Gospel Story Finder

I well remember one of my first semesters at the university. I was taking a physics course and had dutifully attended each session, taking copious notes. There were times I had actually picked up the text and read portions of it, and so I felt somewhat confident as I walked into class the day of my first midterm. That was a memorable experience for me, and one I am not likely to soon forget. I sat down at my desk with the exam and read through the questions on the first page, and then the following pages. I just sat there dazed for a few moments, unable to answer any question, when finally a brilliant thought occurred to me. I got up, walked to the back and checked the number on the door with the hope that I had accidentally walked into the wrong room. That hope quickly died as I immediately realized that I was indeed in the correct room, on the correct day, with the correct test in front of me. Sadly, as I returned to my seat with pencil in hand and an untouched answer sheet next to the test, I had to come to grips with the fact that there was hardly a question that evoked even an inkling of familiarity for me. So, I did the only thing I could, under the circumstances. I panicked and burst into tears, and in the end gave a much less than stellar performance on the exam.

My father was a professor at that same university, and he highly valued both education and hard work. He often used to tell us children, You can do anything in this world you want if you are willing to pay the price. And if you really want it, the price will be worth it. I really wanted to not fail physics, but it was clear that the price I would have to pay would be much more than I had given to my studies in high school. I moped and worried, got angry and then depressed. Finally, I paid the price meaning in this case, I put in the kind of hard work a college physics class demanded and, although definitely not the class star, I am happy to report that in the end I passed the course.

That was actually a critical point in my life as I had to acknowledge that no matter how smart or talented or attractive or humble or spiritual we are, there will always be things that create challenges for us. And actually, that seems to be an essential part of the Lord's plan for us that we are tried and tested in ways that lead to growth experiences. There are just a lot of things in life that are hard, and we can be defeated by them or we can make the decision to not give up, to hang in there and keep moving forward towards our goals.

Years ago, way back when I was just about 11 or 12, I remember my father had received his paycheck on Wednesday and finally came home Friday night. Nothing was left. There wasn’t any food in the house—at least very little. I had saved 67 cents for tithing. He took me by the hand and pulled me into his bedroom and said, “Vaughn, I understand you have 67 cents saved for tithing.”

I said, “Yes, I do.”

He said, “Vaughn, the Church doesn’t need your money.”

That was true. In those days you could buy a loaf of bread for 14 cents, a small loaf for a nickel, and you could buy a quart of milk for 14 cents. The money could have at least bought our family’s supper.

So he said, “Vaughn, the Church doesn’t need your money. It has millions of dollars.”

That may have been true. Then he said, “Your brothers and sisters are hungry. We need that money for food. I want you to go get your money and give it to me.”

I remember I stood there. I couldn’t move. The tears came to my eyes. He was my father. I couldn’t say no. But I couldn’t move. I just stood there. I thought, “No, I’m not going to get it.”

A second time, a little heavier, he said, “I’m telling you, go get your tithing money.”

It was like my shoes were nailed to the floor. The tears came faster, and I didn’t move again. He was a big man.

Then a third time, threateningly, he said, “I’m telling you, Vaughn, you go get the tithing money.”

I remember standing there thinking, “I don’t care if he beats me. I’m not going to give it to him. It’s not my money. It’s the Lord’s money, and I’m not going to give it to him.”

My mother must have heard part of the conversation, because she came in and grabbed me, pulled me out of the bedroom, and said, “You let the boy alone. If he wants to pay his tithing, he’s going to pay his tithing.”

I don’t think I’ve missed paying tithing in all the years since.

The show ended with another hymn from the chorus. Then an eager crowd of young folks swept the chairs back to their appointed places, hooked up the record player, and swirled across the floor in near-perfect ballroom form.
“We heard that elegant dancing is coming back into style in the U.S.,” one brother said. “So we tried it here. We saw the BYU dancers perform once and admired them. Now we dance like this all the time.”

“It sure takes a long time to wait a few minutes!” Daniel muttered to himself, glancing at the schoolroom clock. Just thinking about picking apples after school with Grandpa made him feel like jumping up and down and hollering. Even hard work with Grandpa was fun.
“Class!” Mrs. Webb waited until everyone was quiet. “Your assignment for language arts is to write a story about an ancestor. Remember that every story must have a dilemma—a problem to solve. Any questions?”
Daniel’s heart sank. I’m tired of hearing about ancestors, he thought. I don’t care a scrap about mine. How can I? I’m adopted! And I don’t even have to hunt for a dilemma—I am one!
It seemed lately that every talk in church and every Primary lesson was about ancestors. “I can’t write any names on this chart,” he had told his Primary teacher. “I don’t even know who my real parents are, let alone my grandparents.”
“But you’ve been sealed to your mom and dad and legally adopted,” she said. “In the eyes of the Lord, your mom and dad are your real parents, and their ancestors are yours.”
“I guess I just feel that that’s not fair or honest. I wish I knew who I really am.”
Daniel’s memories were interrupted by the final school bell, and he plodded sadly off to Grandpa’s house. Even the cookie-and-milk snack he got there didn’t cheer him up. When Grandpa asked, “Why the sad face?” Daniel burst into tears.
Grandpa sat on the rocking chair and pulled Daniel onto his lap. “Trouble at school? Hurtin’ someplace? Why not tell your old grandpap all about it?”
Never before had Daniel mentioned his worries about being adopted. Now he blurted out the whole sad story. Grandpa listened quietly. “Oh, Grandpa, I’m sorry,” Daniel said. “A big fourth-grade guy shouldn’t be bawling like this.”
“Well, he should if he needs to. Even old men sometimes do.”
“I bet you never did.”
“Oh yes I have! I’ve even shed happy tears.”
“How can anyone cry about being happy?”
“I can remember being pretty weepy when I first saw you. I was grateful that you were going to be part of my family. Your parents had been awfully sad because they had no children. You were an answer to all our prayers.”
Daniel and Grandpa walked to the orchard and began to pick apples. One happy idea led to others, and they were soon talking about family fun and activities. Then Daniel suddenly stopped working. He stood thoughtfully, holding an apple in each hand. “Hey, how did this happen? These were both growing on the same tree, but they aren’t alike at all. They’re even different colors.”
Grandpa explained about grafting—how a branch from one tree can be joined to another, how it can become so much a part of the tree that it’s hard to tell that it was ever separate. “The whole tree is supported and fed by the same roots,” Grandpa said. “It’s really quite a miracle.”
“Why, Grandpa, that’s just like me, isn’t it? And now I’m growing on your family tree. That would make a good story for me to write, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I surely do—a story with a very happy ending.”
“I’m glad I found out about grafting. And, Grandpa, you must be the very best root in the whole world.”
“And no family tree has a better branch than you,” Grandpa said, giving Daniel a grandpa-sized hug.

Elder Stobbs grew up in Worcester Ward, Cheltenham Stake. He has been serving as a full-time missionary in the South Africa Johannesburg Mission since October 2021. Here he shares the story of his conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ:
“Gaining a testimony was very hard for me. I grew up through Primary knowing that the Church was true because, I reasoned, my parents were always right. The first time I realised my parents didn’t know everything and that there was a possibility that the Church wasn’t true, was when I was about 10 or 11.
“I spent most of my time in Young Men sitting on the fence; I wasn’t sure if the Church was true. I had spiritual experiences and answers to my prayers, but I found, to my frustration, that I was quick to forget or discount them. In Alma 46:8, we read, ‘Thus we see how quick the children of men do forget the Lord their God, yea, how quick to do iniquity, and to be led away by the evil one.’
“As I was doing my scripture study one day, I read 3 Nephi 23, where the Saviour chastises the Nephites for not writing down sacred events. I realised that this is what the Lord wanted me to do as well. At the end of every day, I wrote down how I had seen the hand of the Lord in that day. As I did this. I recognised miracles that I had not seen during the day. I also wrote down experiences of feeling the Spirit or having my prayers answered. These experiences formed a wall of faith that I could turn to if I ever felt my testimony wavering.
“Since then, my gratitude for God has grown, and my testimony has been strengthened immensely. I am grateful for the chance to serve His children in South Africa. I know that God lives and is always mindful of us. Jesus Christ is the Saviour of the world, and this is his Church again restored to the earth. Because of him we can live with Heavenly Father and our families forever in a state of never-ending happiness.”

Whenever anyone said something nice to Dan, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept it. A typical conversation went something like this one with his teachers quorum adviser:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m no good at basketball. The only reason I came was because the other guys kept calling me.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“I don’t have an outside shot. I don’t even have an inside shot.”
“So … what do you do in a game?”
“Mainly try to get the other team to feel sorry for me,” Dan said glumly.

Let’s take another look at Dan, this time with a more positive light in his life:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came. We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“Okay. Maybe I can work with Steve a little. He’s good at passing, and that, along with what I can do, should be a good combination. You know, I feel a little sorry for the other team.”

For me, a personal example of this took place during college, which for many of us is a time of growth and change, when we are impressionable and figuring out who we are and what we want to do with our lives. I was no exception to this, and was fortunate to develop some wonderful friendships early in my time at BYU.
These great friends helped me many times along the way. They were kind and lifted others and were always looking to build people up. They were optimistic, generous, and fun to be around—and they always fulfilled their callings in our ward. Because of their examples, I wanted to become a better version of myself—and in that sense, they left an indelible mark on my life.
But it gets even better… One of these individuals ended up introducing me to my wife! She was actually a stranger to him, but he felt prompted when he met her, that I needed to meet her. He was living close to the spirit and felt impressed that we needed to connect. Because of his desire to help and lift others, my life is forever changed, and I received the greatest blessings possible—my beautiful wife and children and the sealing covenants of the temple that bind us eternally.
I’m still friends with each of these individuals today, and they continue to lift and build me in ways for which I will forever be grateful.

I had not strayed from the gospel because of disobedience or rebellion. But because of a serious medical condition, I came to know what it means to feel lost from the Lord’s flock.
After months of illness and hospitalization, I attended a fast and testimony meeting in late summer, feeling very alone. Watching individuals stand and testify of their love for the Lord, the gospel, leaders, and family, I desperately wanted to feel the same confidence, peace, and security in the gospel those around me obviously felt. But because of my physical condition, my spiritual senses were unresponsive.
Then a Brother Vance rose from his seat in the congregation. A large, strong, grandfatherly man who worked well with his hands, he related his thankfulness to the Lord for the growth of some lilac bushes that were most precious to his wife.
The Spirit bore witness to me of the truthfulness of Brother Vance’s words, and this new insight gave me the strength to continue my efforts to return to both physical and spiritual strength.
Many months later, in a new ward, with my health restored, I was called to teach seminary. Because of my experience, I was now more able to study the gospel with zeal and share that newfound strength not only with the youth in the ward, but also with a few other sheep who were contemplating straying.
Now, whenever I feel the discomforts of a new beginning, I try to remember Brother Vance’s analogy about pruning with a purpose. It helps to see my trials in a broader perspective, and I find myself praying that I shall grow in a manner that will be pleasing to the Lord and to me.

Christmas was almost here. Amalie was excited. Soon she could unwrap the presents under the tree!
At family home evening it was Mom’s turn to give the lesson.
“Why do we give presents at Christmas?” Mom asked.
“Because it’s Jesus’s birthday!” Amalie said.
“Then shouldn’t we give a present to Him?” Mom said.
Dad helped Amalie’s brother Noah read a scripture. It said that when we serve other people, we are serving God (see Mosiah 2:17).
“Is serving others giving a gift to Jesus?” Mom said.
Noah nodded.
“What else is a gift for Jesus?”
“Keeping the commandments,” Amalie said.
“Being nice,” Noah said.
“Great ideas!” Mom said. “Now let’s play a game. I’ll say a gift someone gave to Jesus. Tell me if you know who it was. Here we go. This person gave out Christmas cards at the care center.”
Noah raised his hand. “Amalie did that!”
“This person went home teaching.”
“That’s Daddy,” Amalie said.
Soon they had named lots of gifts they had already given to the Savior.
“We can give gifts every day,” Mom said.
The next morning it was time to clean the house. “Oh no,” Amalie groaned. But then she remembered. Serving others is a gift! If she helped Mom, it was the same as helping Jesus. She found a cloth and wiped the counters until they sparkled.
The next day Amalie earned some money.
“Your tithing is eight cents,” Mom said.
Amalie remembered again. Tithing is a commandment, so paying it is a gift. She put eight cents in her tithing jar.
Later that week Amalie helped pick up pillows. Her baby brother had thrown them off the couch. “Another present for Jesus,” she said.
On Christmas Eve, Mom and Dad told Amalie they were proud of her. “You’ve been giving gifts to Jesus all week long,” Dad said. “That’s like having a little bit of Christmas every day.”

Repentance produces changes in attitudes and behavior, but simply changing attitudes and behavior is not repentance.
During my service as the president of Brigham Young University–Idaho, I talked one Sunday afternoon with a campus bishop. Without disclosing the identity of the individual, he explained to me that he had received a confession from a young person who made the following statement: “Bishop, I violated the law of chastity Friday night. Talking with you is the last thing on my list of things to do to repent. Now that I have confessed, I feel great.”
Recognizing and forsaking sin; feeling remorse and making restitution for sin; and confessing sins to God and, when needed, to our priesthood leaders are all necessary and important elements in the repentance process. However, these essential steps do not constitute a mere behavioral checklist we can mechanically, quickly, and casually complete. If we do these things and fail to recognize and depend upon the Redeemer and His atoning sacrifice, then even our best efforts are in vain.

Our earthly lives can be so filled with uncertainty. I promise you from the bottom of my heart that there was no entry in my Franklin day planner a few years back scheduling an appointment with a suicide bomber. But when his car slammed into my heavy armored vehicle in Kandahar, Afghanistan, and detonated, the lives of many were instantly altered forever. Incredibly, some of us walked away from that incident and were given more time on earth. Others were not so fortunate. But all who survived were reminded of the fact that life doesn’t always go as we plan it.

I had an experience when I was 13 that I will never forget. I was hanging out with some friends in my room when one friend asked me about my brothers. So I took them over to my 17-year-old brother Matt’s room, right next to mine. He was not home at the time.
Matt was so cool. I showed them all of his things: his cool shoe collection, the things he had made by hand, and all of the pictures on his mirror of his high school friends. My friends were impressed.
Then, something horrible happened. I heard a crunching sound under my foot, so I lifted it up and saw a small pouch. Immediately, my heart sank. Right away I knew that inside this pouch was one of my brother’s most prized possessions, an expensive pair of sunglasses.
I panicked. I put the pouch under a pair of jeans on the floor, and we quickly left the room. The rest of the day was a nightmare. I tried to forget about it, but I knew he would find out. All I could do was wait.
The next morning I stayed in bed, still haunted with anxiety. I knew I could not outwit fate. Then it happened. He had found the broken sunglasses, and he was furious. I could hear him downstairs in the family room talking to my other brothers, demanding that the perpetrator confess his crime.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew he wouldn’t stop until someone confessed. So I grabbed all the money I had earned from my newspaper route and slowly walked down the stairs. This was one of the longest walks I have ever taken.
Finally, I came up to my brother. Matt slowly turned to me, and I handed him the wad of cash. “I did it,” I said. No one said a word. I just turned around, walked up the stairs, and got back in bed.
I felt awful for what I had done. I did not know what my brother was going to do. I felt helpless. I didn’t expect Matt to forgive me, but I hoped he would. Then, I heard his voice say my name.
“David, I know you didn’t mean it,” Matt said. He placed the money I gave him on my nightstand. “You earned this money, and I can’t accept it.”
Filled with emotion, I said, “I’m sorry, Matt!” He replied with the most sincere words I have ever heard: “I forgive you.”
We both wept. This was the first time in my young life that I understood how it felt to be truly forgiven. It may be the most powerful human experience one can have, and I praise those who have the courage to give forgiveness.

It all started when my friend Brett said, “Last night when I talked to my friend, I found out that her parents have been telling her stuff about our religion, making us sound really bad. She told me that I was wrong for being Mormon, and she seemed to have plenty of evidence. Lots of stuff that I didn’t know about. I figured I can’t defend this if I don’t know what we believe.”
Then he asked me, “Do you want to come over and study scriptures tonight? You know, we could do a little reading, look some stuff up.”
“Seriously?” I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that I was taken off guard. I mean, how many teenagers hang out on weeknights to study the scriptures for fun?
“Sure, I guess,” I accepted slowly. “If you really want to.”
Brett was the only other Church member in my grade, and he’d never seemed very religious. I still remember being surprised my sophomore year when I first met him. He asked me why I chose not to date until I was 16. I was astounded by his question because Brett had been an active member his entire life but he somehow still didn’t know some of the basic teachings of the Church. To him, church was a Sunday thing. I remembered answering Brett’s question about my decision not to date until 16 and then enlightening him on many other standards we had as Church members.
Now, as seniors, we’d grown to be close friends. And once again I found myself surprised by Brett.
I arrived at his house not sure what to expect. As I walked into his family’s study, I noticed the Bible was open and several LDS reference materials were stacked on the desk. He’d already begun. “Look at this,” he said excitedly, pointing to James 2:21–26.
“I thought we could find some answers.” Then he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“After listening to my friend, I know I need to study more,” Brett continued.
“So, are you looking up things about the points she made?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can see where she’s coming from, but you know, the more I find out about what we believe,” he continued, “the more I see and feel just how right our beliefs are. It’s exciting. I want you to help me.”
I’d never considered the scriptures exciting before. I felt humbled by his enthusiasm. He wanted my help because I’d read the Book of Mormon, prayed, felt the Spirit, and from then on hadn’t had doubts.
But at that moment, I realized I too needed to search the scriptures more.
Brett and I really studied the scriptures that night and found the answers to his questions. Time and time again, Brett searched the scriptures in response to criticisms of the Church. As he learned to trust the scriptures, his testimony grew. Not only did that study help him talk with his friend, but his example of asking questions and finding the answers in the scriptures made a difference for me too.

When I was in junior high, my parents got divorced. Because of that, there was a lot of tension in my family, and my two oldest siblings moved away. My other brother was struggling a lot and often had trouble with the law, so it was usually just me and my younger siblings at home with my mom. During this time, I couldn’t help but sense that my family didn’t feel whole. We slowly stopped praying together, and we didn’t have family home evenings anymore. I felt lonely, and not just at home—at school I felt like I couldn’t fit in and didn’t have any friends.
When I got to high school, I started seminary. I immediately felt a difference. Seminary felt like a home with a family in it—my new source of spiritual strength.
In seminary, I learned how to study the scriptures and understand their teachings, which helped me to go home and teach my family about the gospel more clearly. I also learned the importance of prayer and was able to bring my family together to have family prayer. After a while, my experiences in seminary even gave me the courage to help out with family home evenings again. It had a great impact on us and made our spirits stronger. We felt like a family again.

When the announcement was made that all temples were closing indefinitely during the pandemic, I remember calling Keaton (my fiancé at the time) and discussing what our next steps should be. We were supposed to be married in the temple in a few weeks, and we weren’t sure if we should wait until the temples reopened to get married or if we should get married civilly and then get sealed later.
Personally, I was heartbroken because I had always imagined my wedding day in the temple and that chance was slipping away. I also had been planning to receive my endowment the same week as our wedding, so we would have to wait even longer when temples reopened for both an endowment and a sealing appointment.
Ultimately, after a lot of prayers and discussion, Keaton and I chose to be married civilly on our original temple date. But we were determined to be sealed once the temples reopened.
As we waited for the temples to reopen, we used our waiting time to learn even more about the covenants we would be making in the sealing ordinance (and in my endowment). Keaton and I talked to our bishop about taking a temple prep class, and he was inspired to ask Keaton to be my teacher. Week after week, Keaton and I would sit together and discuss the temple.
This was an incredibly special and empowering time in our relationship as we discussed the covenant promises we’d be making to one another when we were sealed.
Six months after our civil marriage, I received my endowment and Keaton and I were sealed. We were surrounded by family, but unlike the day we were married, we weren’t nervous or anxious—we were so excited! Our focus was solely on what eternal marriage is about—the covenants we were making. Of course, the celebrations and activities that usually take place on a wedding day are so exciting and enjoyable. But I’m grateful for the time we had to truly prepare to make covenants with each other and with God. No matter if you are married civilly or in the temple first, I know that genuinely preparing to make covenants with your spouse and making that ordinance the focus of your wedding day is one of the greatest joys you’ll ever experience.
The moment we knelt across the altar and were sealed, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, love, and joy filled our hearts. We both immediately felt a profound difference in our relationship.
Although we had been happily married for the past six months, that night Keaton and I talked about a special sacredness we now felt in our marriage. A new sense of wholeness and peace has come into our relationship. The Spirit in our home that night was so strong it was almost tangible. We felt a whole new level of love for each other and for the Savior in our hearts. And we knew it was because we had bonded ourselves to each other and to our Heavenly Father through everlasting covenants.
Through our experiences, Keaton and I have witnessed the importance of building and strengthening our relationship individually and together with our Savior Jesus Christ and our loving Heavenly Father. Being sealed in the temple allows us to fully feel the power that making and keeping covenants brings into marriage—how they truly can transform our love for each other and invite the Savior’s healing, redeeming, and enabling love into our relationship.
Keaton and I have experienced “all the difference” in our lives that President Nelson described. Recently, we also welcomed our first child, a beautiful little girl, who has opened our hearts and minds to God’s love for us on a new level. Every time we look into her beautiful eyes, we are reminded of the profound blessings of the temple and eternal families. She is ours forever, and Keaton and I will be blessed to be together forever because we are sealed for time and all eternity.

With some difficulty, my husband and I, carrying our two young children, found an empty table in the college’s large dining room. Pulling out the sandwiches we had made at home, we discussed our bleak financial situation.
We had no money and a week to go until our next paycheck. Neither of us wanted to ask our parents for help. We had credit cards, but if we started using them, how would we stop? We had been paying our tithing faithfully, and we hoped Heavenly Father would bless us.
As we considered our options, I noticed a man smiling at us from several tables away. With our noisy, active children, I was used to people staring at us. I gave his notice no thought until he walked toward us. Placing a folded piece of paper on the table, he patted my husband on the back and said with a smile, “It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
Then he walked away and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Unfolding the paper, we read, “Good luck! It looks like you’re doing a good job so far.” Tucked into the fold was enough money to get us through the next week and then some.
With tears in my eyes, I felt the Spirit’s peaceful assurance that this was an answer to our prayers and a blessing from paying our tithing. I knew at that moment that Heavenly Father was intimately aware of our little family and that He would not forsake us.
I kept the note and have read it many times over the past few years. I am sure that the generous stranger did not fully comprehend the impact his action would have. But for our family, this experience was a turning point—a turning toward greater obedience, faith, and gratitude.
A spiritual prompting, a generous stranger willing to act, and a helpful note have blessed my family eternally.

Let me share a personal story to illustrate why it is important to clearly see what we are becoming while we are busy with what we are doing. I was a conscientious student in high school. I was determined to earn good grades in hopes of earning a scholarship so I could attend university. In an honors English class, we were given an assignment to write about what it would be like to have a physical disability. We were to simulate the impairment first and then write a reflection paper. My assignment was to be blindfolded for four hours, to go about my normal activities without my eyesight, and then to write about the experience. My English teacher told us that he expected us to be honest in spending the time completing this experience. In a playful but firm way, he said he would see us at judgment day if we were to cheat by not completing the experience as assigned. The assignment was given on a Friday and was due on a Monday. In the activities of the weekend, I forgot about the assignment entirely until Sunday night at 8 PM. I realized I didn’t have enough time left in the day to be blindfolded for four hours and write the reflection paper. I made a choice to write the paper without first completing the experience. I turned it in on Monday as though I had completed the experience as per my teacher’s instructions. I rationalized that I had spent good mental energy imagining the assignment in my mind as I wrote the paper.

Later in the week my English teacher had our graded papers ready to return to us. He paused and expressed his disappointment with those in our class who had written the paper without first completing the experience. He said he could clearly tell those who had attempted to shortcut the learning objectives by only writing the reflection paper. To those students he gave a failing grade. My heart sank as I waited in embarrassment for my paper to be returned to me. As he handed my paper back to me he patted me on the shoulder and quietly said, “Well done.” To my utter surprise I looked down to see an “A” on the top of my paper. My creative writing had worked! I had the grade I was after. I wish I could tell you that I went back to him after class, after school, or at the end of the year to confess my deficiency, but I never did. Why do the details of this insignificant assignment still stand out so clearly in my mind? Perhaps it is the anxiety that one day I will indeed meet my English teacher at judgment day. I know it stands out in my mind because I chose an A over my integrity for an otherwise ordinary assignment. It is similar in spirit to trading away a birthright for a mess of pottage. I was blind in my thinking and I didn’t realize how my small choice diminished my character.

After the operation to fix my tongue so I’d be able to talk, Mama and I went across the street to buy some candy. The doctor had given me a nickel for being so brave. Imagine a whole nickel’s worth of candy! I could get the biggest stick of peppermint in the store. I wouldn’t even have to suck it to make it last a long time. There would be enough for me to chew.
I should have sucked it. That newly loosened tongue got between my teeth like it never had been free to do before, and I chewed it along with the peppermint until it was bleeding and sore. Oh, how it hurt! I learned to close my mouth very carefully after that.
Gradually the soreness healed enough so I could start eating again. But it was many months before I learned how to make my tongue behave. As for talking, that was going to require a great deal of practice. The words still did not come out crisp and clear. My mumbled efforts were laughed at and I decided I would rather practice in private. But there is no place for privacy in a covered wagon, especially our wagon, for it was the social center for all the children of the camp.
Our twelve-wagon train set out from Salt Lake City for Harmony, New Mexico, the day after I had my tongue cut. All the families gathered together in a big circle for prayer before we left. Then we sang as we loaded up: “Come, come ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way …”
With joy we wended our way, south and east to a land that held the promise of a good new life for us. The Indian summer days were beautiful and crisp enough in the morning to make us anxious to start moving—golden and warm during the day, but not too hot.
Most of all, I remember the singing in the daytime and the dancing at night. From the place where we slept under the wagon, we could watch the grown-ups whirl in a fast polka or line up for the Virginia reel while Brother Lenstrom played his fiddle.
At the last minute before we left Salt Lake City I had grabbed my jump rope from the nail behind the door. Caroline forgot hers so I shared mine with her, and before long most of the other children wanted a turn too. As soon as the wagon stopped for evening, the girls came running to our place shouting, “My turn with the jump rope, Dora!” If the girl jumped past 21 without missing, we began to call out: “Mabel, Mabel set the table, And don’t forget the red-hot-pepper.”
At this signal the rope started whirring at double time. No one could last forever on red hot pepper. Should the lineup for the jump rope seem too long, those at the end would scratch a hopscotch in the dirt, number the squares, select their markers, and begin to play.
By this time the boys would be starting their third or fourth game of marbles. Each one carried his favorite taw for shooting in one pocket and in the other a handful of aggies that he didn’t mind losing in a game of keeps.
I played with the boys more than the girls because I didn’t need to talk with Ed around.
“Let’s break the record,” he’d shout, and they’d race off to the tailgate of our wagon to begin jumping. A line was marked where the jumper’s feet landed, and each succeeding boy tried to go past the farthest mark.
They couldn’t play break the record if Mama were baking though. She threatened to skin them alive if they caused her cake to fall or disturbed the light bread she made every few days. She had to be careful to keep the yeast going by saving enough of the start in a jar each time she baked and adding potato water and a little sugar. She covered the bottle with a cloth and wedged it in a tight spot by her seat so she could watch it as we rode along.
Mama mixed and kneaded the dough early in the morning before we started our day’s travel, punched it down two or three times along the way, and at night baked a big dripper pan full of biscuits and six loaves of bread. The smell of light bread cooking beats any smell in the world, and a thick slice or a biscuit became both plate and meal when served with a fried egg, a slice of meat, or a chunk of cheese. Our two cows walked along behind the wagon and provided us with milk.
When we could find one, we set up camp next to a stream. One time when we did, Ed and I took off with the fishing pole to look for a deep hole in the nearly dry creek. We found a beautiful spot out of sight of camp but close enough that we could still hear the cries of Annie-I-over. There was a strict rule that no one got so far away that he couldn’t see or hear the camp.
When we got off alone together like this Ed tried to show me how to talk, and I learned to say a few new words. “Look at that frog,” he shouted and bounded across the mossy stones to grab it.
“Frog,” I said. “Frog.”
“What a beauty! Look how big he is. I wonder how far he can jump.”
We stayed until nearly dark testing his ability. By the time we heard Papa coming to get us, the frog’s record was six feet, measured with Ed’s feet.
“Papa, look at my pet,” Ed called as he came closer. “Can I keep him? Can I?”
“That’s a fine frog all right,” Papa said. “But you’d better leave him here. He’d only die if we took him with us.”
“I can take him in a bucket of water. He won’t die.”
“A bucket of water is not the same as a stream. This is his home.”
“Please, Papa.”
“No, Ed. Now put him down, and I’ll tell you a story on the way back.”
“What about?” Ed asked.
“About a frog.”
“A true story?”
“Absolutely.”
Papa’s stories were always worth whatever we had to give up to hear them. Ed put his pet down carefully in a sheltered spot by the stream and took hold of Papa’s other hand. Then the three of us began to walk toward camp.
“What’s the story?” Ed asked.
“How butter was discovered.”
“You said it was about a frog.”
“So it is. You see, a long time ago, a frog jumped into a bowl of cream that was left by a dairymaid to keep cool at the edge of a stream. All night long he paddled around trying to get out, and when the girl came the next morning to get the cream, it had turned to butter.”
“Was the frog still alive?”
“I don’t remember that, but since there was no cream to spread on the bread, the dairymaid used the butter. She was afraid she’d be scolded for being careless enough to leave the lid off the cream, but everyone said the new spread was better. ‘Betty’s better spread’ they called it and wanted her to make more.”
When we got back to the wagon Mama had a good hot supper ready. Afterward we had a campfire program and evening prayer. Then the children were put to bed, and soon the fiddle began its tune and the grown-ups were moving their feet in time to the music. We happily watched them from the place where we slept beneath the wagon.
The next morning was washday, which meant the clothes were put into a half-full water barrel with a bar of homemade lye soap and jostled clean as we rode along. When we stopped, they’d be rinsed, wrung out, and hung on ropes stretched between trees. It wouldn’t take long to dry them if there were a little breeze.
Washdays were always planned between two stops where there was plenty of water so we wouldn’t run short. And since it was an extra busy day for Mama we had to help more than usual. Before camp broke up she assigned the chores.
“Caroline, you take care of the chickens,” she said. “Make sure they get fed and watered and don’t let any of them get lost when you turn them out to run.
“Dora, I’ll need you to watch Frank and Georgie while I do the washing. And Ed, you can churn the butter.”
Just then I saw the look come into Ed’s eyes that meant he had an idea, and I knew what it was because I had it too. Although he didn’t need to, he jerked his head at me in a way that said come on. Grabbing a bar of soap and a towel, we ran off in the direction of the stream.
“Where are you two going?” Mama called, and Ed shouted, “To wash our hands.”
“You told a lie,” I accused.
“No, I didn’t. We’ll wash our hands.”
The frog hadn’t got warmed up enough to move around yet so he was still where we had left him.
Ed started to lather him with the soap, and he slipped away. He picked up the slick frog again and said, “Have to get him clean enough.”
After he’d washed and dried the frog, he put him inside his shirt. We stayed by the stream cutting willows until the camp was ready to leave and then ran and jumped in the back of the wagon.
Mama was riding up front with Papa, holding Frank on her lap, and Georgie was asleep in his wash-basket bed. Caroline was walking with her friends.
Ed plopped the frog into the butter churn, and we settled into the back of the wagon for a leisurely ride. We reached over the tailgate, dragging our willows in the dust to make patterned trails behind us.
Several times we peeked into the churn where the frog was still swimming around, but there was no sign of butter. Ed started to work on teaching me some new words, and we forgot about everything else.
At lunchtime Mama asked, “Did the butter come yet?”
“Not yet,” Ed said.
“Well, it will pretty soon,” she encouraged. “Even the bouncing wagon helps it along.”
Then Papa told her the frog story. “Now don’t go giving these children any crazy ideas. It would be just like Ed and Dora to try that out.” She looked at us. “AND DON’T YOU DARE!” she warned.
We were glad she didn’t check out the butter churn before the wagons started up again. We decided that as soon as it was safe, we’d get the frog out of the cream and churn the way we were supposed to. When we lifted the lid, there sat the frog on an island of butter it had made. We laughed and laughed, and Ed put the frog inside his shirt to keep him safe until later. He wasn’t going to turn him loose here where there was no water.
As soon as we stopped, we took off for the stream to release the frog, and no one but us ever did know how the butter was churned that day.

When I was in high school, one of my friends invited me to a party and said, “Let’s go ask my father if we can borrow his car.” His father did not want to let him borrow the car. Then, when his father saw me, he said, “OK, I’ll let you borrow the car, but only if Benjamín will drive.”
This man knew that my family and I were members of the Church, that we didn’t drink alcohol, and that I would be a safe driver.
The reaction of my friend’s father helped me appreciate my parents’ teachings and the example they set. At home we had family home evening and family prayer. Sunday was a day of rest for us. These types of things were the gospel in action for us, and we enjoyed it a lot. My father often invited other members of the Church to come to our house to talk about the gospel on Sunday afternoons. We ate together, we talked about the gospel, and we shared a close friendship.

In another ward, the Relief Society sisters organized to help an ill woman while her husband was out of the home. She was a native of Thailand whose English language skills were limited. She had a disease that attacked every organ of her body. The sisters learned to operate the respirator. They bathed her, combed her hair, brushed her teeth, cleaned her house, and prepared meals as well. I heard this woman cry words of gratitude for the love and patience of those who served her.