Gospel Story Finder

The cry of a newborn infant pierced Sarah’s sleep. Quickly she sat up on her sleeping mat and looked across the dimly lit room where she saw the midwife gently rubbing a tiny baby with oil and salt.
“Such a shame! Another false treasure,” the woman muttered.
“I hope my husband will not be too disappointed,” Sarah’s mother said as she watched the midwife wrap the baby in swaddling clothes.
Sarah knew what a false treasure was. After all, wasn’t she one herself? It was the name Jewish people gave to girl babies. If Sarah’s new little sister had been a boy, her family and friends would have celebrated for seven days. But it wasn’t to be. Sarah’s heart felt so heavy that she didn’t want to remain in the one-room house any longer. She slipped on her robe and sandals and tiptoed to her mother’s side.
“It’s almost dawn,” she whispered. “May I meet Father’s boat and tell him about the baby?”
“Perhaps you should,” Mother said with a tired smile. “I think he would like to hear it from you.”
Sarah looked down at the baby who was resting in her mother’s arms. Her tiny head was covered with black hair, and her dark eyes blinked solemnly.
“She’s very beautiful. Will you tell your father that?” Mother asked.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah promised, her eyes filling with tears as she hurried from the mud-brick house.
Sarah continued to run until she reached a grassy knoll that overlooked the Sea of Galilee. There she threw herself down on the grass and waited. The hills around her were silent and dark against the sky. Ahead in the distance she could see lights winking on the horizon. She wondered if they were the torches that the fishermen used to attract the fish. Sarah hoped her father had caught many silvery fish in his nets. Maybe a good catch will help ease his disappointment at getting a second false treasure, Sarah thought.
She tried to shake her sadness by remembering that at least she and her sister had been allowed to live. If they had been born in another country, they might not have been so fortunate. Traders who passed through Galilee, selling linens and spices, had told many stories about what happened to girls who were born in foreign lands. Still, it was a painful feeling knowing you weren’t really wanted.
Now Sarah could see the fishing vessels heading homeward across the ruffled water. When her father’s boat docked at last, she leaped to her feet and skittered down the hillside to the beach.
“Father! Father!” she called to him as she ran.
Her father turned toward her. “What is it, Sarah?” he asked.
“Did you catch many fish?”
“Yes, I did,” he replied, laughing at her through his full beard. “But I do not think you got up at dawn just to ask me that.”
“No,” Sarah said quietly, and she began kicking at the sand. “I came to tell you that the baby has been born.”
“No wonder I had such a lucky night at sea!” her father said, giving Sarah a hug that swept her off her feet.
“But the baby is a false treasure, Father,” she said, searching his eyes.
“Is she healthy?” he wanted to know.
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“And your mother? How is your mother?” he asked.
“She is all right. She said to tell you that the baby is very beautiful.”
“And you, my Sarah? Are you sad because the baby is a false treasure?”
“I am sad for you, Father. You have no son to head your family when you grow old,” Sarah said. “Why can’t a daughter do that? Why does she have to be the false treasure?”
Father sat down on the sand and pulled Sarah down beside him. “Do you know why our people call a girl that?” he asked.
Sarah shook her head.
“It’s because she will marry and leave home when she is thirteen,” he explained. “She will live with her husband’s people, for that is our way.”
“But that isn’t her fault,” Sarah pointed out. “She didn’t make those rules. A girl isn’t allowed to do important things like making rules. And why is she called false when she spins and weaves and draws water and cooks and cleans?”
“Enough!” her father said, smiling and covering his ears with his rough hands. “You’ve convinced me. A girl is a treasure of great worth.”
“You’re teasing me,” Sarah said.
“No, I’m not,” Father said, growing serious.
“Then why don’t you let me head your household for you?” she asked. “I would try to do a good job.”
“I can’t,” he answered. “It is a son’s place to do that, but you have taught me something this morning, Sarah. You, your mother, and your sister have important jobs to do. I know I’ll never call a girl a false treasure again.”
“Then neither will I,” Sarah said.
“You know, Sarah, when the day comes for you to leave home,” Father said, “I will give you away proudly.”
“Why?” Sarah asked, puzzled.
“Because I know I will be giving your husband someone very special.”
“Will you feel that way about my sister too?” Sarah asked.
“If she’s only one-tenth as precious as you, I am sure I will,” Father answered lovingly.
Sarah smiled up at him. She thought that the sun rising above the hills of Galilee had never looked lovelier.
“Do you have time to see the baby before you take care of the fish?” she asked.
“I shall make time,” Father said. “It’s not every night that God sends us a baby. Besides, we must help your mother think of a name for her. A beautiful treasure has to have a beautiful name, doesn’t she?”

While preparing my talk for this conference, I received a shocking phone call from my father. He said that my younger brother had died that morning in his sleep. I was heartbroken. He was only 51 years old. As I thought about him, I felt impressed to share with you some events from his life. I do so with permission.
As a youth my brother was handsome, friendly, and outgoing?totally dedicated to the gospel. After serving an honorable mission, he married his sweetheart in the temple. They were blessed with a son and a daughter. His future was full of promise.
But then he gave in to a weakness. He chose to live a hedonistic lifestyle, which cost him his health, his marriage, and his membership in the Church.
He moved far from home. He continued his self-destructive behavior for more than a decade, but the Savior had not forgotten or abandoned him. Eventually the pain of his despair allowed a spirit of humility to enter his soul. His feelings of anger, rebellion, and militancy began to dissipate. Like the prodigal son, “he came to himself.”1 He began to reach out to the Savior and to make his way back home and to faithful parents who never gave up on him.
He walked the path of repentance. It wasn’t easy. After being out of the Church for 12 years, he was rebaptized and received again the gift of the Holy Ghost. His priesthood and temple blessings were eventually restored.
He was blessed to find a woman who was willing to overlook the ongoing health challenges from his prior lifestyle, and they were sealed in the temple. Together they had two children. He served faithfully in the bishopric for several years.
My brother died on Monday morning, March 7. The previous Friday evening he and his wife attended the temple. On Sunday morning, the day before he died, he taught the priesthood lesson in his high priests group. He went to bed that evening, never to awaken again in this life?but to come forth in the resurrection of the just.
I am grateful for the miracle of the Atonement in the life of my brother. The Savior’s Atonement is available to each of us—always.
Years ago my brother exercised his agency when he chose a lifestyle that cost him his health, his family, and his membership in the Church. Years later he exercised that same agency when he chose to repent, to conform his life to the teachings of the Savior, and to literally be born again through the power of the Atonement.
I testify of the miracle of the Atonement. I have seen its healing power in the life of my brother and felt it in my own life. The healing and redemptive power of the Atonement is available to each of us—always.

Illustration by Steven Keele
Envy is a strong word. When people talked about being “envious,” I knew it would never describe me. So when I listened to Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s talk “The Laborers in the Vineyard” in the April 2012 general conference, I didn’t really think he was talking to me. I tried to think of things I would occasionally be jealous of—someone’s dress, my friend’s bag, or my sister’s good grade. Yet all of these things came and went quickly; I never thought I dwelled on jealousy.
But as I went back and read Elder Holland’s words, his paraphrasing of a line from a parable stuck out to me: “Why should you be jealous because I choose to be kind?” (Ensign, May 2012, 31). Now, this was a different type of jealousy—not about material things but about someone’s choices. I began to think of the many times I may have been envious of my siblings, and then it clicked: this is exactly what I have been struggling with.
My little sister Mary is about to move out and start her first year in college, so I was talking to my dad about where she would work this summer. I knew he most likely had three jobs lined up for her like he had for me, because when I graduated from high school he made it very clear that if I planned on going to college, I would need a summer job. This was stressed so much that I even started a job the day of my graduation. I worked hard all summer and earned the money to pay my way through school. So naturally, when I was talking to my dad about Mary’s summer before college, I expected to hear the same story.
To my surprise, my dad explained that Mary would just be working at her part-time job until June and then take the summer off before school. Immediately several thoughts came to mind: “What about paying for school by yourself? How is she going to afford tuition? And what about paying for that nice apartment she’s decided to move into?” This just wasn’t fair.
I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but I let it continue to affect me. That is, until I reread Elder Holland’s conference talk. I read the question: “Why should you be jealous because I choose to be kind?” This time I changed it to fit my situation and asked myself: “Why should I be jealous that my parents are being kind to my sister?” Still a little upset, I then thought, “Well, why didn’t they show that kindness to me?”
I sat there pondering my emotions and then read through Elder Holland’s words again. This time I realized what I was missing: I had been looking for everything to be fair. In my eyes, the same thing that worked for me was obviously the right choice for the rest of my siblings. But Mary isn’t me. Mary is much more of a homebody than I am, and I started realizing how the transition to college might be tougher on her than it was for me. Maybe having a few months just to spend with my family is something she needs.
I suddenly felt embarrassed about my envious thoughts. Elder Holland compared envy with “downing another quart of pickle juice every time anyone around you has a happy moment” (Ensign, May 2012, 32), and that is not how I want to be.
I am so grateful for general conference and the inspired messages that are shared. I know that if we open our hearts to the messages of the living prophets and prayerfully search through their words several times, we will find what God wants us to hear at this time in our lives.

Illustrations by Dani Jones
It was the first full week of eighth grade, and I was already feeling stressed about keeping up with my heavy course load. To make matters worse, my mom had volunteered the two of us to spend the afternoon taking care of a two-year-old boy named Aaron. The plan was that Aaron would nap for two hours while his mom was gone and I’d work on my schoolwork on my laptop while he napped. However, soon after our arrival at Aaron’s house, we heard him crying. At first, we thought he might fall back asleep, but his crying grew louder and louder until he was wailing, screaming, and calling out for his mom.
“Great. How am I going to get my schoolwork done now?” I thought. I felt instantly stressed. I still had my computer open to do my assignment, but how much Spanish homework do you think I was accomplishing with his siren-like wailing going on? Yep, nada.
My mom was doing everything possible to comfort him, but he was clinging to her and sobbing, his tears leaving wet spots all over her shirt.
Then I felt the Holy Ghost speak softly to my mind and heart, prompting me that comforting Aaron was more important than my homework.
So I shut my laptop and started to talk to him. Between my mom snuggling and rocking him and me talking to him, he finally stopped screaming and settled down. Soon enough, little Aaron actually got down from my mom’s lap.
He seemed to want to play. At that point, my mom could have played with him and I could have returned to my studies. But again, I felt that it was important for me to play with little Aaron.
So I sang crazy songs, made silly voices, rolled around on the floor, and contorted my face in all kinds of funny ways. He smiled and laughed. When Aaron’s mom came home, it was awesome to have a happy, giggly Aaron greet her.
My mom and dad have always taught me and shown a good example of how serving others brings joy and meaning to our lives. Now I think I understand what it means in the Bible to “love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:39), and it feels awesome!

Most of us have been asked musically if we know the way to San Jose, and except in a general sense, most of us don’t. A lot of good Latter-day Saints call it home, however, and this article is about some of them.
Except that it isn’t about San Jose. It’s about San Francisco. There are a lot of fun things within easy reach of the young people in San Jose—everything from beach parties, to ski trips, to camping, to sailing, to sports and cultural events, to San Francisco, which is why this story happened.
San Francisco is about an hour from San Jose, just far enough to make it adventurous and close enough to make it convenient, and that’s how the priests and Laurels of the San Jose Seventh Ward came to make the trip one bright morning.
Their first stop was the Golden Gate Park, a giant green finger pointing out of the Pacific toward San Francisco Bay. They strolled in the shade of the gigantic trees and spent an hour in the lush beauty of the Oriental Tea Garden. They could easily have spent a day seeing the Park’s other attractions, but there was a city of 42 hills and 42,000 adventures waiting for them.
They visited the Golden Gate Bridge, standing on a windswept observation point and watching the vast red span stretch away from them. The intense blue of the bay was dotted with sails, and wave-swept Alcatraz Island looked foreboding in the middle of them.
Next they visited the quaint brick buildings of Ghiradelli Square and ate their lunches on the steps of a fountain there. Then, refreshed by the rest, they ambled along to Fisherman’s Wharf, passing on the street artists who sold their handiworks and street musicians who played in the open air, glancing hopefully now and then into guitar cases and hats where people would occasionally throw money.
One man sat in the back of a pickup truck parked by the curb and played an upright piano. Another innovative fellow climbed inside a painted box and billed himself as a human juke box. People put money in through a slot, and he played a wandering trumpet for them.
They walked along Fisherman’s Wharf, talking to the fish vendors and looking at the stacks of fresh crabs, lobsters, shrimp, and other seafood. Some of it looked back at them and snapped angry claws.
After spending some time observing the long rows of docked fishing boats, they boarded a cable car and rode up the steep hills to Chinatown. They walked up and down the steep streets lined with exotic buildings with upturned roofs, neon signs in Cantonese and English, and shops filled with the pungent aroma of unfamiliar foods.
By then the sun was getting low, and knowing the way to San Jose very well, they returned home.
Although San Francisco and San Jose are very nice places to know the way to when that’s where you want to go, these fine young Latter-day Saints also know the way to somewhere more important. They know the way home to their Father in Heaven, and they all bear testimony of their dedication to him and of the truthfulness of the gospel. When it was suggested, tongue in cheek, that it isn’t really possible to live the gospel fully outside of Salt Lake City, Utah, the whole group rose up in righteous indignation and explained almost simultaneously that there is no better place in the whole world for being a true Latter-day Saint than in San Jose, California.
They know the way in San Jose.

Many years ago my husband became very ill with a rare disease. As the weeks went by and the sicker he became, the more I became convinced that he was dying. I told no one of my fears. We had a large, young family and a loving, eternal marriage, and the thought of losing my husband and raising my children by myself filled me with loneliness, despair, and even anger. I am ashamed to say that I pulled away from my Heavenly Father. For days I quit praying; I quit planning; I cried. I finally came to the realization that I could not do this alone.

For the first time in many days, I knelt down and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven, pleading for forgiveness for turning away from Him, telling Him all of my deepest feelings, and finally crying out that if this was what He really wanted me to do, I would do it. I knew He must have a plan for our lives.

As I continued on my knees to pour out my heart, the sweetest, most peaceful, loving feeling came over me. It was as if a blanket of love was flowing over me. It was as if I could feel Heavenly Father saying, “That was all I needed to know.” I determined never to turn away from Him again. Gradually and amazingly, my husband began to get better until he made a full recovery.

Years later my husband and I knelt by the side of our 17-year-old daughter and pleaded for her life. This time the answer was no, but that same feeling of love and peace that our Savior has promised was just as powerful, and we knew that even though Heavenly Father was calling her back home, everything would be all right. We have come to know what it means to cast our burdens upon the Lord, to know that He loves us and feels compassion for us in our sorrows and pain.

The very next day I had to go to the temple alone, leaving my family behind at the patron house. When I entered the temple, I was struck with fear because of language. I felt confused not knowing what to do, where to go, and how to participate in the ordinances. I was troubled. But God comforted me by offering help. Just then a sister appeared. She was full of love, she welcomed me with a hug; I was filled with warmth of the Holy Ghost—the Comforter. Thereafter, I was taught everything by the Holy Ghost. And I witnessed the presence of Heavenly Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, in the temple. I had a very glorious experience—an experience that will guide me through eternity. I knew then that no witness is given to us until after the trail of our faith.

During the dark days of World War II, a 500-pound bomb fell outside the little home of Brother Patey, a young father in Liverpool, England, but the bomb did not go off. His wife had died, so he was rearing his five children alone. He gathered them together at this very anxious time for family prayer. They “all prayed … earnestly and when they had finished praying, the children said: ‘Daddy, we will be all right. We will be all right in our home tonight.’

“And so they went to bed, imagine, with that terrific bomb lying just outside the door half submerged in the ground. If it had gone off it would have destroyed probably forty or fifty houses and killed two or three hundred people. …

“The next morning the … whole neighborhood was removed for forty-eight hours and the bomb was finally taken away. …

“On the way back Brother Patey asked the foreman of the A.R.P. Squad: ‘Well, what did you find?’

“‘Mr. Patey, we got at the bomb outside of your door and found it ready to explode at any moment. There was nothing wrong with it. We are puzzled why it did not go off.’” Miraculous things happen when families pray together.

By the time Jeff was missionary age, Bishop Chambers had been called as the stake president. But the new bishop, David Nye, had already heard from Jeff, who wanted his opportunity to serve, too. President Chambers and Bishop Nye arranged for Jeff to work one day each week in the cafeteria of the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. In addition, Jeff was called to serve with his brother as an usher, and they were encouraged to study their scriptures together.
Both young men check in regularly with their bishop, and from time to time with their stake president, to report on their progress. That progress has been magnificent.
The young men are enthusiastic about their callings and greet everyone they meet with a handshake and a smile. In return, they are greeted with friendship and kindness. Everybody in their home ward, as well as in the Riverside Singles Branch, which meets in the same building—in fact, just about everybody in the stake—recognizes the Balls brothers and knows about their special assignments. Lots of children in the stake remember Jacob as one of the special teachers who helped them learn about baptism and confirmation. And every Wednesday, Jeff’s mother Denise makes the one-hour drive to the temple so Jeff can spend the afternoon working in the cafeteria.
There, Jeff has made friends with cafeteria workers and temple patrons alike. He gathers up dishes and helps serve food, and yes, he loves to eat the meal he is provided, especially the slice of pie. But his number-one accomplishment, he says, is to help people feel happy. It’s something Jeff does in the house of the Lord, and something both Jacob and Jeff do in the ward, branch, and stake where they serve.

Growing up, a lot of girls struggle with the adversary targeting their self-worth. The world places an emphasis on what we look like, and if you’re an athlete, you’re being watched a lot. I felt a lot of anxiety playing volleyball at Brigham Young University. Lots of eyes were on me, and it brought up insecurities. I had been praying to get through the doubts that came with those insecurities. It wasn’t an immediate answer, but I know that it was those prayers and that time with Heavenly Father that helped me overcome those.

The Spirit reminded me that I am now a different person than I was four years ago. Looking back, I can see times when Heavenly Father’s hand gave me experiences and impressions that I have so much more worth than I thought.

Following Joseph Smith’s death, Brigham Young was absolutely clear about priorities: first, the Saints must finish the Nauvoo Temple and receive the endowment there. Then they must seek a new home, the prophesied place of refuge in the West. For President Young, these goals required resolute attention. Indeed, so contagious was his enthusiasm that the pace of construction on the Nauvoo Temple increased dramatically under the leadership of the Twelve.

Ironically, such rapid progress inflamed enemies who, fearing that it might be impossible to drive the Mormons from Nauvoo after they finished their temple, vowed to drive them out first. 7 Faced with the probability of violence, in January 1845 Brigham Young momentarily hesitated; should they finish the temple even if it meant bloodshed? His diary records the answer: “I inquired of the Lord whether we should stay here and finish the temple. The answer was we should.” 8

Confirmed in his course, President Young pressed forward with iron resolve. In May, the capstone was laid and the Twelve announced that endowments would begin in December, a timetable they kept. Brigham talked tough throughout this period, partly to intimidate enemies and prevent bloodshed. “We would rather suffer wrong than do wrong,” was his motto, 9 and his faith that the Lord had dictated the direction and would oversee the outcome allowed him to act boldly.

Despite commanding the largest military force in Illinois, President Young declined to unleash the Nauvoo militia when violence finally broke out in September 1845. Instead, he and his fellow Apostles turned to intensive, special prayer, launching what historian B. H. Roberts called “par excellence the period of prayer in the church.” 10

With work on the temple progressing amid a tense peace, in the spring of 1845 President Young turned his attention to the West. Joseph Smith had spoken privately of “a place of safety preparing … away towards the Rocky Mountains.” 11 Only weeks before his martyrdom, the Prophet had commissioned the Twelve to seek that place of refuge.

President Young found it no sacrifice to leave home and temple, for he knew that the destiny of the Saints lay not in Nauvoo but in the West. There, he believed, they would become a mighty people; there they could build new homes and a new temple in safety. Believing this, when mobs attacked settlements around Nauvoo in September 1845, President Young used the occasion to publicly announce the long-planned migration.

A major concern for Brigham was finding the right place. After frequent fasting and daily prayer in his room in the temple, he saw in vision the right spot and felt he could recognize it. His mind at ease, he was now ready.

One month later, Brigham Young and the first company of Saints crossed the Mississippi River, though it was still winter. Once on his way, President Young seemed drawn westward as if by an unseen hand. “Do not think … I hate to leave my house and home,” he wrote his brother Joseph from the Iowa prairies. “No, far from that. … It looks pleasant ahead,” he wrote, “but dark to look back” toward Nauvoo. 12

The Iowa experience, nonetheless, proved difficult, and for a time it seemed that the whole Church was mired, both literally and metaphorically, hub-deep in the spring prairie mud. Moving thousands of Saints hundreds of miles took far longer and consumed more resources than even Brigham Young had imagined. The experience drained him and forced him to grapple with his limitations. He lost so much weight that his clothes no longer fit. Exhausted physically and emotionally, Brigham understood more than ever the need for God’s intervention. And he longed for Joseph to counsel him and to reassure the people.

As Brigham Young left his bed on the morning of 17 February 1847, illness seized him so suddenly that he “fainted away, apparently dead.” 13 Only those who die and go through the veil could know how he felt, he said two weeks later, adding that “I know I went to the world of spirits.” However, it was not given him to remember immediately the details of what he saw there: “All that I know, is what my wife told me about it since. She said that I said, I had been where Joseph & Hyrum was” and that “it is hard coming back to life again.” 14

Once revived, Brigham Young fell asleep and dreamed, and when he awoke, he recorded what he had seen. “In my dream I went to see Joseph,” he wrote. Finding Joseph sitting by a large window looking “perfectly natural,” Brigham took him by the hand, kissed his cheeks, and asked him why they could not be together as before. Joseph arose from his chair, looked at Brigham, and spoke in his usual way: “It is all right.” Brigham protested, but Joseph replied: “You will have to do things without me a while and then we shall be together again.”

Brigham then addressed Joseph as his mentor and asked for counsel. The advice was direct and simple: “Be sure to tell the people to keep the spirit of the Lord.” 15 Brigham then turned and saw Joseph in the light, “but where I had to go was as midnight darkness.” Because Joseph insisted, Brigham “went back in the darkness” and awoke. 16

Though Brigham Young spoke frequently of this in the weeks before heading for the Rockies, he did not elaborate on its meaning. Undoubtedly, it buoyed his spirits and provided still more evidence that he was on the Lord’s (and Joseph’s) errand. Though still burdened by the demands of leadership and the magnitude of the challenge, he was at peace.

That peace was not always shared by those closest to him. Two weeks after President Young’s illness and vision, his brother, Joseph Young, called on him in his office and “stated that he thought 100 lbs Provisions”—the announced minimum for the trek west—“very little for each Pioneer.” Some months before, he had told Brigham that getting the Saints safely across Iowa would require as great a miracle as Moses leading the children of Israel through the wilderness. Should they now expect a second miracle? With so little, he insisted, any mishap at all could endanger the whole enterprise. For Brigham Young, that amount—all they could expect to obtain—simply must do. “Brigham replied he wanted all to stay here, who had not faith to go with that amount.” 17 Though not foolhardy, President Young was realistic. After doing the best they could, the Saints had no choice but to depend on the Lord for the rest.

President Young faced the challenge with such unwavering confidence because he knew the plan was not his own. As he told the Saints nearly 10 years later, “I did not devise the great scheme of the Lord’s opening the way to send this people to these mountains.” Who did? “It was the power of God that wrought out salvation for this people,” he insisted. 18

From the moment Brigham Young entered the Salt Lake Valley in 1847, he had a focused sense of mission about what the Saints must do there and a firm conviction that, through the Lord’s protection, they would be privileged to do so.19 He foresaw that if they lived worthily, they would never be driven from there.20 This faith sustained him and informed his decisions throughout his long tenure as civic and Church leader in Utah.

In 1857–58, President Young’s faith was put to a severe test as thousands of U.S. troops marched to Utah as an “escort” for Alfred Cumming, who was sent by the U.S. government to replace Brigham Young as governor. Some have argued that Governor Young should have immediately sought a political solution. Logically, compromise and accommodation seemed the only policy that might preserve peace.

President Young felt otherwise. The Saints’ experiences in Missouri had taught him what enemies can do when backed by military authority. Confident that if the Saints did all in their power, the Lord would prevent disaster, Governor Young declared martial law and mobilized the territorial militia to do everything short of bloodshed to slow down the advancing troops. Grasslands and supply wagons were burned, provisions and cattle confiscated, and the advance units harassed day and night. Still the troops came—until the timely arrival of heavy snows forced the army into winter camp near Fort Bridger, roughly a hundred miles from the Mormon settlement in the Salt Lake Valley. 21

That did not end the army’s advance, of course. By spring, soldiers wanted revenge for a miserable winter. Facing a renewed and perhaps even more dangerous threat, Brigham Young ordered his men to prepare to oppose the army but added the promise that “not a gun will be fired, not a man slain.” One of his commanders, a man who viewed President Young as the Lord’s mouthpiece, replied that “he knew it was true but he did not believe a word of it.” Given the circumstances, bloodshed seemed inevitable. 22

Even as troops advanced toward the city, Brigham Young and governor-designate Alfred Cumming, aided by Thomas L. Kane, the non-Mormon friend of the Saints who had risked his life to reach Utah in the winter, concluded a peaceful accord. Without incident, the army marched peacefully through a deserted Salt Lake City to an isolated encampment 30 miles away. U.S. Army Captain Jesse Gove summarized the toll of the Utah War: “killed, none; wounded, none; fooled, everybody” 23—everybody except Brigham Young, who, throughout, had an inner assurance that the encounter would not result in calamity.

President Young’s leadership was not flawless, of course; in mortality, no one’s is. “There are weaknesses manifested in men that I am bound to forgive,” he said on one occasion. “I am right there myself. I am liable to mistakes,” he continued, but “I am where I can see the light. I try to keep in the light.” 24 The promise he felt was not that he would make no mistakes or always know what was best but that, in the end, God oversees the essentials. He quickly abandoned what did not work well for something that might work better, but his direction and his destination remained unchanging. Long-term goals based on revelation provided the consistency that informed his day-to-day decisions and gave him the confidence to press forward regardless of the obstacles—or even the errors.

Such certainty sometimes made Brigham Young appear stubborn. A few months after the peaceful resolution of the Utah War, President Young visited Governor Cumming. Concerned that they had narrowly averted disaster, the fair-minded governor cautioned Brigham Young to refrain from provocative acts in the future.

“With all due respect to your Excellency,” the President interrupted, “I do not calculate to take the advice of any man that lives in relation to my affairs.” Though not spurning friends and counselors, during such crises, in God alone would he trust. “My religion is true,” he told the governor solemnly, “and I am determined to obey its precepts while I live.” He would, he insisted, “follow the councils of my heavenly Father, and I have faith to follow it, and risk the consequences. …

“You may think strange of it,” he concluded, “but you will yet see that I am right.” 25

I don’t know what it was about Kathryn. No one really disliked her, but no one liked her, either. She sat quietly at her desk and did her schoolwork. She always got the highest score, but no one competed with her. It was like she wasn’t even part of the class—or the world for that matter.
When the bell rang for recess, most of us bolted for the door, nearly knocking the books from our desks. Not Kathryn. She sat still until everyone was out the door, and then she walked slowly behind.
I remember one day Mr. Ekhert, our fifth-grade teacher, called to her from the pitching mound. “Come on, Kathryn. Come play!”
I heard the boys moan, and I guess she heard them, too. She shook her head and wrapped her legs around the legs of the bench.
She’d played kickball with us before. Whenever anyone pitched the ball, she held out her hands and muttered, “Slow. No bounces.” No matter how fast or bouncy the boys pitched, she’d run toward the red rubber ball, swing her leg, and kick as hard as she could. She always missed. We’d groan, and large red splotches would burn her cheeks.
One day, in the middle of the year, Mr. Ekhert called roll like he always did. “Kathryn? Oh, that’s right.” He paused and marked something in his book. Then with a serious expression he looked up from his roll and said, “Class, do you know where Kathryn is?”
No one answered.
“Does anyone know where she’s been for the past week?”
I shrugged my shoulders and glanced at the other kids, who also seemed unconcerned.
Mr. Ekhert sighed. “She’s quite sick.” He peered at us over his wire-rimmed glasses. “I wonder if there is something any of you can do for her.”
I watched everyone slouch down in their seats, like I did. I thought if I shrunk somehow, maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty.
“Where has she been?” I wondered. “The hospital?” I felt ashamed that I hadn’t even noticed she was gone.
That day as I rode the bus home, I didn’t talk to my friends or even argue with the boy kicking the back of my seat. I stared out the window and thought about Kathryn. I didn’t know why she was so different. I didn’t even know why exactly no one talked to her. She was smart and nice. But she wasn’t pretty and she wasn’t funny; she never laughed at any jokes. She wasn’t good at any sports, but she wasn’t mean, either. I thought about Kathryn for a long time. When I tried to put her out of my mind, I kept seeing her face. “Maybe I should do something for her,” I thought.
That afternoon, my friend Kami and I rode our bikes to the store. As I gazed into the glass-covered candy counter, I saw a box of bracelets I’d never noticed before.
“Look at those.” I nudged Kami with my elbow. She shrugged, but I felt warm inside and knew I needed to buy one of those bracelets for Kathryn.
I counted the change in my pocket. I had exactly enough for the bracelet and a few pieces of candy. I plunked my money down on the counter, and the clerk put the bracelet and candy into a paper bag for me.
On the way home, I didn’t eat a single piece of candy, and when Kami asked for one, I said no. It felt strange, buying a present for someone I hardly knew. All evening I kept looking at the paper bag until finally I went to the closet and found a box to wrap it in.
The next day I felt like butterflies were flying around the back of my throat. I could hardly speak to anyone. When the three-o’clock bell rang, I threw my backpack on my shoulder and walked down the street past the buses. I followed the map my mom had drawn for me until I arrived at the right house. I swallowed and walked up the stairs to the front door.
“Hello,” an older woman said, opening the door.
“Is Kathryn here?” I held the package behind my back.
The woman stared at me in surprise. She pulled the door open and motioned for me to come in, not saying a word.
I don’t remember what her house looked like or any other details—I only remember the stunned look in Kathryn’s eyes as I walked through her bedroom door.
“Hi,” I said, pulling the package from behind my back. I handed it to her.
She took it but didn’t say anything. She opened the card I had written and then ripped a little hole in the package. I felt uncomfortable watching her open it, like I was intruding. She pulled the bracelet out and held it up to the lamp. Then she popped a piece of the candy into her mouth.
“Thank you.”
I stepped back and said, “I hope you feel better soon. See you at school.” Nervously I tripped out of her bedroom and left.
As I walked back to school, my throat felt swollen. I thought about Kathryn and about the look on her mother’s face when I came to the door. I don’t think anyone had ever gone to her house before.
I stood on the steps in front of the school and watched the late bus come around the corner. I did not know why I kept thinking about Kathryn. I didn’t even know if she would want to be my friend when she came back to school. I didn’t know what to think.
Suddenly, I imagined a smile spread across Kathryn’s face. Goose bumps popped out all over my skin, and I felt warm inside. I hoped I could become Kathryn’s friend when she came back to school. And I hoped maybe others would reach out to her, too. But no matter what happened, I knew I had done the right thing, and I knew that Heavenly Father knew it. He had helped me help Kathryn, and I would never regret it.

When we had five young children, our family struggled to follow this prophetic counsel. It took us about 18 months to finally finish reading the Book of Mormon. Most days we read a page. Each of us read a verse and we helped our youngest daughter, aged four, repeat a verse after one of us read for her. To celebrate, we all went out to eat, and at the table I asked my family what their favourite Book of Mormon story is. The stories included Alma among the Zoramites, the journey to the promised land by Lehi’s family, Helaman and the stripling warriors, Mormon and Moroni, the missionary labors of Ammon, and the conversion of Alma the Younger. Finally, our four-year old daughter added her voice. She said, “Just Jesus!” She taught us a powerful lesson of childlike faith that day.

After graduation David couldn’t wait to turn 19 and send in his mission papers. His doctor attached a note verifying he was totally independent.
But it was not to be. Instead of a calling, David’s letter informed him he could not serve a full-time proselyting mission.
“When I heard this, I was crushed,” remembers David. “I had worked so hard, and it seemed it was all taken away from me in just a matter of seconds.” Even though David had given it his best, he felt strongly he must continue to pursue a mission. An interview was arranged with Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve, who lovingly assured David there was a mission for him.
One week later he was called to serve a welfare mission at the Deseret Industries (D.I.) in St. George. Nothing had prepared him for such a call. “To tell the truth, I was disappointed.” But he kept hearing these words to the song, “I will go, I will do,” run through his head and knew the Lord wanted him there.
“I look back now and think how foolish I was. I had no clue what a blessing this mission would be,” David says.

It was family home evening, and Dad was teaching the lesson. I slouched into a comfortable chair and glanced around the room at my sisters and brothers. We were there, prepared to listen—halfway—before rushing back to the really important things in our lives.
Suddenly Dad disappeared into the kitchen. I raised my eyebrows at Anna, my sister. She shrugged, silently communicating, “How do I know what he’s doing?”
He came bouncing out of the kitchen with an apron on, a large mixing bowl and an old cookbook in his hands. “Today for our lesson, we are going to make a cake. Then, for a treat, we will eat it.”
That sounded good to me. I could always handle a few extra snacks between meals.
“But,” Dad said, “we’re not going to use this cookbook.”
“Why not?” asked my sister Katie.
“Well, this book was written a long time ago,” he said as he checked the copyright date in the front. “1979. I’m sure they knew how to make a 1979 cake, but I really doubt the authors know anything about making a cake right now, in this century. The pressures that we’re under, the technology, it’s all really different.”
“But cake making doesn’t really change,” protested Anna.
“No book,” said Dad. He threw the cookbook squarely onto the kitchen table. “This is our cake, and we’re going to make it our way. We don’t need anyone to tell us how to make it. Let’s go around and each person can pick an ingredient to put in the cake.”
He started with me. “Um, OK, flour?”
“How much?”
“Two cups?” I hazarded a guess. “Really, Dad, I think it would be better if …”
He held up his hand to silence my protest as Mom rushed to get the flour and add it to the mixing bowl.
Joe was next. “Butter? One stick?”
We went around the circle. We added salt, sugar, milk, and eggs. I breathed a sigh of relief when Katie added baking powder. She bakes more than I do, and I had known it needed some kind of leaven, but I was unsure what.
It was Anna’s turn. “Cocoa powder,” she declared. I smiled. Chocolate cake is my favorite. This cake was turning out to be OK after all.
When we were all finished, it looked like cake batter and smelled good, too.
“Let’s grease and flour the pan,” suggested Katie.
“One moment,” said Dad. “I just thought of something that would be really good to add.” He handed the bowl to Mom and came back with some … was that Worcestershire sauce?
Amidst howls of protest, Dad added two large tablespoonfuls of the black sauce to our batter. We all looked on in shock and dismay.
Dad smiled benignly. “Were you going to grease and flour that pan?” he asked Katie.
“I guess so,” she replied uncertainly.
Dad looked at our crestfallen faces. He said, “I know most successful cakes don’t have Worcestershire sauce in them. In fact, if we looked in the instructions, there might be some kind of warnings against adding things like Worcestershire sauce. But,” he said with a sneer, “that cookbook is old-fashioned and ancient. We don’t need anyone telling us what to do. It’s our cake. We can do what we want with it. Also, I hear that everyone who is anyone is putting Worcestershire sauce into their cakes these days.”
Dad popped the cake into the oven and removed his apron. In stunned silence, we returned to our seats. Dad sat down, too. When he began to speak, the sneer was gone. He held up a set of scriptures, and his tone was reverent.
“When you pictured the cake we were going to make, you probably pictured something wonderful, maybe a chocolate cake with white frosting. You did not picture something disgusting.
“Right now I want you to picture the life you have ahead of you. Picture the ingredients you know you need to return to your Father in Heaven. Picture serving a mission. Picture marriage in the temple. Picture the career of your choice. Picture yourself making good choices and being a force for good in the world. These are the positive ingredients you put into life.
“But there are certain things that do not belong in a successful life, just as Worcestershire sauce never belongs in a cake, like drug use, sexual immorality, or dishonesty. No matter how Satan tries to disguise them, they are guaranteed roads to failure.
“Of course, our cake would have turned out better if we had read and followed the instructions.”
He held up his scriptures. “Your life will turn out better if you follow the teachings in here. It’s true that the scriptures were written a long time ago. It’s true that some of the values may seem old-fashioned to some of your friends. But, like Anna said, cake making doesn’t really change much over time, and neither do the rules for living a happy and successful life. Also, we have living prophets and apostles. They are the experts, just like the authors of the cookbook are experts. We all would do well to follow their teachings.
“If you keep sight of your eternal goals, you won’t let people talk you into putting destructive ingredients into your life. But if you just drift along, adding whatever yucky things are ‘in’ at the moment, you won’t make the cake—or the life—that you picture for yourself.”
We were quiet for a moment. Then Mom said, “Of course, we do have repentance.”
“That’s true,” said Dad. “Unlike cakes, lives get second chances.” The timer buzzed. Reluctantly, Katie went to the kitchen and removed the cake from the oven. It smelled terrible. Were they really going to make us eat that?
“Let’s go have a treat,” said Mom. As we got up to leave, my brother Joe put his hand on my dad’s shoulder.
“Good lesson, Dad,” he said.
We were pleasantly surprised to find another cake, white with chocolate frosting, that Mom had made using the cookbook. We all had a small bite of the nasty cake, however, just to see what it tasted like. It was as disgusting as it smelled.
For the price of a few wasted ingredients, Dad made a huge impact. For years now, I have remembered his lesson, and I have always been blessed when I have tried to avoid the undesirable ingredients of life.

In anticipation of Doug’s surgery in St. Louis, I asked for the name of a stake Relief Society president I could call there, just in case I had some extraordinary need for help. That was way out of my comfort zone, but I asked and received the number for Sister Diana Taylor, who is a stake Relief Society president in the area.
I called Sister Taylor and explained why we were coming to St. Louis and assured her I would let her know if and how I needed her help.
The next day, she sent me this text: “Sister Johnson, 10 hours is a long time to be waiting alone while Brother Johnson is in surgery. I would be happy to come to the hospital to be with you if that would help. I could come the whole time or part of the time. We could share the Spirit of Christ as we pray and remember the blessings of a loving Father in Heaven, the blessings of sisterhood, the blessing of families and of service.”
Perhaps you’ve guessed my first reaction: “I’m good. I’ve got this alone. I’ll wallow in my sadness by myself!” And I was just about ready to send a response that declined her invitation—until I remembered what I had preached in the April 2023 general conference and thought that I ought to practice it:
“How does the Savior relieve us of the burdens of living in a fallen world with mortal bodies subject to grief and pain?
“Often, He performs that kind of relief through us! …
“… We are a conduit through which He provides relief.”1
I responded with this text message: “I don’t want to trouble you at all. Perhaps you and I could have lunch together. That would be a nice break from the talks that I am writing.”
The Lord sent Sister Taylor (right) to minister to me while I was waiting for my husband to come out of surgery.
Sister Taylor and I walked to a restaurant. We sat outside because it was a sunny day and enjoyed lunch together. And in the end, I trust that both of us found needed relief.
I was alone in St. Louis. Doug was in a surgery lasting more than 10 hours. How was the Savior going to help me, to relieve me of loneliness and frustration and worry? He sent someone to minister to me, someone who was magnifying her calling and keeping her baptismal covenant by comforting someone who stood in need of comfort (see Mosiah 18:9–10). If I had failed to receive her, I would have failed to receive Him.

Sometimes we have so many ideas and thoughts to share that we give in to the temptation to tell a lot of stories that have nothing in common. While they may all be effective if given at the proper time, their value is lost when given with many other unrelated stories. This results in the following situation:
A Nebraska farmer stepped into the town hall to hear the visiting speaker. The talk went on so long, however, that he sauntered outside for a bit of fresh air. A neighbor passing by asked, “Jim, what is he talkin’ about?”
“I don’t know,” came the reply. “He ain’t said.”

Trust in the Lord. I still remember the feelings that flowed through my heart while I sat next to my bride in the sealing room of the temple: feelings of excitement, joy, and anxiety. Before we knelt at the altar, the temple president counseled us regarding the importance of what we were about to do. He explained that trials would come into our marriage. At the time his words seemed of little importance to me.
Now, years later, as my wife and I struggle with raising our teenage children, those words from the temple president have new meaning. I recall one night walking around our home, turning off lights, and sitting in an easy chair waiting for the last of our children to come home. The hands of the clock over the television set showed me that our son would not be honoring his curfew. The minutes passed, and dozing in my chair was out of the question.
As the hands of the clock moved past 2:45 A.M., I worried, Was my son hurt? Was he lying in the street someplace? At last I heard him come in. What was I to say? The confrontation lasted only a few minutes but seemed an eternity. Later my wife and I began to think more deeply about our role in our children’s lives.
Out of that night’s fear and in other times of conflict with our teenage children, we grew and changed in our approach. We realized that we needed to shift our attitude from worry that a child’s conduct might reflect poorly on us to one of deep and profound concern for his or her eternal welfare. We changed from parents who tried to sweep family problems under the rug to avoid embarrassment to parents who exercised faith as we weathered comments of unsupportive family members and neighbors and turned instead to the Lord for direction.
Through the turmoil of these trials, our marriage has grown stronger. We know that our kind and loving Heavenly Father established a step-by-step process for growth: “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day” (D&C 50:24).
Through placing our trust in the Lord, we have seen this process of growth pull us to higher levels of gospel understanding and forge a deeper commitment to applying the teachings of the Savior in our lives.—Ron Hansen

I close with another story, illustrating how the spirit of the work of Elijah crosses the boundaries of blood ties in fostering honor between parents and children. I recently conversed with a woman who, as a baby, was adopted into a Latter-day Saint home. When I asked how long she had known she was an adopted child, she told me that when she was four, her father had presented a family home evening lesson on the plan of salvation. In the course of that discussion, he explained that sometimes parents who desperately desire children are unable physically to bring them into this life. In such cases, he said, the parents may fast and plead with the Lord to help them find a special child whose biological parents are unable to care for their child. Her father took her in his arms and explained that was how Heavenly Father had sent her to them. Hearing this tender story, I felt certain that the promises the Lord made to this woman’s adoptive parents were planted in her heart, and the result was her lifelong peace of mind and sense of belonging.

The old clock ticked in the dusky light like a tired heartbeat, and the windows in the small living room were filled with the soft, crimson glow of a going-down sun. Eric listened to the ticking as the light in the windows turned from red to gray to black.
From where he lay with Sparky beneath the scraggly branches of the Christmas tree, he could see a falling star plummet past the square of glass. Down, down it came. It was as if God was sending the fiery light to light somebody’s Christmas tree—somebody who was too poor to have an ornamental star for the top of his tree.
“Could be Jess Crowley’s place,” Eric said quietly to the perky little pup whose eyes and lip jerked in sleep. “Or Carrie Ludlow’s. Or maybe even ours. If it was ours, Sparky,” he figured out loud, “someone gave the angels the wrong address, because it landed farther from here than good fortune.”
Good fortune had not been their lot, it seemed to Eric, for longer than his eight-year-old mind cared to remember. His mother had died three years before, and his father had barely escaped death in a car accident a year later. The accident had left him too disabled to work. If it weren’t for the kindnesses of ward members, Eric speculated to himself, and the saving assistance from the Church, I don’t know what would become of us. With that computer someone left on our doorstep last year, though, Dad’s been able to get some jobs working at home. “So don’t you worry about not having a place to hang your hat,” he spoke aloud to the little dog, “or whatever it is dogs carry around with them—besides fleas, of course.” He chuckled softly, stroking Sparky’s head.
Twisting and peering through the open living room door, Eric could barely make out the sleeping form of his father in the room at the end of the hall. A spray of moonlight hazed across his bed. The boy eyed the figure affectionately. Dad was strong in the faith and had taught him to be so too. Dad had also taught Eric that they had problems in their lives not because Heavenly Father was punishing or ignoring them but because He loved them, knew what was best for them, and wanted them to grow and be happy. In spite of their sadness.
Eric stretched out beneath his worn, frayed blanket. There was plenty of room under the tree, even though it was just two days before Christmas, for there were only two presents there. The one wrapped gift was a little bird for his father that Eric had fashioned out of wood at school. His father loved birds. He said a bird could get closer to heaven than most of the rest of us, “except when we pray. And except for your mother,” he added warmly, “who may at this very moment be walking and talking with the Savior himself!”
The other gift was from Dad to Eric: Sparky. Dad had given the pup to Eric early. “It’s too hard to wrap up a dog,” Dad had said, “and expect her to lie still under a Christmas tree until some boy unwraps her!”
Eric gently stroked the puppy’s fur that was every bit as soft and warm as Dad’s love. He could hardly wait for the day when the little dog was big enough to run full tilt next to his flying feet.
He reached up and touched a tiny glass ornament glowing in a speck of moonlight that had found its way through the window and down through the shadowy branches of the scraggly pine.
“It sure does have a regular shine when the moon works on it, doesn’t it?” The voice came from behind Eric. His father sat down beside him in the sooty light, a blanket draped about his shoulders.
“I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you, Dad.”
“You didn’t, Son. The bedsprings did. I rolled over and heard a chorus of rusty voices!” He chuckled, then ran his fingers through the boy’s golden hair. “I saw you in here camped out under the tree with that little fur piece of yours, and I thought I’d tuck you in.”
Eric smiled. His attention momentarily returning to the glitter of the glass ornament in the moon’s glow, he turned it slowly and watched the flash of revolving light.
“Something else shines just as pretty as that,” his father remarked. “It’s love, when the Savior puts His shine to it—except that glow is much, much brighter. It’s so bright, in fact, that you almost have to close your eyes to see it!”
Eric’s quiet, probing look asked his father to tell him more.
“This tree may be little and spindly, but the stable in Bethlehem wasn’t much to look at either—yet it held the greatest gift of all, God’s gift to all mankind, even Jesus Christ. And what He gave to you, me, your mom, and everyone else that ever was, is, or will be, is something so precious and priceless . …”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand with quiet understanding.
“Well,” Dad continued with a smile through his tears, “if we were to try to hang His gifts to us on this tree, they would break every branch. And if we tried to stack them beneath it, we’d break our necks trying to look up. And up. All the way to heaven. Where your mom is waiting for you and me.”
“I guess we have more for Christmas than what every store in the world has in it put together,” Eric said, “and a lot more, huh, Dad?”
Dad lay down next to his son and hooked his arm as a pillow under Eric’s head. Together they gazed up into the dark branches of the little tree and shared memories that shined like hope and faith and the sweet surety that families can be forever, that things eternal never die—all because of one small Babe born long ago in the city of David, Bethlehem, and placed in a manger there.