Gospel Story Finder

Today I want to share with you an experience our daughter had in the spring of 2013 that was a tender mercy from the Lord in her life. That was a very difficult time for her when she faced many significant challenges with her family and her children. One day, feeling frustrated and discouraged, she knelt in prayer. I will read what she wrote about what happened.

I sought to be fully open and humble--even if it meant hearing I had somehow strayed from what He desired for me and my children. I wept as I prayed and promised my Father in Heaven that I would do what He needed of me--whatever that was. As I knelt there, the noise of my children playing downstairs perked my ears. This brought me peace. And then a memory entered my mind. It was the memory of another prayer offered in another moment of despair some months ago, before my youngest was born, when in the darkness of my bedroom, in the middle of the night, I fell to my knees by the side of my bed seeking comfort and strength. A voice had whispered to my mind that night, and through the memory of it, whispered again on this afternoon: I trust you. You are their mother. I gave them to you.

Comforted by this memory, I offered a brief prayer of gratitude. This answer to my prayer was enough. I knew that I had done what was right for my children, and I knew my Father in Heaven was watching over me.

Just as I was getting up from my knees, Kira, my oldest, knocked on my door and excitedly asked me to come outside to see something. She had found something while walking up our front steps on arriving home from softball practice. She urged me to be quiet as I came out onto the front porch and started down the stairs. She pointed into the bushes to the left of the stairs. At first I couldn't see what she was pointing at. But then a robin flew out of the bush and perched on the other side of the railing. The robin was upset and chirping at me. As I looked where she had flown from, I could see why. There, nestled in the bushes, was a beautifully constructed nest with two of the most brilliant blue eggs I had ever seen resting inside. As I showed my other children the nest, mother robin continued her chirping, never moving from her perch just a few branches away. I went inside to get my phone so I could take a picture. On returning, I realized she was still there watching, protecting, and never wavering.

We checked on the robin with her eggs daily for a couple of weeks. She stopped chirping so wildly at us; but each time we approached, she flew to a nearby branch and watched as we snapped pictures of her nest with the eggs. On Mother's Day I woke up early, anxious to check on the nest, and found that overnight those beautiful blue eggs had hatched! There, in the nest, were two beautiful little baby birds. The not-so-subtle symbolism of the timing of their hatching was not lost on me. It was a beautifully symbolic gift, a sweet tender mercy from my Father in Heaven that reinforced His message to me in answer to my prayers: I trust you. You are their mother. I gave them to you.[4]

When our twin daughters were young, my wife and I decided to teach them to swim. I started with Rebekah. As we went down into the public pool together, I thought, “I’m going to teach her to swim.” But she thought, “I’m going to drown!” The water was only three-and-one-half feet deep, but Becky was only three feet tall. She was so terrified that she began to scream and kick. She was unteachable.

Finally, I held her close and said, “Becky, I’ve got you. I’m your dad. I love you. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. Now relax.” And bless her heart, she relaxed. She trusted me. I put my arms under her and said, “Okay, now kick your legs.” And she began to learn how to swim.

When our family was still young and growing, Sister Funk and I were looking for a larger home in another stake. In February of that year, we learned our bishop would be moving soon. We both received strong impressions that we should stay in our current ward, so we modified our search. In March, after returning from a vacation, we had decided to buy a new home under construction in our ward. As Sister Funk talked to the homebuilder on a Thursday morning, she learned the house we wanted had been sold while we were gone. She was very disappointed. That evening, I was called as the new bishop of our ward. The next day Sister Funk found the same model of house in a different neighborhood in our ward and we promptly bought it.

The year after we moved into our new home, our stake and ward were divided and the first house ended up in the other stake. Another year later, I was called as the stake president of the stake where we lived and served for ten years in that calling. Those opportunities may not have come if the Lord had not guided us to be where we could be of service.

I close with a recent, personal experience. Not long ago, Mary and I knelt by our bed to say our evening prayer. It was my turn to say the prayer, and I began by praying for many of the same things that we've always prayed for. We prayed for President Monson, his counselors and the Twelve. We prayed for our missionaries and for other missionaries, for our children and for our grandchildren, and for ourselves. Then an unusual spirit came upon us and I said, “Heavenly Father, all that is left in our lives is to do whatsoever Thou would have us do and to work to bring the blessings of the gospel more strongly into the lives of our children, our grandchildren and, if Thou allows it, our great grandchildren.”

After so many experiences together, Mary and I have come to that place where we are willing, absolutely willing, to fully surrender to our Heavenly Father’s will, not because of force or fear of consequence, but because of our love for Him, and our gratitude for His Son, and our complete confidence in Him as our Father, who loves us. We know that He sees farther than we do. We know that He can provide for us and others in ways we cannot understand. We know that as we follow His will, even when we do not fully understand why, and even when it is contrary to something that we have planned or even worked toward, He will bless us in ways we cannot now even imagine. How we love Him and His Son. How we trust them. How grateful we are for His blessings, and especially those blessings which have required work, faith and trust.

There is an article that illustrates this point by Mark Albright, former President of the Washington D.C. South Mission, published in Meridian Magazine in December 2012 entitled “A Miracle on Temple Square brings Change in Rome.” It said, “Dear President Albright, Former U.S. Senator Gordon H. Smith of Oregon is currently an Area Seventy and President of the National Association of Broadcasters in Washington D.C. He gave a fireside in our Stake recently where he shared an interesting experience regarding how two Italian Sister missionaries serving in Utah’s Temple Square Mission helped influence an important governmental decision in Italy regarding the new LDS Temple in Italy. Because it shows how effective good missionaries can be world-wide, and the ripple effect of a good example, I thought it was worth sharing with you.

“While serving as a U.S. Senator, Senator Smith received a telephone call one day from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The Church was interested in building a new temple in Italy and needed to acquire formal governmental recognition for the Church from the Italian government. Elder Uchtdorf wondered if Senator Smith could please help him arrange a meeting with the appropriate governmental officials in Rome. Senator Smith agreed to not only help set up the meeting but to also fly to Rome to help with the important presentation to the Italian official. They arrived at the meeting in Rome with the Italian official supervising religious affairs in Italy. The Italian Minister was a gracious and knowledgeable woman. She had the Assistant Minister join the meeting. Senator Smith introduced Elder Uchtdorf as an Apostle from the Church and quoted some references in the NATO treaty which included Italy and the United States. Elder Uchtdorf told about the Church and how its larger presence in Italy would benefit and bless the Italian people. He also explained the problems the members and missionaries were facing since the Church was not fully recognized as a religion but only as a charitable organization. The government official looked at her assistant and asked for his opinion regarding the Church's petition. The Assistant Minister replied that he had recently been on a visit to the United States with his family and had toured Temple Square in Salt Lake City during their trip. The assistant went on to explain that when they arrived at Temple Square, their tour guides were two young Italian sister missionaries. According to the assistant, the two sister missionaries were very impressive and glowed with energy and enthusiasm. He then said, in effect, "If the Mormon Church can raise such outstanding young people as I saw serving there in Utah, then by all means you should give the LDS Church all the recognition they need to build their temple here in Italy! I hope they can raise up thousands of young people here in Italy like the ones I met in Utah!" That comment seemed to have the appropriate effect, and the meeting concluded successfully.

“Later, after the appropriate Italian approval was granted, the announcement of a temple to be built in Italy was made during General Conference on October 4, 2008, by President Thomas S. Monson. When the announcement was made by the Prophet from the Conference Center pulpit, President Uchtdorf, now a member of the First Presidency, looked down in the congregation at Senator Smith and gave him a “thumbs up” to thank him for his significant contribution in acquiring the necessary governmental approvals. Italy’s President Giorgio Napolitano signed the Intesa con lo Stato, or legal agreement, on July 30, 2012. In contrast to the 1993 legislation that recognized the Church as only a charitable institution, the Church is now officially recognized as a religious denomination along with the Catholic Church and a few others. The first meeting with President Uchtdorf was the beginning of this important process that culminated recently in the final signed agreement. During his fireside, Senator Smith concluded by commenting that those two unnamed Italian sister missionaries serving on Temple Square may never know of their important contribution or what they accomplished by just having the Spirit with them and being such marvelous examples during the brief tour of the museum and Temple grounds with the Assistant Minister. The Italian Temple is currently under construction, which began October 23, 2010 with a groundbreaking ceremony.

“This miraculous outcome, based largely on a divine rendezvous on Temple Square, could have been very different had the two Italian missionaries acted inappropriately in any way during the tour. The two sister missionaries had no way of knowing that they were giving a tour to a governmental official or that an Apostle would soon be flying to Italy for a meeting that this man could influence in such an important way. Missionaries need to realize that they are being carefully watched by others and that the ripple effect of their good deeds and examples can significantly affect other people years later and many miles away. Members also may never know the impact that their good examples have on other people and their decisions. As President Monson often teaches, in the work of the Lord, there are no coincidences. For those two sisters to be together at precisely the right time and place in order to give a tour to a man who would shortly thereafter be able to assist President Uchtdorf in accomplishing his important assignment from the Prophet is miraculous, indeed!”

Congratulations to the Figueroa sisters of Puerto Rico, 16-year-old identical triplets who were baptized not long ago. The missionaries had visited their home more than seven years ago but hadn’t returned. One day last year, Belen felt inspired to take a different route home from school, where she found other elders. She approached them and asked them to come teach her family.
They did, and soon Awilda, Belen, Cecilia, and Carmen (an older sister) were baptized.
They’re all active in the Trujillo Alto Ward and love seminary and Young Women.

Sophie had a problem.
Mother’s Day was coming, and she wanted to give Mom a gift. Mom was going to have a baby, and she had to stay in bed so the baby could grow stronger. Sophie thought staying in bed sounded like the most boring thing in the world! So she wanted to give Mom something special to cheer her up. But she didn’t have any money to buy a present.
After school Sophie went to Mom’s room. She climbed up on the bed and got comfy.
“Tell me about your day,” Mom said.
Sophie started telling Mom about a silly poem she wrote about parrots in polka-dot pants parading around the park. Then she thought of her problem. Her voice trailed off, and her eyebrows scrunched up.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t have any money to buy you a present for Mother’s Day!” Sophie blurted out.
Mom smiled and patted Sophie’s hand. “Oh, honey. The best presents come from the heart,” she said. “Besides, you and Dad and the new baby are all the presents I need.”
Sophie sighed. Mom was always saying stuff like that. But Sophie still wanted to get her a present.
That night Sophie knelt by her bed.
“Heavenly Father, please help me think of a present I can give Mom for Mother’s Day,” she prayed.
In the morning, Sophie hadn’t even opened her eyes yet when an idea popped into her brain! She hopped out of bed and ran to tell Dad what she wanted to do.
“That’s a great idea,” he said. “Mom will love it.”
Since it was Saturday and she didn’t have school, Sophie got to work on her idea right away. She got out paper, markers, and scissors. She got out glitter glue and stickers. She used a ruler to draw a rectangle. Then she carefully cut around the edges.
In her best handwriting, Sophie wrote, “This coupon is good for a hug and a kiss.”
Sophie made another coupon for setting the table. She made one for picking up baby toys. She made one for washing windows. With each coupon, Sophie thought about how much she loved Mom. Soon she had a colorful stack. She wrapped them in gold paper and tied a ribbon around the bundle.
On Mother’s Day morning, Sophie handed the shiny package to Mom.
Mom smiled as she opened the crinkly paper. Her smile got even bigger when she saw what was inside.
“Thank you, Sophie! This is the best present ever,” she said, pulling Sophie into a hug.
Sophie felt warm and happy inside. Mom was right. The best presents did come from the heart.

A few years ago, one of my relatives compiled a beautiful history about my father’s ancestors, and I learned for the first time about my great-great-grandfather Robert Shipley. He was illiterate, illegitimate, and raised in a British workhouse. He was put in the workhouse with his younger brother, who later died because the conditions were so terrible. Their story reminds me of a Charles Dickens novel.

Fortunately, Robert survived. When he was older, he happened to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After he was baptized, he regularly attended church and eventually met a young woman there. Her name was Harriet, and she was educated and very cultured. I don’t know what she saw in Robert, but they got married right before they boarded a ship to sail to America to join the Saints.

While they were aboard the ship, Harriet taught Robert to read and write, using the Book of Mormon and the Bible. I take great delight in thinking about Harriet—who was thirteen years younger—teaching Robert to recognize the letters, sounds, and words of the gospel. I know that his progress would have been slow and incremental and that it would have taken a long time to see improvements. But with persistence and patience, we know “that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). This is the doctrine of incremental growth. Just as with the Saints in Africa who are learning to read and write, my ancestor Robert was already proficient in the most important language—the language of the Spirit.

"What were you assigned to bring?” Melissa asked Clara as they walked to Sister Wilson’s house for their Achievement Day activity.
“Four cups of flour,” Clara answered. “How about you?”
“Some yeast.”
“I wonder what we’re doing today. Hannah is bringing flour, too. Sister Wilson has kept it such a secret.”
“I know,” Melissa agreed. “All she would say was that it’s going to affect many ward members this Sunday.”
Still talking about the mystery, the girls soon came to Sister Wilson’s house. Before Clara could knock, Sister Wilson opened the door and invited them in. Tina, Jenny, and Susan were already sitting on the couch. A tape of Primary songs was playing softly in the background. Just as Clara and Melissa sat down, Hannah arrived. Now all the girls were present, and the mystery project would soon be revealed.
Sister Wilson offered the opening prayer, asking that they might understand the importance of the great sacrifice Jesus Christ made for them. She also prayed that the food they would prepare might be blessed for the sake of all who would eat it.
After the prayer, they made their way to the kitchen with their assigned ingredients. A couple of bowls and a mixer waited on the counter.
“Let’s see,” Sister Wilson began, “who was assigned to bring the yeast?”
“I was.” Melissa stepped forward.
“Good. We’re going to put the yeast into some warm water and let it dissolve. Meanwhile, we’ll put some of the other ingredients into this larger bowl. Who has the flour, sugar, and salt?”
“I do,” Clara, Hannah, and Jenny answered together.
As the girls worked, they visited, laughing and giggling. Amidst the chatter, Clara asked, “What are we making, and how will it affect the ward members?”
“Does anyone have any idea?” Sister Wilson asked.
“Are we making cookies?” Susan asked.
Sister Wilson smiled. “No, we are making the bread that will be used for the sacrament.”
The giggling stopped suddenly, and the girls spoke almost in whispers as a quiet reverence filled the room. They weren’t making bread just to learn how, but for use in a sacred ordinance!
When the yeast was dissolved, Susan poured in the milk she had brought and Tina added her oil. Then the girls combined the liquid and dry ingredients and mixed them together. They took turns kneading the dough on a flour-dusted counter. When it was smooth, the dough was covered with a cloth and allowed to rise. Then it was punched down, divided in half, shaped into loaves, and placed in loaf pans. While the dough rose a second time, they went into the next room for a lesson on the sacrament.
“Can anyone tell me what the bread and water represent?” Sister Wilson asked.
“The flesh and blood of Jesus Christ,” Melissa answered.
“That is right. Shortly before His crucifixion, Jesus gathered His Apostles around Him in an upstairs room. He knew that He was going to die, and He wanted the Apostles to always remember Him so that they could be strong and faithful to His teachings. He blessed bread and broke it into pieces. He gave it to His disciples to eat in memory of His body. He blessed wine and gave it to them to drink in memory of His blood.
“When we partake of the sacrament, we renew the covenant we made when we were baptized. Can anyone tell me what we promised to do?”
“I know,” Clara said. “We promised to keep the commandments.”
“We promised to remember Jesus Christ,” Jenny added.
“Very good,” Sister Wilson said. “We also promised to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ. The way we act, the things we do, the words we say should let others know that we are followers of Christ. The Lord promised us that if we keep our covenant, we will always have His Spirit to be with us.
“Is there anything special we should do during the sacrament service?” Sister Wilson continued.
Hannah raised her hand. “My mom always tells us that we should be reverent.”
“She’s right. We should also be prayerful and think of the Atonement. We need to examine our lives, looking for ways to improve ourselves and become more like Christ. And we should think about the promises we are renewing.”
After more discussion about the sacrament, the lesson ended. By then the dough had risen again, and it was time to put the pans into the oven. While the bread baked, the girls planned upcoming activities.
When the loaves were taken from the oven, they were a golden brown. “After they cool, I’ll slice them. Then I’ll give them to Bishop Carmichael. He’ll make sure they are used on Sunday.”
On Sunday, as the girls sat with their families in sacrament meeting, they sang the sacrament hymn reverently. They listened carefully as a priest blessed the bread, and when they said “amen,” they really meant it. Then the deacons passed the bread. When Clara took a piece from the tray, she was suddenly filled with gratitude for all the Savior had done for her. She thought about the Last Supper and what Jesus had taught His disciples about the sacrament. She knew that there were things she could do better to show that she was trying to keep the commandments.
Clara glanced quickly at Melissa out of the corner of her eye. From the look on her friend’s face, she knew that the sacrament had touched her heart, too.
After the meeting, the girls stopped in the foyer to talk a moment before going home. “I’m glad Sister Wilson let us help make the sacrament bread,” Jenny said.
“I thought it made the sacrament extra special,” Tina added.
“It wasn’t just the bread that made it special for me,” Melissa replied thoughtfully. “It was really thinking about the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and what the sacrament means in my life.”
Clara smiled. “I felt the same way. It wasn’t the bread that made the difference. It was the Savior.”

Ana chewed her last bite of tortilla. It was soft and yummy. Ana loved her grandmother’s tortillas. They were the best part of breakfast.
Ana watched her grandmother, Abuela, wash the dishes.
It was like any other morning. But one thing was not the same.
Abuela usually walked to the market to buy food. But not today. Today there was no money to buy food.
“What will we eat tomorrow?” Ana wondered.
Then Ana remembered. She knew where some money was! Last night she saw Abuela put a few pesos in a little white cloth.
“Abuela, did you forget? You have money to buy food.”
“What money?” Abuela asked.
Ana ran to get the money. She shook the little bag of coins. Clink! Clink!
Abuela smiled. “That is our tithing, Ana. That is His money.”
“But what will we eat tomorrow?” Ana asked.
“Do not worry,” Abuela said. “I have faith that Heavenly Father will help us.”
The next morning Abuela gave Ana the last corn tortilla. Then she sat down in her chair. She stitched red flowers onto a dress and told stories about when she was a little girl. She did not look worried.
Then Ana heard a knock. She ran to open the door.
“Uncle Pedro!”
“I had a feeling I should visit you two,” Uncle Pedro said. He put three sacks on the table. One had corn flour for tortillas. Another had meat. Another had fresh vegetables from the market.
“Oh, my sweet son,” Abuela said. “I’m going to make you my best meatball soup!”
“Your soup is the best in the world,” Uncle Pedro said.
Ana laughed and clapped her hands.
Then she stopped. There was one thing she wanted to know. “Abuela, did you know Uncle Pedro would come today? Is that why you weren’t worried?”
“No,” Abuela said. “When I pay my tithing, I have faith that Heavenly Father will bless me. And He did!”
Ana hugged Abuela. She felt like the happiest girl in Mexico. She and Abuela had faith in Heavenly Father. Now she couldn’t wait to eat Abuela’s yummy soup!

On March 22, 2016, just before eight o’clock in the morning, two terrorist bombs exploded in the Brussels Airport. Elder Richard Norby, Elder Mason Wells, and Elder Joseph Empey had taken Sister Fanny Clain to the airport for a flight to her mission in Cleveland, Ohio. Thirty-two people lost their lives, and all of the missionaries were wounded.
The most seriously wounded was Elder Richard Norby, age 66, serving with his wife, Sister Pam Norby.
Elder Norby reflected on that moment:
“Instantly, I knew what had happened.
“I tried to run for safety, but I immediately fell down. … I could see that my left leg was badly injured. I [noticed] black, almost spiderweb-type, soot drooping from both hands. I gently pulled at it, but realized it was not soot but my skin that had been burned. My white shirt was turning red from an injury on my back.
“As the consciousness of what had just happened filled my mind, I [had] this very strong thought: … the Savior knew where I was, what had just transpired, and [what] I was experiencing at that moment.”
There were difficult days ahead for Richard Norby and for his wife, Pam. He was placed in an induced coma, followed by surgeries, infections, and great uncertainty.
Richard Norby lived, but his life would never be the same. Two and a half years later, his wounds are still healing; a brace replaces the missing part of his leg; each step is different than before that moment at the Brussels Airport.
Why would this happen to Richard and Pam Norby? They had been true to their covenants, served a previous mission in the Ivory Coast, and raised a wonderful family. Someone could understandably say, “It isn’t fair! It just isn’t right! They were giving their lives for the gospel of Jesus Christ; how could this happen?”
The Norbys told me, “Disappointment comes to visit on occasion but is never allowed to stay.” The Apostle Paul said, “We are troubled … yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.” You may be exhausted, but don’t ever give up.

The memory of that particular summer will always stand out in my mind. It was about a week before school let out when my dad announced that I would be spending the next three months with my grandpa in the mountains, tending sheep.
At first I had been really excited about the idea. That was until I told my best friend about it.
“Awful!” She had said. “How boring. Why do you want to do a dumb thing like that?”
To hide my embarrassment, I quickly explained that I really didn’t want to do it, but that I had to because my parents were worried about Grandpa being in the mountains alone all summer. He’d had a mild heart attack earlier that spring, and the doctor had disapproved of him going. But he insisted that he’d gone every summer since he was a boy and that this summer wasn’t going to be any different.
So, because I was young and strong and could do most of the work, I was to help him. My parents also reasoned that it would be a good experience for me and give me an opportunity to get to know Grandpa better.
The first month of that summer seemed endless, and I became more depressed and lonely by the day. Grandpa didn’t help matters much. He was a quiet man, never wasting many words, and I wondered how I’d ever “get to know him better.”
One night after supper we were sitting near the campfire. It was quiet except for the occasional bleating of sheep in the distance. The sky was particularly clear that night, and I remember leaning my head back to study the stars. They winked back at me, and I tried to imagine the many secrets they held. Maybe someday I’ll be an astronaut, I thought to myself, and uncover some of those secrets. Anyway, whatever I become, I won’t be a dumb old sheepherder!
“Grandpa,” I said finally, “haven’t you ever wanted to do something exciting?”
He chuckled. “Like what?” he asked.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
“You aren’t enjoying yourself much these days, are you?”
“Well, it’s kind of boring.”
“And maybe a little lonely?” he asked, smiling at me.
“Yes, that, too,” I admitted. “How can you stand this, year after year, Grandpa?”
He poked at the fire with a long stick. “For me it has never been a question of standing it. I’m a sheepman. This is just part of what I do.”
It’s hopeless, I decided. I’ll never understand him.
The silence between us lengthened until he rose and walked over to the small trailer where we slept. A few minutes later he returned with a worn Bible in his hands. I had seen him read from it every night, so that didn’t surprise me. It did surprise me when he started to speak.
“When I was young, I felt a lot like you do right now. I wanted to do something really important in my life.
“My father, your great-grandfather, died when I was about your age. This old Bible was his. It wasn’t until after he was gone that I opened it and for the first time noticed certain scriptures he’d underlined. One in particular made me do some hard thinking. I thought you might like to read it.”
He handed the old Bible to me. It was opened to the second chapter of Luke. I recognized it immediately as the Christmas story. In the light from the fire I could see that the pages were yellowed and wrinkled from years of use. My eyes went to the underlined verses, and I read: “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. …”
As I read on, the familiar words began to take on new meaning. At last I closed the book and carefully handed it back to my grandpa.
He fingered it lovingly. “My father was a sheepman, and his father before him,” he said. “I’m proud to have followed in their footsteps.”
Grandpa rose then and left me. I sat alone for a long time, gazing up at the sky. Those were the same stars that had shone that night so long ago, along with that one very special star.
The rest of that summer passed swiftly, and before I knew it, I was back in school. My friends teased me a lot about being a sheepherder, but I didn’t let it bother me. I knew something they’d probably never know.

The privilege of serving the Lord on a mission is felt and demonstrated in many ways. One missionary had struggled with family problems since he was a boy. While still young, he was expelled from his home and went to live with another family who introduced him to the Church. The gospel gave him direction in life where his natural parents had not. A few years later, after becoming one of the best players on a college football team, he decided to serve a mission. Before leaving on his mission, he gave copies of the Book of Mormon to his friends at school. This included his team coaches, fellow players, and teachers. He distributed more than 200 copies before entering the Missionary Training Center.
The missionaries who looked upon a mission only as a sacrifice were often honestly dedicated to the Lord’s service. However, I found they had not experienced personal revelation and inspiration. They were usually less informed about the Savior. But as they studied their scriptures and came to know Him better, their hearts seemed to soften and enlarge. They began to more deeply feel His love and know of the importance of missionary work as a continuation of this love extended to others. Many of those who began by telling of their sacrifices left the Missionary Training Center talking about privilege.

Betsy stared at her friend. “I don’t believe them, but if you want to, it’s all right with me. But are you really sure? He’s taking everyone who’s baptized to Kirtland. If you join, I’ll never see you again!”
Kirtland! Mary Ann felt all funny inside. This Church was true, but she didn’t want to leave their warm home and travel far away. She hurried home. Mother would know if Betsy spoke the truth.
Her mother nodded. “Your father and I talked to Brother Reed last night while you were sleeping. He told us that all the Saints are gathering to Kirtland, Ohio. After we’re baptized, we’ll join them there.”
Mary Ann’s heart sank. How could they leave their home? How could they leave their friends? She sat down by the fire and poked at the coals.
Brother Reed came in and sat next to her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Her heart ached so much that it was hard to talk. “I don’t want to leave here.”
He nodded. “You’ve heard we’re gathering to Kirtland.”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Let me tell you about Kirtland. You’ve met an Apostle of God, but in Kirtland there’s a real prophet of God, Joseph Smith. Imagine seeing someone who’s actually talked to God! The Prophet is the one who has commanded that we gather. You see, we’re building up the kingdom. We’re also going to build a temple.”
“A temple?”
“Yes. It’s a place where the Saints can gather to worship and teach one another the gospel.”
“Can I go in this temple?”
“Yes, but it isn’t built yet. We all need to help build it. There’s much to be done.”
Mary Ann thought about it. She wanted to hear the Prophet speak and to be with others who believed as she did. Suddenly she found she was eager to go to Kirtland.
Weeks later their farm sold, and her family joined several others in a small wagon train. With Brother Brigham leading the way, they started on their journey to Kirtland.
The wagons traveled slowly, and baby Anna got sick. Just when Mary Ann thought that they’d never get to Kirtland, Brother Reed ran alongside their wagon. “Kirtland’s just around the bend!”
The people urged their tired oxen on. Mary Ann bounced up and down on the wagon seat. Then she jumped down and ran ahead with the other children. As she turned the corner in the road, her heart sank. Where were all the beautiful buildings? Where was the temple Brother Reed had talked about? Kirtland was just a raw frontier town.
She plodded back to her parents. “I don’t like Kirtland,” she told them. “It’s ugly.”
Her mother smiled at her. “It’s just not finished yet. It’ll be beautiful some day. We’ll help to make it so.”
Brother Reed came and took Mary Ann by the hand. “Come with me.” He took her along a dirt road past a store and around the corner to the edge of a field. “This is where we will build the house of the Lord. When it is finished, it will be shiny and white and wonderful! It will be a fit place for the Lord.”
Mary Ann felt that sweet feeling she now recognized as the Holy Ghost. Maybe things weren’t what she expected, and maybe it would be hard to build a home again, but she knew that her family was doing what was right.
She looked at the field. It might be a long time before the temple was built, but it would be a temple of the Lord!

"Brothers and sisters, let me share with you how I came to speak on this topic. I was the fi
rst counselor of the general presidency in the Relief Society at that time, and when I was invited to speak in Portland, I asked the stake Relief Society president about her concerns and the needs of the women in that area. When she sent me the list, one topic leaped out at me: sexual abuse. I felt a burden laid upon me from the Spirit that this was the message I was to speak in Portland. This was a very diffi
cult thing for me to do. When I speak of love or faith or service or sisterhood, I often sense an easing of burdens and brightening in the feelings of those I address. Would this topic add to the burdens and intensify the pain of those who were already suffering? Did I know enough to be helpful, or would I injure those through clumsiness and ignorance? I fasted and prayed. I thought deeply and continually during the period of preparation. I consulted the stake president in the area. Most of all, I sought the Spirit of the Savior, that I would fulfi
ll the responsibility laid upon me in the way that he would have me to do, that I would speak with clarity and with comfort for my own place of love and trust, that I could put an arm around a struggling sister and for a few steps help her walk the long, painful path of spiritual healing. My prayers were answered. In Portland I discovered that I had come to a place and a people prepared to hear this message. Several groups were already dealing explicitly with the support and healing of survivors. Priesthood leaders were informed, understanding, and supportive. I felt heard. People told me that they understood my message and felt the witness of the Spirit. It was both a sobering and an uplifting experience for me, and it has continued."

When I was nine years old, my white-haired, four-foot-eleven-inch (1.5 m) maternal grandmother came to spend a few weeks with us at our home. One afternoon while she was there, my two older brothers and I decided to dig a hole in a field across the street from our house. I don’t know why we did it; sometimes boys dig holes. We got a little dirty but nothing that would get us into too much trouble. Other boys in the neighborhood saw just how exciting it was to dig a hole and started to help. Then we all got dirtier together. The ground was hard, so we dragged a garden hose over and put a little water in the bottom of the hole to soften up the ground. We got some mud on us as we dug, but the hole did get deeper.
Someone in our group decided we should turn our hole into a swimming pool, so we filled it up with water. Being the youngest and wanting to fit in, I was persuaded to jump in and try it out. Now I was really dirty. I didn’t start out planning to be covered in mud, but that’s where I ended up.
When it started to get cold, I crossed the street, intending to walk into my house. My grandmother met me at the front door and refused to let me in. She told me that if she let me in, I would track mud into the house that she had just cleaned. So I did what any nine-year-old would do under the circumstances and ran to the back door, but she was quicker than I thought. I got mad, stomped my feet, and demanded to come into the house, but the door remained closed.
I was wet, muddy, cold, and, in my childhood imagination, thought I might die in my own backyard. Finally, I asked her what I had to do to come into the house. Before I knew it, I found myself standing in the backyard while my grandmother sprayed me off with a hose. After what seemed like an eternity, my grandmother pronounced me clean and let me come into the house. It was warm in the house, and I was able to put on dry, clean clothes.
Standing outside of my house being sprayed off by my grandmother was unpleasant and uncomfortable. Being denied the opportunity to return and be with our Father in Heaven because we chose to remain in or dirtied by a mud hole of sin would be eternally tragic. We should not deceive ourselves about what it takes to return and remain in the presence of our Father in Heaven. We have to be clean.

Please travel back with me to the evening before the announcement was made that Ricks College would become Brigham Young University-Idaho. Earlier that afternoon, President Bednar was informed that President Hinckley planned to announce the change the next morning at a press conference in Salt Lake City. There was not much time to pull loose ends together, and members of the President’s Council and a few other administrators were at the office late that night making last-minute preparations. It was close to 11:30 when things were finally wrapping up and winding down. I was at the copy machine; President Bednar was leaving the building. I said to him, “President, does any of this scare you? Do you feel a bit sick to your stomach?” I will never forget his response. Without even a hint of a hesitation, he said: “If I thought I had to do this by myself, I would be scared to death. But I know who is in charge.”

Brigham Young, who went without bread and much else in order to hear the Prophet speak on any subject at any time, even if he was only expressing opinions—that same Brigham Young who would die with the name of Joseph on his lips—once said, in a family reunion in Nauvoo, that what Joseph had in mind in saying, “You do not know me” was essentially a matter of heritage and blood.62 The Lord God had made covenant with Joseph who was sold into Egypt that in the last days that branch of Israel would indeed run over the wall, and God by appropriate unions of ancestors had watched over that blood until it came pure and unsullied into Joseph.63

Brigham Young suggested Joseph was conscious of this preordained role and how the Lord had brought it about. As to the latter, an interesting letter was written from Orson Pratt to his brother Parley P. Pratt in the 1850s that says in effect: “You will recall that Joseph had a vision in which he saw that our ancestral line [meaning the Pratt brothers] and his [meaning the Smiths] had a common ancestor a few generations back.”64 Apparently neither Parley nor Orson was able to confirm the link. The letter remained in an attic until about 1930, but then a granddaughter took it to Archibald F. Bennett, one of the outstanding genealogists of the Church, and he did the research.
He discovered that several generations back from Joseph Smith there was indeed a common ancestor named John Lathrop, and that not only was he the common ancestor of the Pratt brothers and Joseph Smith but also of other early Church leaders, including Wilford Woodruff, Oliver Cowdery, and Frederick G. Williams. In fact one estimate concludes that one-fourth of the early Church members in America were descended from John Lathrop.65

My father’s a soldier and is fighting in a war a long way from us. But Mother and I get letters regularly that help bring him home for a while. First, we read my letter and laugh at the funny things he writes. When my mother opens her letter, however, she sits by the window and reads it alone. Once in a while she reads me part of it, but mostly she reads it silently, then stares out over the fields for a quiet time.
Once I even saw Mother cry, and I knew she must really be missing him. That was only for a minute, though, and I pretended not to see. Then she wiped her eyes on her apron, folded the letter, and put it into a box. When she stood up, she smiled. “We must keep busy, Carrie,” she said as she smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Would you like to pin the pattern for me so I can cut more material?”
I like to work with Mother. We talk about many things, like Father and the war or school; and before I even know it, time has passed, and I am hemming one apron as she is sewing the seams of the second.
One day as we worked, a heavy knock sounded at our door and I jumped up from my chair to see who it was. “Hello, Mr. Briggs,” I said as I swung the screen door wide. “Will you please come in? Mother is sewing, but I’ll get her for you.”
He nodded and stood with his hat in his hand, waiting.
“Mother!” I said excitedly. “Mr. Briggs has come to see you.”
She smiled and smoothed her hair, then untied and removed her apron. With her head held high, she went to greet our visitor. “May I offer you a lemonade, Mr. Briggs?” she asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied.
I left them alone and stood by the front door, looking at his motor truck parked beyond the front fence, with BRIGGS EMPORIUM emblazoned on the side of it in bold red letters. After only a few minutes, Mr. Briggs came out onto the porch with Mother.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying quietly. “If you’d like, I can keep the aprons and see how business is in Clarion County. The agreement will be the same, Mrs. Clancey. But with times as they are, well …” He shrugged and waited for my mother’s reply.
She nodded and folded her hands, then forced a halfhearted smile. “Yes, do that, Mr. Briggs. It’s the only way they’ll have a chance of being sold. And you did sell quite a few in Nelson last month. Maybe Clarion County will be a better territory.”
Mr. Briggs quickly nodded and said, “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Clancey, for both of us. But may I give you an advance?” he offered. “Just a little, to help you get by? I’m bound to sell some, you know.”
Mother raised her chin slightly and shook her head. “Thank you, but no,” she replied. “If they don’t sell, I’d only have to pay it back. I’ll just wait and see. Now, how much do I owe you for thread?”
After they settled their account, we stood on the porch and waved good-bye as Mr. Briggs and his traveling emporium drove down the dusty lane. Then Mother seemed to slump ever so slightly against the porch railing. She reached into her pocket and drew out some change.
“He could only sell three aprons, Carrie,” she said with a sigh. “It paid for the thread, and that’s about all. What’s left is for tithing. Would you please put it in the jar for me, dear?”
I took the change and frowned. “Maybe you should have taken the advance Mr. Briggs offered, Mother. We’re running out of a lot of things.”
“Mr. Briggs would not have minded, dear, but I would have,” she said with a smile. “Now do as I say. Put the money in the tithing jar, then fetch the pail. We’ll forget about aprons for a little and weed the strawberries.”
I knew we were out of flour and low on soap, but mother was always firm about God’s portion, so I did as I was told. Then I grabbed the pail and joined her on the back porch. She rolled up her sleeves and talked as we walked toward the strawberry patch. As we came closer, we could see white blossoms on the stems, but the nearer we got, the more red dots we saw among the lush green plants. The strawberries were ripe!
She clasped a hand to her mouth in surprise. “Oh, look, Carrie!” she gasped. “Aren’t they lovely? And they’ve gotten ripe without our noticing them at all.”
The aprons were gone from her mind as we knelt to pick the sweet ripe fruit. As I plunked them into the pail, I thought about the aprons, however, and how hard we had worked on them. Then, without considering, I asked, “Do you mind very much that we’re poor, Mother?”
She looked up in shock and quickly brushed back her hair. “Poor … ? Carrie, do you really think we’re poor?”
I was sorry I had spoken in such a thoughtless manner. “Well,” I stammered. “The aprons … I mean, Mr. Briggs sold only three.”
She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead, then threw back her head and laughed. “Darling, darling, daughter! Where did you ever get the idea that being without money means that we’re poor? Have I made you think that way? If I have,” she said with a smile, “let me explain something. Making and sewing aprons while your father’s away is useful. We make a little extra money and keep busy. But your father sends money home, and we have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our stomachs, and we owe no one anything!” Still smiling, she grabbed my hand. “Besides all that, how can you think we’re poor, when we’re sitting in the middle of God’s good strawberries with the juice staining your mouth?”
She pulled me closer and put her arms around me tightly. “Look at that blue sky, Carrie,” she said, pointing heavenward. “Feel the warm breeze. And don’t you realize the amount of love your father and I have for you? All of those are riches—not riches that can be spent—but they’re riches of a far deeper, more lasting kind. They’re blessings from God. What more in all the world could we possibly want—or need?”
I looked at the sky, then smiled and asked a playful question. “Well, how do we tithe our strawberries, Mother?”
She laughed again and replied, “That’s easy, Carrie. We simply find someone to share them with. In fact, after dinner when it’s cooler, we’ll walk down the lane to Mrs. Fremont’s and give her a basketful of strawberries!”
I not only loved mother—I liked her too. She had an answer for everything, and I learned many things at her side. Maybe one of the most important things I learned was what she told me that day. For I began to look for and appreciate all I received, because I finally realized that God’s blessings don’t always come in the way or manner we expect. But somehow they always come—just when they are needed most.

Years later, a group in Cedar City were talking about her and others who were in those ill-fated companies. Members of the group spoke critically of the Church and its leaders because the company of converts had been permitted to start so late in the season. I now quote from a manuscript which I have:
“One old man in the corner sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it. Then he arose and said things that no person who heard will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.
“He said in substance, ‘I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. A mistake to send the handcart company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it, and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church because every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives, for we became acquainted with him in our extremities’” (manuscript in my possession).
That speaker was Francis Webster, who was twenty-six years of age when with his wife and infant child he went through that experience. He became a leader in the Church and a leader in the communities of southern Utah.