to say so.”
I sighed. “Oh, I’ll do it, sir,” I said.
“Good,” said the bishop with a smile, and before I could catch my breath, he went on. “You can chop wood for the fire and get him food, blankets—whatever he needs to help him feel wanted. Be a friend. Your father is aware of the assignment, and he told me he would help you. Your Heavenly Father will be prompting you, too.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I was 15 years old then, and there were other things I would rather do—play football, hunt, fish, or just do the things my friends were doing. But I had told the bishop I would carry out the assignment, and I knew it wasn’t good to go back on my word.
Hasty lived in a little log cabin at the foot of a mountain, just outside the Idaho farming community I grew up in. On the long hike to his cabin after school that first afternoon, it seemed to me that every pine along the trail whispered Hasty’s loneliness.
Once a year at Christmas the old man got a free bath at the hotel, compliments of the sheriff. Probably, we all thought, it was the only bath he got all year. We used to say he looked like a pirate with that growth on the side of his head and his black eyepatch. Most of the kids and even some of the townspeople had the habit of making unkind remarks or doing something “clever” whenever Hasty was around. Would he remember me as one of the tricksters? By the time I reached the cabin, I was genuinely frightened.
I knocked, No answer. I knocked again. I knew he had to be in there. Where else could he go?
“Hasty?” My voice broke halfway through the word. I don’t know how long I must have stood there before I decided to go inside. The thick oaken door creaked as I pushed it open.
“Hasty?” I called again. “Hasty, are you there?”
Hearing a rustling, I poked my head in as far as I dared and peeked around the door. It was cold in Hasty’s cabin and very dark. I could just make out the figure of a man on the bed. Hasty was all slouched down, but not like he’d been asleep, or even like he’d been thinking. He looked like he was slouching because there was no reason to do anything else. I noticed that the soiled, mildewed blanket he was sitting on was more hole than blanket.
My heart was beating in my throat. I swallowed hard.
“Hasty, is there anything I can do for you?” I managed to blurt out.
I told him my name and that the bishop from the LDS Church had sent me to see how he was doing and to help out. He said nothing. The silent, staring troll was freezing my nerves.
“Hasty, your fire is out.”
No reply.
“Can I chop some wood?”
No reply.
I went outside, found an axe and some stacked stumps, and began chopping kindling. With every strike of the axe my brain pounded. What am I doing out here? Why me? Why?
“Quit grumbling,” a voice inside me said. “The old man is cold and lonely, and you can help him.”
I got a fire going and tried to talk to him, but after a few minutes I decided he wasn’t really listening. He needed a new blanket, so I told him I would get a thick, clean, comfortable one, and the next day I did. After that I came every other day. Slowly, over the next several weeks, he began talking.
One day after we had talked some he said, “Boy, why do you come? I’m sure a kid your age can find better things to do than visit a sick old varmint like me. But I’m glad you come.” And then he smiled.
At Thanksgiving I invited Hasty to our house for dinner. He didn’t come, but our family took part of the dinner to him. There were tears in his eyes as he tried to thank us.
I discovered as our visits continued that Hasty had been a sheepherder. Once he had had a wife and children, but they had gotten a terrible fever and died of it.
Feeling in his grief that his life had been shattered, Hasty wandered the whole country as a vagabond. A diseased growth on the side of his face made one eye blind. And the teasing and practical joking had begun.
But to me the old man didn’t seem as ugly and frightening anymore. In fact, after school I hurried to his cabin to help him and to listen to his stories.
When Christmas arrived, we invited him to dinner once again. This time he came, and what’s more, he came in a suit, all cleaned and handsome. He looked great. A smile curved his lips. Hasty was happy because we showed him he was needed.
As we finished dinner, the old man bowed his head for a second, and then raised it and said, “You people sure are wonderful. My life has been a shambles for a long time, but the love you’ve shown is making me a different person. I’m very grateful.”
As he said that, I could feel a little fire in my chest getting big. It felt good.

I have seen some of that in practice lately. A woman whom I had not met before came to my home and recounted her heartbreak at a marriage ruined by deceit and cruelty. She grieved for her young adult children, who were confused and wounded. She had served as a ward Relief Society president three times and as a stake Relief Society president. That service had shown her both irrefutable evidence of God’s goodness and mercy, and some of the difficult and painful realities that many suffer; even so, she was surprised at how unprepared she felt to face her own tragedy. At last she said, “All I can do now is cling to my faith in God and pray that my love of Christ and for my children will help me survive.” For the present, her pain had clouded her ability to see her own courage and resolve. In the midst of such trouble, she was steadfast in Christ, and her intent was charity. I knew she and her children still had much to endure and to work through, but the words from Moroni echoed for us both that “whoso is found possessed of [charity] at the last day, it shall be well with [her” (Moro. 7:47). Through her excruciating experience of sifting for the true nature of love, she was literally offering what God requires of each of us, a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Her offering was also building in her strength and peace.

Not too long ago I attended a missionary fireside in Idaho, after which I was introduced to a beautiful eighteen-year-old young woman who was fighting a battle with cancer. I was told that for the third time her cancer had come out of remission, and I was asked if it would be possible for me to give her a blessing. The family were converts to the Church, and her father said, “Brother Ballard, we are aware that our daughter is in the hands of Heavenly Father, and we’re not asking you to do anything that would be contrary to His mind and will. We just want to feel that we’ve done everything we possibly can to appeal to Him for her life.”

Of course I understood. Any parent would understand that feeling. We went into a private room where I was able to visit with this extraordinary young woman for a few minutes. I wish I could communicate to you the sweet and wonderful spirit that I felt from her. This beautiful young woman looked into my eyes and with powerful simplicity said, “Brother Ballard, I’m not afraid to die. I would like to live. There are things that I would still like to accomplish in this life. But I know that Jesus is my Savior and my Redeemer, and during these past few years He has become my best friend. I trust Him, and I trust you as His representative. Whatever He wants for me, I’m prepared.”

We gave her a blessing, during which we pled with God for a miracle, but at her request left the matter with Heavenly Father. My wife Barbara was with me, and as we returned to our car we looked at each other with tears in our eyes as we said to one another, “Oh, thank heavens for the gospel. Thank heavens for a plan that makes it possible for an eighteen-year-old girl to know what it means to come unto Christ. What ever happens, she is going to be fine.” She died on June 23, 1995, with the peace of the Lord accompanying her and her family.

I can’t give this talk without mentioning one more person in who has really seen me through in my life and that person is my husband. When we got married, he got a full time teaching job, but I was still in school, so because I had a longer commute, he would come home from work and do all the cooking as well. As he mentioned earlier, I was in a serious car accident during graduate school. Following that accident, he had to continue all of his own responsibilities, but also take care of me, and take on all of the household responsibilities. He even taught one of my classes. When our kids came along, he took equal interest in them, and there has been no task required of him that he is unwilling to do. He supports me in my desires for work and artistic development, and I could not do the work on campus in all that I do without his help. He follows a lifelong pattern of service to me and the rest of our family.

Kim relates the time she ran for a student-body office and got up to make her much anticipated campaign speech. She wasn’t too nervous about it, since she was used to speaking in church. But that proved to be her undoing. After elaborating on how she could help the school, she closed her speech, “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” It brought down the house.
Kim says it really helped to acknowledge the mistake instead of ignoring it. Everybody was laughing about it anyway, so she decided she would rather laugh with them than hide out. It made everyone much more comfortable, and even though she didn’t win the election, she was included in conversations instead of being whispered about.

Digging footings meant long, hot hours, and I have to admit, I didn’t always have a good attitude about it. Whenever my mother caught me complaining about having to work, she would say, “Watch out. You’re going to lose your blessing, and you have to work anyway!” (See D&C 58:28–29.) She was right. Complaining never took away the job; it just took away the satisfaction and many of the blessings of doing it.
I found that when I chose to listen to my mother and to do the work with a cheerful heart, the time passed much faster, the work itself was done better, and I was a whole lot happier than I had been when I was complaining. Attitude affects everything.

“I hate freckles!” Tommy exclaimed as he studied his face in the mirror. “Why do I have so many?”
“Well,” Mother said thoughtfully, “I guess you could say that they’re a gift.”
“A gift! Who would give freckles as a gift?”
“Grandma Flamm would.” Mother smiled. “And I’ll bet if you ‘climb’ your family tree, you’ll find even more surprising gifts.”
Tommy thought about the trees in his backyard. There was a big oak tree, an apple tree, and a pine tree, but he couldn’t think of a family tree. “Where is my family tree?” he asked.
“I’ll get it.”
Tommy shook his head, puzzled. Mother sure was saying funny things this morning. He imagined his big old oak tree covered with brightly wrapped packages. How could Mother find something like that?
“Here it is,” Mother called, coming down the stairs. She held up a piece of paper as Tommy eagerly ran toward her.
“Why, it’s nothing but words on some lines,” he said, disappointed. “I thought you said it was a tree.”
“Look at it this way,” Mother said, turning the paper sideways.
Tommy studied it thoughtfully. “Hey, that does look kind of like a tree! But I don’t see any presents.”
“Let me explain,” Mother said. “Every line on this chart has the name of one of your ancestors. And every one of your ancestors has given you a gift. They have given you something that they had, so now you have it, too.”
“Like freckles?”
“Exactly!”
“I think I’d rather have birthday presents,” Tommy said glumly.
Mother laughed. “Grandma thought so, too. In fact, she hated her freckles until she met Grandpa. But he said that he couldn’t forget the girl with the cute freckles, and they got married.”
“Really?” asked Tommy, wide-eyed. Maybe this gift business wasn’t so bad after all. “What other gifts did I get?”
“Well, look at your hair—it’s blond like Grandpa Peck’s. That’s his gift to you.”
“Yeah, and my hair’s curly like yours! Is that your gift?”
“That’s right, Tommy. You’re starting to understand. Let’s see if we can find another gift.”
“Blue eyes! Grandma Peck has blue eyes—just like me!” He studied the chart. There were still two more names there—Dad’s and Grandpa’s. He tried to think of gifts from them. “I guess Dad and Grandpa Flamm didn’t give me a gift,” he decided sadly.
“Sure, they did. Let me give you a hint,” Mother said. “Do you remember the pictures Grandpa painted that are hanging in our living room?”
“Yes,” said Tommy, “but Grandpa didn’t give them to me.”
“No, he didn’t. His gift to you is much better than that. He gave you a love of painting and the talent to paint beautiful pictures.”
Tommy’s eyes began to sparkle. “You mean Grandpa’s gift was that I can paint well?”
“That’s right.”
“And what about Dad?” Tommy asked excitedly. “What did he give me?”
“Dad’s gift is extra special, too. He gave you the gift of kindness. You have a special talent for being kind, just like him.”
“Wow! I never knew I could get so many gifts from a family tree,” said Tommy. A big grin spread across his face, almost connecting his freckles. “You know what, Mom?” he asked happily. “This is even better than birthday presents!”

Now, whether I saw them or not, there were always sharks in the water. The first time that I realized that a shark was in the water with me was in Hanalei Bay on the island of Kauai. We had been working for two days, and on the third day, I saw it swimming nearby. It was only three to four feet long, but for a first timer seeing a shark, it could have been fourteen feet long. I immediately swam to the captain. I didn't even realize that I had instinctively climbed into the boat. The captain nearly exploded seeing me there. He yelled so loud for me to jump back in the water that I wasn't sure what was scarier, the shark or the captain. The next day was Sunday, and our captain kept the Sabbath day holy. I stayed in my cabin and had my personal sacrament service. I was the main speaker, and there was even a special soloist. The rest of the crew, who were not members of the Church, swam out to Hanalei town for the day. I had considered all day after seeing the shark about giving up this whole capital adventure. Was earning money for my mission worth the risk? I decided to talk to the captain. As I sat with the captain, ready to tell him that I was going to swim to the airport, I confided in him that I was terrified of sharks, and then I felt inspired to ask him to give me a priesthood blessing. In the blessing, he told me that I had a mission to perform and that I would need all my limbs to perform my mission. He then promised me that not a hair of my head would be damaged from working on the boat and that I would serve with all my fingers and toes intact. During the ensuing months, there wasn't a time when there wasn't a shark in the water with me. I had some pretty close calls. By close, I mean that while I was working, a shark swam just inches away from my nose. I am happy to report that I stand before you today with all my fingers and toes. I pray that you and I will always courageously rely on priesthood power.

After receiving a patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith, Sr. and finishing a term of school, Erastus left about April 16, 1836, “on foot and alone with a small hand valise containing a few Church works and a pair of socks, with five cents in my pocket, being all my worldly wealth,” and headed for Pennsylvania. During this nine-month mission he traveled 1,600 miles on foot, held 220 meetings, and baptized about 60 persons.

Illustration by Lee Montgomery / IllustrationX
In 1998, I began my studies at the University of the Andes. I greatly desired to earn my university degree with a good grade point average. But my criminology classes were difficult, and I had trouble adapting to university work. Also, I was busy serving as a counselor in my ward bishopric and working at night to provide for my family.
Doubt and worry frustrated my hopes that first year as I earned grades far below the class average. As the school year ended, I increased my pleas to God in prayer for help understanding each theory, principle, and procedure.
During my second year, I met a classmate I had not noticed before named Argenis. I discovered that he had not seen me either—nor would he ever see me because he was blind. One day he approached me with his cane and braille tablet and asked for help. He said I had a good voice and that he needed me to record the written study guides so he could listen to them.
He had asked others, but they refused. Those who had helped him the year before were reluctant to help him again. Between my busy schedule and poor grades, I was also reluctant to help.
Despite never officially agreeing to his request, however, I soon found myself reading and rereading the guides to record their content for Argenis. In time, we became friends, and I began to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with him. I even gave him a Book of Mormon in braille. He appreciated my help but never became interested in learning more about the Church.
As I continued reading and recording the study guides, however, my grade point average began to rise. Even my peers noticed that I was becoming a better student and growing in my understanding.
Eight years after I graduated, my friend Argenis also graduated. He hadn’t been interested in the Church, but he had helped me understand “that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17). He had also helped me see that as I serve others, God blesses me and increases my ability.

“Do you think I could ever be a mighty missionary like Ammon?” ten-year-old John asked his mom as she tucked him into bed. They had just finished family home evening, and John’s mind was spilling over with all Dad had said and read from the Book of Mormon about Ammon and his mission to the Lamanites.
“I’m sure that you’ll be an excellent missionary, John,” Mom said. “The Lord needs fine young men like you, and when you’re nineteen, He’ll call you to serve a mission somewhere in this big, wonderful world. And it will be exactly where He needs you the most.”
She kissed him goodnight, and John was alone with his thoughts. Just think—me, a missionary! Boy, that will be neat! I wonder where I’ll go. It could be anywhere! He began to think of all the places he’d heard about. His Primary teacher, Brother Phelps, was a returned missionary and loved to talk about different countries. He had even been teaching them greetings in different languages.
Maybe I’ll be like Brother Phelps and go to Mexico on my mission, John thought. I would be brave, like Ammon.
He began to imagine himself and a companion walking toward a ranch and saying to a vaquero (cowboy) on a tall horse, “Buenos días, señor (Good day, sir). You are a chosen people, and the Lord has many blessings for you. I have come to tell you about them.”
Or, John thought, I might cross the ocean and go to Hong Kong! A picture of him at a little street-side food stand, like one he’d seen in a book at school, filled his mind. He remembered his Cantonese greeting as he turned to talk to a Chinese man lunching there. “Nei hou ma (How are you)? May I come to your house tonight and tell your family how you can be together forever?”
Hmmm, John thought. That would be a nice place to go—but so would Germany!
In a flash, there he was, talking to a cute little German grandma who was scrubbing her cobblestone sidewalk. His teacher had said that the German people were clean and neat and that in some of the small towns, they still wash their sidewalks on their hands and knees.
“Guten Morgen, meine Frau (Good morning, ma’am),” he said to the woman. “I am a Mormon missionary, and I have come to brighten your life.” He imagined himself handing her a Book of Mormon. Remembering how Ammon had served the king, he saw himself scrubbing her sidewalk while she examined the book.
The more John thought about being a missionary, the more excited he became. Maybe I’ll even be sent to Russia! He had seen a lot about Russia on the TV lately. At last the Russian people were allowed to learn about Jesus. Just last week his teacher had taught him how to say hello in Russian.
He cleared his throat and, to imaginary people standing with him in the square in Moscow, said, “Zdrastvweetyeh (Hello). This pamphlet in my hand holds good news for all of you. There really is a God. Joseph Smith saw Him and His Son, Jesus Christ, with his own eyes.”
“Wow!” John said right out loud. He could just see himself bringing the truth to people who were really hungry for it. Then his mind flashed to a different part of the world, and he thought, I might even be sent to Africa, where they speak Zulu!
“Sawubona (Hello)!” he said to a group of men in an African village. Holding up the Book of Mormon, he said, “This book tells of a power greater than any on earth. It’s called the priesthood. You, too, may have this power if you learn and keep the commandments of the Lord.”
Then John remembered Ammon again and how he had brought the gospel to King Lamoni. That’s what I’ll do if the Lord sends me to England!
Suddenly there he was, armed with his scriptures, in front of the queen, bowing and saying, “Your Royal Highness, Jesus Christ, the King of the whole earth, will return again to rule and reign forever. We must be ready. This Book of Mormon will help you and your people prepare for His coming.”
John’s thoughts shifted to another great nation of people who must be waiting to hear his important message. Maybe he would be chosen to teach the American Indians!
In his mind, he saw a little Sioux boy carrying a load of firewood. “Hau, koda (Hello, friend),” he said to the boy. “May I help you with your load while you take me to your father and mother? I want to tell them about your great-great-great- grandparents.” In a moment, he was teaching this Indian family all about Samuel the Lamanite prophet.
As John thought about where else he might go, the idea came to him that he could be called to serve among his own people. Why, he might even be sent to the area where his Aunt Harriet lived! His mother had told him about “dear little Aunt Harriet,” and he had always wanted to meet her. She wasn’t a member of the Church. His mother had said that Aunt Harriet just hadn’t had the right opportunity to learn the truth yet. John thought, Maybe I’ll be the one to teach her. That would be terrific!
He could see himself sitting there in his missionary suit and tie, saying, “Aunt Harriet, I would love to be in the celestial kingdom with you. Let me tell you how we can make it happen.”
At that happy thought, John yawned and snuggled deeper into his covers. In only a minute he was sound asleep.
The next morning he was awakened by the bright sunlight shining through his window. He jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. A marvelous idea had come to him. I know exactly what I’ll do. Grabbing a pair of ice skates from a shelf, he ran out the door.
Good! There was Paul, a nonmember friend, just as John had hoped. “Hey, Paul,” he called, running to his side. “Thanks for letting me borrow your skates.” He took a deep breath and added, “Now there’s something I want to share with you. It’s not something to play with, and it’s really important. More important than anything I own. It’s my church. I want you to go to Primary with me. My teacher is really cool—you’ll like him. How about it? I’ll pick you up Sunday at ten o’clock, OK?” He stood there smiling and hoping.
Paul looked at him curiously and said, “I think so. I’ll ask my mom.”
The next Sunday Paul was sitting in Primary next to John, who was being more reverent than he’d ever been. Wow, he thought, it’s great to be a missionary!

Baptized in snowy weather during the early spring of 1832, Brigham Young was confirmed at the edge of the water and ordained an elder in his home two miles away before the clothes were dry on his back. And before that year was over—an important year involving the death of his first wife and his initial meeting with the Prophet Joseph Smith—Brigham Young was out in the snow again, this time in an effort to share his new-found orientation to life with his friends in Canada.

In the cold of December, Brigham Young and his brother Joseph set out on foot for Kingston, upper Canada. This journey was to take the two young elders over a distance of 400 kilometers in snow knee deep with a thick layer of mud under it. Only those who have trudged through snow into mud can really appreciate the arduous task that these two missionaries underwent. To add to their discomfort, nearly ten kilometers of this journey was on ice—ice so thin that it bent beneath their feet, allowing the water to seep in until it was “half a shoe deep.”

For two months the missionaries labored in that area and baptized forty-five souls. Anyone who has seen his own inadequacies will appreciate knowing that missionary work was not an easy task for Brigham Young. He considered himself “about as destitute of language as a man could well be. …

“How I have had the headache, when I had ideas to lay before the people, and not words to express them; but I was so gritty that I always tried my best” (in Journal of Discourses, 5:97).

Another year and another mission passed before Brigham Young could finally settle his little family in Kirtland, where he drew close to the Prophet Joseph Smith. Twenty more souls came into the kingdom through his efforts as a result of a second mission, and he then led them to Kirtland, much as he would later lead the westward trek of the Saints. Once he had settled in the quiet little town of Kirtland in northern Ohio, Brigham Young began to learn about Zion, the dwelling place of the pure in heart, from the Prophet Joseph Smith.

Another major sacrifice for the cause of Zion came in 1834, as Brigham accompanied Joseph Smith on the march of Zion’s Camp. Word was received in Kirtland that the Saints in Missouri had been driven from their homes by mobs and that help was needed. An appeal was made to the brethren in Kirtland. Joseph and 205 others answered this plea for help. Force would be met by force. Those who marched knew that death might await them on the other end of their 1600-kilometer trek.

Brigham’s generation was acquainted with long walks, but nothing like this march. President Young later talked about walking month after month with blood in his shoes as he worked as a missionary, but even missionary work was nothing compared to the intensity of this march, day after day, in the heat of the early summer.

As the march proceeded, exhaustion resulted, patience became short, and tempers flared. Finally, the dreaded cholera hit, with its terrifying cramping and sudden death. Two years before that time, North America had experienced a major epidemic of cholera, and its symptoms were well known—diarrhea, spasmodic vomiting, and painful cramps, followed by dehydration that left the face blue and pinched, the extremities cold and dark, and the skin on the hands and feet puckered.

Death could follow in a day, even in an hour, and sometimes the victim would just keel forward as if hewn down by an axe. Some members of Zion’s Camp attempted to flee, but Brigham Young remained. Joseph Smith listed Brigham’s name as one who was most active in caring for the sick and burying the dead.

Not long after his experience with Zion’s Camp, Brigham Young was called to be a member of the first modern Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, organized in 1835. With the new calling, Brigham experienced many changes and felt the weight of added responsibilities. But his goal in life remained constant: to continue the work that Joseph had commenced, until everything was prepared for the coming of the Son of Man.

Two scenes from Brigham Young’s apostolic years give an insight into his continuing dedication to this goal. Both are from the year 1839.

The first occurred in February. Joseph Smith was imprisoned in Liberty Jail, and Brigham Young was directing the affairs of the Church as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. The problem at hand was to move the Saints from Missouri to Illinois. Few persons were well equipped for the move; many were destitute, and in their haste to leave, the temptation to run for one’s own life was strong. But in Brigham Young’s mind, this was not a course of action for true Saints of God. Surely society would never endure unless men could learn love, compassion, and concern for each other.

Accordingly, a meeting was called and a covenant drawn up, stating in effect that the signers would never leave until they had aided all of the poor to leave with them. Brigham Young and his family, accompanied by the family of Heber C. Kimball (Elder Kimball having remained in Missouri), set out in the cold February climate, with their wagons aimed toward Illinois, in one of the strangest processions in the entire Mormon emigration experience.

After traveling as much as thirty-two kilometers across the frozen Missouri plains, Brigham would stop, establish a temporary shelter for his wife and five children, and then retrace his journey to its point of origin. There he would load up some of the poor and destitute Saints and return to his family. In this way he actually covered three times the distance of most of his fellow travelers. Later, at the ending of their journey—Quincy, Illinois—an impressive meeting was held. The Saints in Quincy learned that fifty families were still in Far West and were too poor to leave. They pulled together once more, offering to sell what little they had left—their hats, coats, and shoes—to raise funds for this movement. Brigham Young comments:
“We broke bread and partook of the Sacrament. At the close of the meeting $50 was collected in money and several teams were subscribed to go and bring out the brethren. Among the subscribers was Widow Warren Smith, whose husband and son had been killed at the massacre at Haun’s Mill. She sent her only team on this charitable mission.”

Through these experiences and many others like them, Brigham Young was buoyed up in his conviction that people can be drawn together in love, that they do have the ability to create a more Christian society founded on love and concern for others.

A second scene from that same year, which depicts the determination of Brigham Young to sacrifice everything to the upbuilding of the kingdom of God, took place between September 1839 and February 1840 and involves his mission to Great Britain.

Our focal point concerns his journey to New York. The time had arrived for the Twelve Apostles to leave for a special mission. But Brigham Young, like so many of his brethren, was sick with what appears to have been malaria. Aching in all the parts of his body, he managed somehow to struggle out of his bed in Montrose, Iowa, and to dress for his journey. Having no coat of his own, he used a quilt from the cradle as a makeshift wrapping. All of his children were feverishly ill in bed. His wife was also ill and in need of help with her little ten-day-old baby. The Mississippi River was only 165 yards away, but Brigham could not even walk to its banks. A neighbor drove up with a wagon, and President Young crawled in. Met at the river, he was rowed to the other side, where Israel Barlow transported him by horseback to the home of Heber C. Kimball in Nauvoo. There he collapsed and was not able to continue for four days.

Eventually the time for departing arrived, and the missionaries left, moving eastward as best they could. President Young rode in the back of a wagon. Those who have felt the discomfort of flu can well imagine how one might feel being jostled across the countryside between Illinois and Indiana. Four months later, Brigham arrived in New York City—well at last, but not beyond hardships. In Brooklyn, New York, while boarding a ferryboat, he fell somehow and, landing against a large iron ring, dislocated his left shoulder. While two of his brethren held him firmly against the deck, Parley P. Pratt took hold of his hand and pulled, with his foot against Brigham’s side. Agonizing though this ordeal was, Elder Young guided the bone back into the socket with his right hand. Then he passed out and was not able to dress himself for several days.

Others may have become discouraged and dropped out long before that point. But Brigham Young would never give up when the establishment of God’s kingdom was involved. He carried on, boarded the ship, and was seasick most of the way to Britain. So emaciated was he upon arriving in England that his own cousin, Willard Richards, did not even recognize him.

After months of strenuous missionary work, he returned home to his family. His sacrifice had been acceptable to the Lord. Upon arriving back in Nauvoo, Elder Young received this commendation:
“Dear and well-beloved brother, Brigham Young, verily thus saith the Lord unto you: My servant Brigham, it is no more required at your hand to leave your family as in times past, for your offering is acceptable to me.

“I have seen your labor and toil in journeyings for my name.

“I therefore command you to send my word abroad, and take especial care of your family from this time, henceforth and forever. Amen” (D&C 126:1–3).

One of the greatest lessons in devotion to the gospel came when George T. Benson received a mission call. “I was about thirteen years of age when father received a call to go on a mission. He went, leaving mother at home with seven children. The eighth was born four months after he arrived in the field, but never did we hear a murmur of complaint from Mother; she was so supportive of Father.

“The letters we received from Father were indeed a blessing. They seemed to us children to come halfway around the world, but they were only from across the country. There came into our home, as a result, a spirit of missionary work that has never left it.

“Father returned home and while we would sit each day milking the cows, he would sing over and over again, ‘Ye Elders of Israel,’ ‘Israel, Israel, God Is Calling,’ ‘Come All Ye Sons of God,’ ‘Ye Who Are Called to Labor,’ until I learned every word of several of these great missionary songs. Today I don’t need a songbook when we sing these great songs that Father sang to us morning and evening.”