Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after the October 2010 general conference, Jared and Kathleen Smith of Utah, USA, decided to take a drive around the neighborhood with their three children to enjoy the colorful autumn leaves. Before leaving, Brother Smith put a vial of consecrated oil in his pocket. The words of President Henry B. Eyring’s priesthood address to be ready for priesthood service at all times had been on his mind (see “Serve with the Spirit,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2010, 59).
On their way home, the Smiths happened upon a crowd gathering around a little girl lying on the ground, apparently suffering from some kind of head trauma. They heard a woman shout, “Please, does anyone have consecrated oil? Please!” Brother Smith quickly pulled over and handed his oil to the girl’s father. After a priesthood blessing, the girl regained consciousness and began talking to her parents. Moments later, paramedics arrived and took her to the hospital.
“We felt a warmth and a peace in our hearts for having been in the right place at the right time, for having brought oil, and as President Eyring spoke of, having been ready,” says Brother Smith. “Our children saw the blessing of priesthood power, and we left feeling Heavenly Father’s love for both us and this young girl and her family.”

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”
After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

President McKay was prepared for this work and responsibility from his earliest childhood in Huntsville, where he was taught by the example of his parents that the Lord and His work were to come first in a person’s life. When he was eight years old, his two older sisters died, and a short time later, his father was called on a two-year mission to Scotland. Sister McKay was to give birth to a baby girl in ten days, the farm had to be run, and the young family needed to be fed. It was a time of testing and of sacrifice—and David learned much about faith and commitment. As his father climbed on his horse to leave, he lifted young David up into his arms, kissed him good-bye, and said, “David, take care of Mama and the family.” From that day forward, David O. McKay developed an exceptional sense of responsibility.

Let me share a personal experience that I feel is important for all Young Single Adults to know. You might think this is too high of a standard to live by but I challenge you to listen to the Spirit and raise the bar.
Please note: I do not have time to explain everything about this, for this topic is for another talk, and can be expressed in more detail. But, I am just showing you the basic simple personal revelation I received, and you too can receive the same. You too can pray about what I am about to tell you so you can receive personal revelation on this matter.

As a Bishop years ago, I discovered that most YSA who came to see me, had a lot of dating-related questions. Questions like…"How do I know who is the right person?", "How do I know if he is worthy?", "What is the right way to date?", and many others.
My question I asked Heavenly Father in prayer was, “How can I help them understand dating better so they can be more responsible daters?”
ALL LIGHTS OFF
As I prayed, fasted, and pondered on this, I found myself reading D&C 121:34, 35, 36 and I heard a voice in my head that said, “Why do we need to date?”
The only two reasons I could think of were, first, for fun and enjoyment (group dating), and secondly, to find your eternal companion (singular dating), which is what this template is about.
Then I read, "34-36 Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen. And why are they not chosen? Because their hearts are set so much upon the things of this world, and aspire to the honors of men, that they do not learn this one lesson—That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers OF heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness."11
The voice said, “You need to learn this one lesson.” I felt, this is a calling to be extended to someone who is worthy. As a father, I realized that this is an eternal calling that you, priesthood brethren, will be asking someone, someday: “Will you marry me?” It is important for each of us to know that being a father and mother are eternal callings. It is a calling that we will always have, even in the next life, if we are worthy. The voice said, “You have to be worthy to extend this calling.” That means, you need to be worthy to go on a date because you need to know who, when, and how to extend this calling.
Why? Because, "That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness."
All of this came to me all at once and in an orderly manner. Once I learned this one lesson everything started to fall into place.

Then I read the next verse, "37 That they may be conferred upon us, it is true; but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man."12
This is how not to go on a date! The following came to me: “This is what can happen if we are not worthy to go on a date.” Look what happens as your relationship grows in time, when you have been dating for one week, to six months, and even a year or two. LOOK AT THE SIGNS: “...but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men...”13
For example, a person who is not worthy will never announce that he or she is not worthy to go on a date, thus will cover their sins, and as the relationship continues, they will find that someone will be gratifying their pride, either spoiling you in deeds, words, and or in items, or showing off, being boastful, thus gratifying their own pride. This is where the relationship starts turning for the worst. Having a vain ambition, or exercising control or dominion, is noticed when someone gets jealous in a relationship, or even makes you feel that you owe them something for all he or she have done for you. Remember, no one can buy love. We are not items or slave for anyone. When this happens, we become dominating and someone will exercise compulsion upon us. Note what happens if the relationship continues to that point.
“...in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man."14 If you are planning to get married to someone like this, please ask yourself, are we worthy to go to the Temple? Will our marriage be sealed through the eternities? "...Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man."

As I continued reading I found that verse 41 is the correct way to date. It simply says, "41 No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned."15 This is how we should be going on a date having persuasion, gentleness, meekness, love unfeigned, being pleasant, and having understanding for each other. I believe that if we do not have any of these qualities, we will need to work at it before dating.
Dating should be planned with the other person in mind. “The way we communicate in dating and courtship is a key to building a solid marital relationship. Positive communication practiced in dating increases the likelihood of greater commitment, better conflict resolution, and more love between partners in marriage."16 When we focus on finding the right person, we should also focus on becoming the right person for someone. I encourage all who date to raise the bar and have a prayer before and after the date with the person you go with. Having the spirit with you will play a major part on finding your future companion.

As I read the following, the Spirit told me, this is how I will know whom I should extend the eternal calling to: “Will you marry me?“ We will know..."42 by kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile."17 This is the feeling I should receive while dating, nothing will be in the way of your decision, and it should be as plain and clear as possible. There should be no other outside influence and you should know, I mean really know whom you will be marrying. You will know their strengths and weaknesses and will be willing deal with it. by kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without any deception.
Please note that even if you do not feel that he or she is the right one for you… the main thing is that both of you have learned not only of each other but of who you really are and you can both move forward knowing what you can improve on, so you can be better for the next person you date. Remember, when we focus on finding the right person, we should also focus on becoming the right person for someone else.

Since we are all human, remember that you and your date are not perfect, you my need to correct each other at times while dating. It says this in verse 43, "Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved,…"18 In other words correct each other with sharpness (right away) then showing an increase of love. A young man and a young woman on a date are responsible to help each other maintain their standards and to protect each other's honor and virtue.

If you strive as a couple to honor your priesthood and each other, you will not only be happy, but also know in verse, "44 “That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death.”19 This is a blessing of maintaining your worthiness while you are dating. When you extend this eternal calling. Your marriage will be sealed through the eternities. Not just a worldly marriage but an eternal marriage, stronger than the cords of death.

This revelation has been a blessing in my life as I share it with others. To help them understand their responsibility before and during dating.

I grew up in a family where three generations—my grandparents, parents, two younger brothers, and one aunt—all lived together under the same roof. My grandmother took care of my aunt, who had both intellectual and emotional challenges. After my grandmother passed away, my mother took full responsibility for my aunt and cared for her in our home night and day.
My aunt eventually moved into a community center. Even though it was a long distance away, my mother visited her regularly. After my mother’s death, I became my aunt’s main source of family support. I came to understand how devoted my mother had been. I also became extremely grateful for the attentive people who watched over my aunt.
My own family experience has helped me to understand that caregivers face a variety of challenges. Cultural expectations, family relationships, availability of facilities—all may affect caregivers. But there’s one challenge just about every caregiver faces at some point: fatigue. This can be particularly true when one older person is taking care of another, usually one spouse taking care of the other. In fact, research indicates that caregivers ages 66–96 who are experiencing stress have a 63 percent higher risk of mortality than noncaregivers.1

Several months ago I spoke at a Relief Society conference at which more than 300 women were in attendance. The Young Women had also been invited to this event, and I noticed a number of teenage girls in the audience. Early in my talk I heard the sound of whispering at my extreme left. Looking in that direction, I saw three attractive young women talking quietly to one another.
Immediately I felt a little resentful. I am used to audiences giving me their full attention, and I am not very tolerant of people working against what a speaker is trying to do. However, I have spoken to enough young groups to know the gigantic challenge it is to keep them with you, to keep their eyes riveted on the speaker, their hands out of their purses or away from combing each other’s hair, to keep them from trying on each other’s shoes or from poking each other and giggling.
Yet I believe strongly that audiences, even young ones, have an obligation to give complete courtesy to a speaker, to listen without causing distraction. My usual course of action, when a person in the audience continues to cause a disturbance, is to stop speaking, look at the offender and smile until I am noticed and the disturber is sheepishly brought back into line. Then I continue speaking. This generally works.
I glanced occasionally at the three girls on the front row as they continued to whisper to one another, but they did not notice my glances. My resentment built. Where were their mothers, anyway? Why did they come if they didn’t want to hear what I had to say? Why do the leaders force young people to go to things they don’t want to go to and aren’t prepared to appreciate? How dare they talk through my incredibly marvelous and moving presentation when everybody else in the hall was clearly spellbound?
I was reading “The Steward,” my favorite poem to read aloud, and the quiet buzz continued. Several times I looked at them and they looked back and then went on with their quiet conversation, the three of them leaning in together. At the end of the poem I closed the book and looked directly at them. I smiled. They smiled back. And giggled. I smiled at them until they stopped giggling and looked at me without a sound. I then continued my talk.
Their conversation was not totally squelched, however. It was quieter, but every once in a while I noticed them leaning in to one another and whispering. I gave up and finished out the talk, wishing that whoever had made them come had just let them be and wishing that young people these days placed a higher value on courtesy.
After the talk, as we were having refreshments in the cultural hall, a woman came up to me and shook my hand. “Sister Pearson,” she said, “I hope those girls didn’t disturb you too much. Let me tell you about them. They’ve only been in the country a week. They came from Lebanon, and they just missed the massacre [September 16–17, 1982] by eight hours. They probably would have been killed, but somehow they were taken out of the country and arrived here. Our ward has sort of adopted them. We wanted to have them come tonight in spite of the fact that they don’t speak English very well. They were sitting there trying to help one another figure out what you were saying.”
A tremor ran through my consciousness, shattering a perception and letting me see behind judgment into reality. I no longer wanted to take the girls and shake them by the shoulders. I wanted to take them in my arms and tell them how glad I was that they had come. Suddenly I knew their secret, and it changed everything.

In 1938, during the middle of the Great Depression in the United States, my mother had just turned nineteen years old. She was the oldest of six children, with her youngest sibling having recently turned five. Her father, Leslie, was a sheepherder in the deserts of eastern Utah. The weather was hot and dry. One summer day in June, while Leslie was out tending the sheep, he became dehydrated and suffered from heat stroke. At age 41, he died suddenly, leaving his wife and six children with no husband and father and very little financial means. My mother did not understand why God would take her father when she felt the family needed him so desperately. She prayed and asked God why her father would die at that particular time.
My mother sought to learn from God why her father died when he was young and had a family that needed him so much during a time of great economic difficulty. The answer she received did not come quickly, but it did come. After studying the scriptures and praying for many days, her answer came in a dream. The answer was clear and brought peace and understanding to her soul.
I witness that Jesus Christ lives. He is the all-powerful Son of God. He knows us personally. He can guide and comfort us during times of uncertainty, pain, or fear if we listen to His words and seek to hearken and to heed what He tells us to do. I also witness that Jesus Christ directs His ordained servants and speaks through them. I have personally felt His clear direction in preparing messages for general conference.
As we listen to the messages during general conference—and seek to hearken and heed the words of Jesus Christ—He will speak to our hearts. He can and will help us to deal with temptation, struggles, and weakness. We can experience miracles in our marriages, family relationships, and daily work. Jesus Christ seeks to help us feel increased joy even if turbulence surrounds us. May we turn to Him and hearken and heed His words.

One night at Mutual the missionaries gave us copies of the Book of Mormon to share. We had the option of giving it to a person we had in mind or giving it back to the missionaries to distribute. I had it set in my mind that I was going to give it to a friend in my math class. It was going to be great. As I went to school the next day excited about the start of my missionary work, I saw one of my friends, Brandon. He was going to class as well, but we stopped and spoke. Right then I had the strongest feeling that I had to give him the Book of Mormon. I thought about it as I kept going to class and came to the conclusion that the feeling was too strong to ignore and that I needed to place the book with him.
The next day I asked him to meet me after school so that I could give him something really important. He agreed, and we went on. When the time came for me to go downstairs to give it to him, I thought that I couldn’t do it. It kept going through my mind that he would think I was strange. What if he said no? I finally heard a still small voice tell me that if I didn’t do this, then I wouldn’t have the experience I need for the future. So, I went down and I spoke with him. I told him that the book was another testament of Jesus Christ, and that it has many important truths in it. I also told him that when I read it, it fills me with a comfort that I know I will be OK in the end. He took it, and I was relieved. Later that week he came to church with my family and met the missionaries.
I am extremely grateful for the Book of Mormon. I know that it is the true word of God. I also know that I was given the best opportunity to share the gospel because I listened and felt the Spirit.

Tonight while preparing a talk, I was reading one of my old New Eras (Feb. 1978). I came across an article called “The Basic Concepts of Honesty” by Elder Howard W. Hunter. I read it and decided to do my talk on honesty.
That article changed my life. I had been cheating on some of my school exams. I thought it really didn’t matter, that it was a little thing. Well, Elder Hunter made me realize that the little things count too. Cheating is not honest. With the Lord’s help I will find the time to really study for my tests.
Name Withheld

“The time is 6:30 A.M. The time is 6:30 A.M. The time is 6:30 A.M.”
Keith Kellman’s head emerged from under his pillow and trained a baleful eye on his talking alarm clock, which seemed to be taking special delight in waking him this Sunday morning. As his hand hit the “stop” button, he considered putting his head back under his pillow.
After all, the house heat was still off and it was cold out there. It wasn’t as if his parents would care if he got up or not; he was the sole churchgoer of the family. And he was tired. Early-morning seminary every weekday, and now priesthood meeting at 8:00 A.M. But then Keith sadly realized that all this thinking and debating had gotten his brain waves going, and he probably wouldn’t fall back to sleep anyway.
It wasn’t until he was showered, dressed, and halfway out the door that he remembered that today was the Sunday he had promised to give the bishop his answer.
He began to dig his car out of the snow, shivering and muttering to himself. Even before the Great Wednesday Humiliation, he had his doubts about going on a mission. But what had happened on Wednesday had really clinched it. But how do I tell the bishop? he wondered as his foot came down on the accelerator. The noise from his broken muffler shattered the morning silence.
“Cut your headlights. That must be him. Yep, ’80 rust bucket with an exhaust system loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Okay, he’s far enough ahead of us now. Pull out and follow him,” she said.
Keith was grateful his car made it to the church without the muffler falling off. He was also grateful he found a place to meditate before the meeting. He even began thinking the bishop might forget to call him into his office today.
Yeah, sure.
“Okay, so we followed him to this church and watched him go in. Now what? We know he hauls himself out of bed at an insane hour every morning to go to this church. You’ve seen what you wanted. Let’s go.”
“No. I want to wait a while and see if anybody else shows up. Then I’m going in to see what’s inside.”
“You’re going in? He’ll recognize you and know something’s up.”
“Don’t worry, baby brother. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing my black wig today. I always wear my blonde wig to school. Anyway, I don’t exactly have the kind of face that will turn any heads. He’ll never know.”
“This is so stupid. If you’re that interested in this guy and his church, why don’t you just ask him what you want to know?”
“Listen. Anyone can mouth scriptures and high-sounding ideas. But does he really believe what he said last Wednesday. I want to know what this guy and everybody else inside are like when they don’t have an audience.”
“Following church, Keith went for his bishop’s interview. As he sat across from the bishop, Keith shifted nervously in his chair and then cleared his throat. “It isn’t that I don’t want to go on a mission.”
“Great, Keith. I’m glad you want to go.”
“Please, Bishop. I hate it when you do that. Look, it’s just that I really don’t think I’d make a good missionary. Face it. I weigh 120 pounds and I wear these stupid glasses. Nobody takes me seriously. I get so nervous when I have to speak in front of more than two people that I ooze sweat until my face turns red. Nobody’s going to listen to me; they’ll just laugh and slam the door in my face.”
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little, Keith?
“Every time I try to be a good example, I become a laughingstock. Like last Wednesday at school. I was just going to lunch when this guy, Greg Filtch, stops me and pulls me into the lunchroom office. He said that he heard I was a Mormon and that he was interested in hearing a little about the Church.” Keith took a deep breath and went on. “ I knew Greg liked practical jokes, but this time I thought he might be sincere. So I told him about the Book of Mormon and how the Church had changed my life.
“Sounds promising. What happened?” the bishop asked.
“It was a setup. He had the PA system microphone under his jacket. He was broadcasting my testimony to the entire school. When I came out of the office, everyone in the lunchroom was in hysterics. Now I’m known as Mr. Televangelist. Everyone’s always going, ‘Hey, Preacher’ and ‘Hallelujah! Got any more good sermons today?’ My one try at missionary work and I disgrace the Church.”
“You can’t disgrace the Church by doing the right thing. I hear you substituted for the Gospel Essentials teacher this morning.”
Keith shrugged. “Another disaster. I was supposed to be giving a lesson on the importance of baptism, but halfway through the class this black-haired, skinny girl comes in and sits on the back row. All of a sudden the lesson plan goes completely out of my head and I start talking about the plan of salvation. About a half hour of this andshe excuses herself and cuts out of class.”
The bishop raised his eyebrows. “Sometimes that happens to me too. I feel impressed to teach certain principles at certain times.”
But Keith didn’t hear the bishop. “I drove away the only investigator that’s come to that class in a month.”
“Well, how’d it go? You look like you’re hyperventilating and your eyes are red. Should I call the doctor?”
“No, just give me a few minutes. I’ve decided I’m going to need your help tomorrow, though.”
“Hey, it’s the lunch-time preacher man! Here’s a little something for the collection plate.” Keith ducked as pennies from the Monday morning school crowd showered him. As he continued walking, Keith suddenly found himself staring up at all 225 pounds of Mike “The Wall” Wade, starting left tackle on the football team.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Righteousness, the man who knows the truth about everything,” Mike said. “I hear you think you’re Mr. Informed, Kellman. Mr. I Know The Truth.”
“I never, uh, said … ” Keith began to sputter.
“Here’s the deal, Mr. Religious. Why don’t you just admit to me and all these good folks that you may have been wrong about all this church stuff?”
Keith’s eyes focused directly into Mike’s. For some reason, Mike’s expression reflected more curiosity than fierceness—more like he wanted to know something. Keith relaxed a little and said, “What are you going to do, Wall, bash everybody who doesn’t agree with you? What I said last week stands. I told the truth. You might as well learn to live with it.” Mike looked at him, seemed to think about what Keith had said, then walked off.
“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done for you, Sharon. I hope you’re satisfied.”
“I’m satisfied, Mike.”
“I have to admit, though. That Kellman kid was beginning to get to me too. No more games, okay?”
“Okay. It’s time to hang up the ol’ cloak and dagger. Hand me the phone book, will you?”
“I got here as soon as I could, Bishop,” said Keith, meeting the bishop in front of his office. The bishop opened the door but didn’t say anything. When Keith stepped inside, he saw Mike Wade and a thin, familiar-looking girl standing in the far corner of the room. They both looked uncomfortable.
“Keith,” the bishop said, “I think these people have something to tell you.”
Mike pointed to the girl. “My sister Sharon. I know we don’t look like we’re from the same family. I got all the healthy genes, I guess. She’s … ” Mike’s voice trailed off.
The pale girl started to speak. Before she could, it hit Keith.
“Hey, you’re the girl that came to my Sunday School class. And haven’t I seen you around school? Only with different hair?”
“Keith,” Sharon began in a soft, clear voice. “I’m afraid we’ve been doing some awful things to you. It was all my idea, so don’t blame Mike. We’ve been spying on you, following you, and causing you all sorts of grief.”
“I, I don’t understand.”
“I had to find out if you really believed what you said.”
“What I said about what?”
“Let’s just say we caught your broadcast from the lunchroom.”
“Ohhh no. Not that again,” Keith sighed.
She smiled. “It wasn’t only that. It’s a long story.”
Mike cut in. “We live near your church, and every day we’d wake up when your car would come chugging down the road.”
“I go to church on Sundays and early-morning seminary the rest of the week,” Keith explained. “I guess I better get my muffler fixed.”
Sharon picked up the story. “At first, the noise just made us mad. But then I got to thinking. Why would someone get up at 5:30 every morning? After hearing what you said last week, I—we—followed you to your church. I realized you go all alone; like no one’s forcing you to do this religious thing. I was curious to know more in view of my current situation.”
“Current situation,” Keith repeated mechanically.
“Under this wig, I don’t have any hair. Chemotherapy. And it’s not doing much good anymore.”
Keith stared blankly, then allowed what she had just told him to sink in.
“I’m not looking for miracle cures or healings. I’m beyond that, I think. What I am looking for is—how do I put this?—not why I’m going to die, but why I lived in the first place. Does my life count for anything? Is there some sort of plan to all this?”
“Anyway,” Mike continued, “Sharon’s got this funny feeling that maybe you know something most everybody else doesn’t. So she crashed your church class, eavesdropped, tested you, and even made me threaten you. I’m sorry about that.”
Keith looked from one to the other and found himself speechless.
“I don’t blame you if you’re angry, but I was getting kind of desperate to know if there was anybody out there who really believed in anything. I remember what you were saying in that church class, and it made me feel really good inside. I think you can tell me what I want to know. You can tell me why?”
Keith met her gaze. “Yeah, I think I can.”
The bishop, who had been standing behind them, finally spoke. “She’s asked to take the discussions from the missionaries, Keith. Maybe you’d like to sit in on them with her.”
Keith smiled and hooked a thumb at Mike. “What about His Wallness?”
Mike grinned. “Well, I could go. I guess I owe you that much.”
Keith added, “Maybe I could learn a few things too. Maybe even pick up a few pointers that will come in handy for the next two years.”

Twenty-four years ago, our tiny newborn son struggled for his life in the intensive care unit of a hospital. His lungs were not fully developed because of his premature birth, and he desperately fought for each breath of air. He was so small but with so much will to live. As young and inexperienced parents, my courageous and ever faithful wife, Jan, and I prayed that the Lord’s hand would reach out and somehow help our baby boy continue to breathe. As I put my trembling hand through the small opening into the isolette, I felt so inadequate and powerless. I took hold of the tiny but perfect hand of our newborn son, and there was a powerful spiritual connection never to be forgotten. Two fingers from each of my hands covered his tiny head as I administered to him.

Our desire for him was pure, but we knew that his earthly experience rested in the Lord’s hands and not in ours or in the medical team who cared for him. I then humbly realized that my quivering hands held power and authority well beyond my own. My fingers on his head symbolized the placing of God’s hands and power upon our son. Following that blessing, in a moment of emotional peace, my eternal companion and I looked at each other across the isolette, feeling the spirit of renewed hope and comfort born of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the personal effect of His Atonement. It was a powerful witness of His love for an infant son who had just left His presence. We were then better prepared to accept His will for our son. We truly felt we had placed our hands in the hands of the Savior. It was as if the Savior’s own hands provided the critical respiratory aid, allowing our son to breathe and gain sustenance. With each breath and with each incremental bit of progress, we expressed prayerful thanks. Today our healthy son and his indebted parents continue to be so grateful for the Savior’s willing hands.

When I met Marjan for the first time, right after my mission during that YA summer camp, I immediately had butterflies. She was sitting in front of me during a devotional, and even though I really tried hard to listen to the speaker, I was distracted.

That night, I knelt by the bedside and asked my Father in Heaven if she was someone I could marry and if He would make that known to me. Well, He did make that known to me, and to her too. And you all know the end of that story.

While we were living in California, one of our sons was seriously injured in an automobile accident. His skull was badly fractured, and doctors gave us very little encouragement that he would survive. Three days after he was admitted to the hospital, he contracted meningitis and his condition worsened. Our family doctor and neighbor came to our home and said, “All we can do now is pray.”

And pray we did. For several weeks our neighbors, friends, and business associates joined us in praying for our son and for our own strength. After almost a month, our son’s condition finally stabilized and then improved, and we were blessed to see him eventually recovered and smiling again.

I would not wish a similar experience on anyone, but that terrible, difficult period taught us the principle that President Thomas S. Monson has taught the Church. Said he, “Prayer is the passport to spiritual power.” During our son’s illness, we saw and felt the spiritual power of prayer! Our ward had never prayed harder than it did then, and I don’t think that the members had ever been closer to each other. Our family was sustained by the collective faith and prayers of our friends. And even as our hearts were breaking in fear that we might lose our son, we felt closer to Heavenly Father and more aware of our dependency on Him than at almost any other time in our lives.

“You want a ride home, Bryce?” Kendall asked as we left the Little League field. “I have my bike here. You can ride with me.”
“Sure. I’ll pedal partway, if you want.”
The field and bleachers were clearing fast because ours had been the last game. Kendall’s bike was chained to the back of the bleachers. A few feet away was another one, lying in the dirt. It was one of the nicest bikes I’d seen.
“I wonder whose bike that is,” I muttered.
“That’s Dusty’s,” Kendall grumbled, shaking his head disgustedly. “His dad bought it for him last month. Dusty just dumped it there before the game. I saw him leave with TJ. If I had a bike like that, I sure wouldn’t leave it lying around in the dirt like a pile of junk.”
I looked at the bike again. Its bright yellow-and-black paint was beautiful. Grabbing the handlebars, I hefted it to an upright position. For a moment I just admired it; then I swung my leg over and settled down on the seat.
I looked around. We were the only ones still there. I gripped the handlebars and hunched over, pretending to be flying down the road. I straightened up and told Kendall, “I’m going to ride it home.”
“Huh?”
“Dusty lives just a block from me. I’ll drop it by his place on my way home. He’ll thank me. Let’s go.”
Kendall and I had planned to go right home, but on the way, we passed the construction site of the new shopping center. Heavy equipment had been brought in for digging the footings. There were huge piles of dirt and sand everywhere. It was an awesome place to do dirt biking. The construction crew wasn’t around. …
We had meant to stay only five minutes or so, but once I got started, I couldn’t quit. “I’m going to try that big hill in the middle, where they’ve started digging the foundation,” I called to Kendall.
“You’ll kill yourself, it’s too steep.”
“I’ll make it easy on this bike!”
But from the top, it looked higher and steeper than it had from below. When I looked at Kendall, who stood at the bottom, gazing up anxiously, I almost chickened out. But I’d worked hard to get up there, and Kendall was watching, so I decided to give it a try.
“Watch out for that stack of rebar over to the side,” Kendall shouted.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed off. Immediately I wished I had left good enough alone. Dusty’s bike went down the hill as if shot from a gun. It was all I could do to stay on as the bike bounced and swerved down the rocky dirt.
A little past halfway down the hill, I lost my balance and took a tumble. I went in one direction; the bike went in another. Everything was a spinning, twisting blur. My flailing sprawl ended when I crashed against a rock at the bottom of the hill.
“Are you all right, Bryce?” Kendall was kneeling beside me, his face white.
I groaned and tried to sit up. A banging pain throbbed in my right knee. As I grimaced, my teeth ground on dirt and sand. I spit to clean out my mouth. “My leg’s killing me,” I moaned.
After I got up and walked around a bit, I felt better, even though my knee was still throbbing. I pulled up my pant leg and discovered a two-inch scrape. It was bleeding some, but it wasn’t too bad. “I think I’ll be OK,” I finally muttered. “Where’s Dusty’s bike?”
The bike was twisted on its side, next to the pile of iron rebar. As soon as I saw it, I knew that it was badly damaged. I pulled it up. The handlebars were bent at an angle.
Kendall and I were able to straighten the handlebars, but as we were doing it, we saw that two spokes were broken on the front wheel and its rim was crumpled. The tire had a small rip in the side. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
“What are you going to do?” Kendall asked me.
I shook my head slowly, wishing that I had never seen Dusty’s bike. “Maybe we can fix it,” I said hopefully.
Kendall studied the front wheel more closely, then shook his head. “That thing’s totally wasted, Bryce.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have just left it lying there in the dirt,” I snapped, trying to blame Dusty for the accident instead of me. “He’s lucky somebody didn’t just steal it. I’m going to take it back to the ballpark. He can pick it up there—if he still wants it. Hey—he might even forget that he left it there.”
I didn’t tell anybody at home about my accident. I did my best not to limp. But every time I took a step and felt the pain, I remembered what I’d done to Dusty’s bike. I tried to rationalize that it was his own fault for leaving it there, but that didn’t get rid of the guilty feeling.
Before Primary the next day, I heard Dusty talking to some guys. “They trashed my bike,” he growled, hitting his clenched fist into the palm of his other hand.
“Well, why’d you leave it at the park in the first place?” Tyson asked.
“I forgot it—don’t you ever forget things?”
“I’d never forget my new bike. If I did, that would be the last time my dad ever got me anything.”
“Well, if I ever find out who did it,” Dusty muttered angrily, “I’m going to bust him in the nose.”
I looked at Kendall. He looked away and started down the hall for class. Ducking my head, I followed him.
I had a hard time thinking about the Primary lesson, and when sacrament meeting started, I tried to crowd thoughts of Dusty and his bike out of my mind. But as the priests were preparing the sacrament, I thought of a home evening lesson Mom had given. She’d talked about the sacrament and pointed out that we should always take it worthily. Taking it unworthily was mocking Jesus.
Until that Sunday, the sacrament was just something we did Sundays. It was just bread and water that the deacons brought around. But that morning I couldn’t help thinking of the broken bike, and I knew that I wasn’t worthy to take the sacrament. Not until I made things right with Dusty.
I swallowed hard and bowed my head, feeling horribly ashamed. Heavenly Father knew about the bike, and I knew that I couldn’t take the bread and water and renew my covenants with Him while pretending that I hadn’t taken and damaged Dusty’s bike.
When Mom handed me the bread tray, I started to reach for a piece. Then that sick feeling inside me welled up bigger than ever. I pulled my hand back. Without looking at Mom, I slowly shook my head and stared down at my hands. When the water came a few minutes later, I shook my head again.
It was funny that as soon as the sacrament was over and the deacons and the priests had gone to sit with their families, I felt better. I didn’t feel good about what I had done to Dusty’s bike, but I was glad that I’d had the courage not to mock Jesus by taking the sacrament just so that people wouldn’t look at me funny. I also realized that I was going to have to tell Dusty what had happened.
I walked home after the meeting, reaching the house before the rest of my family did. I didn’t wait to change my clothes—I headed straight for the garage, grabbed my bike, and pushed it over to Dusty’s.
My hand shook a little as I rang the doorbell. Sister Baker answered it. “Is Dusty around?” I rasped nervously.
“Sure, Bryce,” she said pleasantly. “Why don’t you come on in?”
“I need to talk to him out here.”
A moment later Dusty came bounding out. “What’s happening, man?”
“Hi, Dusty.” I turned and nodded toward my bike. “I brought you my bike.”
“Oh, you heard mine got trashed. I couldn’t believe that anybody would do that to somebody else’s bike.”
“Yeah,” I gulped, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I thought you could use mine until yours gets fixed.”
For a moment he stared at me and then at my bike and then back at me. “You don’t have to do that, Bryce.” He sounded surprised and really sincere. “Shoot, that’s nice of you, though. Thanks a lot!”
I shook my head and looked at the ground. “No, Dusty, I’m not all that nice. I wish I was. You see, I”—I swallowed hard and wet my lips—“I’m the one that smashed up your new bike.”
I looked up. Dusty was staring at me. He wasn’t angry, just shocked. “I was going to bring it home to you. I saw it at the park and figured I’d ride it here—you know, as kind of a favor.” I was speaking fast and furiously, wanting to explain before he decided to bust me in the nose. “Then I came to where they’re building that new shopping center, and I started riding the dirt hills. I wasn’t trying to mess up your bike or anything.”
I told him everything. I even showed him the scrape on my knee to prove that I wasn’t lying. Dusty didn’t say much. He just listened. “That’s why I brought you my bike,” I said sadly. “I’ll pay for what it costs to fix up yours, but it’ll take me a little while to earn the money. That’s why I figured you needed another bike until then. It’s not as good as yours, but it’ll get you around. I’m sorry, Dusty. I hadn’t meant for things to end up this way.”
Dusty stepped over to my bike and walked around it, looking it over.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you still wanted to bust me in the nose,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “I’ve thought better about that.” He cuffed my arm. “I still think this is pretty nice of you. Most guys wouldn’t even have told me.”
“Well, I am sorry. And I’ll make up for it.”
I turned and started down his driveway, leaving my bike behind. “Hey, Bryce,” he called after me. I stopped and turned. “Do you want to play a little catch tomorrow after school?”
I hesitated and then smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
As I returned home, I was smiling, both inside and out. That deep down sick feeling was gone, and I knew that next Sunday I’d be able to take the sacrament—and I’d appreciate it.

Soon after my husband was called to preside over the Paraguay Asunción Mission in 1992, we attended a branch conference in an isolated community in the Paraguayan Chaco.10 We traveled four hours on a paved road and then seven more hours on a primitive road. The perils and discomfort of the long trip were soon forgotten when we greeted the happy and welcoming members of Mistolar.

Julio Yegros was the young branch president, and he and his wife, Margarita, were one of the few families who had been sealed in the temple. I asked them to share their experience of their trip to the temple.

At the time, the closest temple was the Buenos Aires Temple in Argentina. The trip from Mistolar required 27 hours one way to reach the temple, and they had gone with their two small children. It was in the middle of a very cold winter, but with much sacrifice they made it to the temple and were sealed together as an eternal family. On the way back, the two babies got very sick and died. They buried them along the way and returned home empty-handed. They were sad and lonely but amazingly felt comforted and peaceful. They said of the experience: “Our children were sealed to us in the house of the Lord. We know we will have them back with us for all eternity. This knowledge has given us peace and comfort. We have to remain worthy and faithful to the covenants we made in the temple, and then we will be reunited with them.”

One day at the hotel restaurant, another cook, for inappropriate reasons, tried to get dates with some of the waitresses there. He was mad because the waitresses, who were Latter-day Saints, refused to go out with him.
Remembering the missionaries I had met in Milan, I told the cook that the waitresses had a right to turn him down.
“So, are you a Mormon too?” he asked.
Because I liked the principles the missionaries had taught me and because I felt justified in defending the waitresses, I replied, “Yes.”
The next time the cook saw the waitresses, he told them I was a Latter-day Saint. They were excited. When we gathered for lunch, they began asking me questions about the Church in Milan. I told them about the city and that I had met the missionaries there. When our lunch arrived, I reached for a glass of wine on the table.
“What are you doing drinking wine?” one of the waitresses asked.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I said.
“Are you even active?” another one asked.
“In what sense?” I said.
“How were you dressed the day you were baptized?” they asked.
“I don’t remember,” I told them. “I was only a month old.”
They were extremely mad because they thought I was making fun of them. I assured them I wasn’t. I admitted that I wasn’t a member of the Church, but I told them that I liked the Book of Mormon and the gospel principles I had learned. Then I asked how I could learn more about their church.
The waitresses soon introduced me to the missionaries. They could hardly believe it when I finished the discussions and got baptized.

I’d like to read you one other letter. This letter is from a missionary who was excommunicated in the mission field because of immorality. The letter is addressed to President McKay. At that time I was responsible for handling the excommunication and disfellowshipment cases, and the letter was referred to me. I removed his name from it. This is one of the finest letters on repentance, the seeking of forgiveness, and the desire to return to the Church that I have ever read. I would like to share it with you. The young man told about being excommunicated because of immorality, and he said:

The spirit worked upon me while I was in the mission field, and I was sorry for my sins and sickened by them. I read a great deal in the Book of Mormon, seeking somewhat to justify not going to the mission president and confessing. I read about Alma and Corianton and tried to convince myself that since I had repented (I thought) I would not need to confess to anyone but God. I did pray a great deal for many weeks. After everyone else had gone to bed, I would remain up reading and praying. Finally, one night a voice from within me said, “You know what you must do, so do it.”

A few days after that we had a conference of the missionaries in the area, and I confessed to the mission president. I knew I would be excommunicated, but I had no choice if I was ever to obtain forgiveness.

After I had confessed, even knowing I would be excommunicated, I felt an extremely sweet peace in my soul. . . . I thank God to this day that he gave me the courage to do it.

My family was extremely kind and understanding, as was the bishop when I went to see him. The bishop told me he thought it would be a good idea for me to get up in priesthood meeting in the ward and ask for their forgiveness, which I did. It was extremely difficult and caused me much sorrow, but I’m thankful I did it. Then, the bishop told me I should go out and greet and shake hands with the people as they came to Sunday School; I’m thankful I did that also, for it made things easier for me and them. They all fully forgave me and accepted me back. Their true Christianity helped me to have strength to go to church all the time, at least to the meetings I could go to.

As of late, my desire for baptism has increased, and I desire it and the other blessings attendant to righteousness more than any other thing.

I went home a short while back, and the bishop told me he had been to Salt Lake and had gotten a list of things I had to do before I could be baptized. This made me desire forgiveness more than ever. . . .

Since this weekend was fast Sunday, I started fasting Friday after supper, and Saturday I went into the mountains and spent about five hours by myself thinking and praying, and I read a little from the Book of Mormon. While praying aloud to my Father, I tasted the most bitter sorrow that I have tasted to date. I had a slight taste of what it really is to suffer godly sorrow for sin. I left my complete dependence on the Father and the Son for salvation, and I pleaded that I would be forgiven for my sins and for being such a great cause of suffering to the Lord, Jesus Christ. I understood ever so vaguely that Christ did take upon himself my sins and he suffered untold sorrow for me. I begged for forgiveness and for release from the deadening, prisonlike effects of sin and to know that I was forgiven.

I felt impressed that I should write the letters that I must write and request baptism and that I would receive forgiveness if I continued to be humble, fast, and pray. I think I will have to suffer sorrow like I did yesterday many times again before all the evil effects of sin will be lifted out of me and I will feel that freedom that my spirit craves for.

Sometimes I feel it reaching out for the more spiritual that is in life, but because of the body being prisoner to sin and its effect, it cannot reach what it and I desire.

President McKay, I ask in all humility, realizing that the responsibilities of membership are great, that I might be accepted back into the Church and back onto the path I departed from. I know God lives, that his Son Jesus Christ really did take upon himself our sins, and that he lives today. I know the Church was restored through the beloved Prophet Joseph Smith and that all the keys remain today and that you are a prophet, seer, and revelator and hold the keys of the kingdom. Please permit me to enter the waters of baptism and receive again the Holy Ghost. President McKay, I know this is only one step, but I desire with all my heart to be baptized again, and I will continue and do all that is necessary to gain that goal if it be God’s will. I submit this letter and request to you and ask to be forgiven of my sins. May God bless you and give you health to continue your work and his work. . . .

I think also I should tell you that I observe the Word of Wisdom, and I have been sending tithing to my mother. She pays it to the bishop in my father’s name. I have felt that the money was the Lord’s and I could not steal it.

Illustrated by Don Seegmiller
Early in the year 1884 the beautiful Mormon temple in Logan, Utah, was almost ready to be dedicated. …
While the temple was being built, Bishop Henry Ballard, who had worked on the Temple from its beginning, prayed earnestly that in some way he would receive names of ancestors who had lived in far-off England.
On the day before the dedication of the Temple and while several of Bishop Ballard’s daughters were playing …
Two strange men suddenly approached!!!
Illustrated by Don Seegmiller
One of the men gave the oldest girl a folded newspaper saying … “Give this to your father and to no one else, go quickly and don’t lose it.”
The girl hurried to take the paper …
… to her father.
It was the Newberry Weekly News, printed in his hometown in England just three days before. One full page was filled with birth and death dates of people buried in the Newberry cemetery.
The Temple President said, “Bishop Ballard you are authorized to do work for these people, you received the record through messengers of the Lord.”

It seemed like a great way to earn a backpacking merit badge. A five-day trip, 14 miles in, 14 miles out, and a few side trips up canyons to achieve 32 total miles, just what the members of Varsity Scout Team 6475 needed to finish their qualifications. And along the way through the red rock country of the Colorado Plateau, from Hurricane Wash through Coyote Gulch to the Escalante River, there would be some remarkable scenery: Jacob Hamblin Natural Arch, hand-hewn by nature, time, wind, and water; and Lake Powell, Hole-in-the-Rock, and Dance Hall Rock, to be visited by car on the way home.
But as hikes often do, this one turned out to be harder on the trail than it appeared on the map. “It started out dry,” said Rob Perkins, 14, a member of the Orem 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, which sponsors the team. “Then it got drier and drier. Then finally, just when you were wondering if your canteen water would be enough to last, you noticed a trickle of water in the rocks at your feet. Pretty soon we were following a creek and catching tadpoles. Then we were following a river.”
The wash joined the gulch, which dropped deeper and deeper, crossing the path of water which would normally be far beneath the earth. At that point, the water simply flowed out of the ground.
But walking in the sneaker-deep stream presented some problems of its own. First of all, the water was full of silt.
“It would fill your shoes so full you couldn’t walk in them anymore,” said Willie Holdman, 15. “So you’d take your shoes off and walk barefoot. But then you’d come to a place on an S-curve where you could cut across open, sun-baked sand. Was it ever hot! I’ve never run so fast in my life. And at the end of the day, the tops of your feet would be sunburned. That makes it hard to want to put your shoes on anyway.”
Simple walking also created friction, which inflicted additional foot damage. “I felt like the soles of my feet had been rubbed with sandpaper,” Shriedhar Dusara, 15, said. “Sometimes they would get really tender.”
Of course, after a while packs got heavy and it seemed hot all the time. “It wasn’t a killer heat,” Brad Nelson said. “In fact, the farther down the gulch we got, the cooler it got. But anytime you’re carrying a lot of weight, you’re going to get tired.”
And, once again, thirsty. “We had to treat all of the water to make sure it was safe to drink,” Shriedhar said. “But even though it tasted funny, we were sure glad to have it.”
The gulch grew narrower and deeper. The sides became walls, some 50 feet tall and only four feet apart. Then the crevasse opened into a true canyon, with the river running broadly down the middle. Huge cliffs towered high on either side. Holes weathered in some rocks made them look like Swiss cheese. Elsewhere, rocks bore a remarkable resemblance to human faces or animals. In one side canyon, the weather had shaped rocks into small, round, ping-pong sized balls which literally covered the ground.
Brad explained that the Scouts would get their hats wet and let the water drip down and evaporate to cool their skin. He said he remembered being exhausted, then looking up and seeing a tree, the first greenery he’d seen for miles.
“All right,” he said. “Vegetation!”
And the river banks got greener from then on, even though rust red remained the predominant hue.
During the days, the Scouts discovered that there were plenty of grottos along the trail where they could rest in the shade. They learned that water collects at the base of cliffs and in sink holes, that plants often grow in such places, and that frogs congregate in the water. They also found some shallow quicksand and discovered that after they walked on it enough, the water was forced out and it became more solid. Evenings were spent in fireside discussions, lizard chases, games, hiking, showering under a waterfall, looking at cougar tracks, and cooking dehydrated meals over portable burners. One night the Scouts awakened to the sight of hundreds of daddy longlegs mounded together in vibrating heaps.
“We still don’t know where they came from or what they were all doing in one place like that,” Floyd Holdman, the team coach (equivalent to a Scoutmaster) said.
But of all the sights along the way, the Scouts were most impressed by Hamblin Arch.
“How can you not be impressed by something that big?” Shriedhar asked, and the others wondered with him about what hand could have sculpted scenery so monumental.
“You get an almost reverent feeling down there, wondering where it all came from,” Brad said. “It makes you feel so small.”
Brother Holdman reminded his boys of the scripture in Alma 39:44, “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.”
“Yeah.” Willie nodded his head. Floyd is his father, so Willie is used to hearing him quote scriptures. But this passage seemed to mean more out where nature is so prominent. “I guess that’s right,” Willie added. “You sure feel that way when you see all these rocks. And think how long it took for the wind and rain to make an arch. It’s kind of like God is making sculptures, beautiful things for us to enjoy. This is like part of his art gallery.”
Finally the team arrived at the Escalante River.
“On the way, we had to tie ropes to our packs and lower them over cliffs by the waterfalls. Then we had to find our own way down,” Rob explained. “Sometimes on a short cliff we’d just jump down. On one of the highest cliffs, somebody had built a ladder and left it.”
“We’d been wandering around because we couldn’t find a way down,” Willie said. “Then we saw a sign scratched in the rock, ‘Ladder this way,’ with an arrow.”
“If I could meet the guy who built that ladder,” Brad said, “I’d sure tell him thanks!”
That night, the group camped away from river banks where water might rise, unrolling their sleeping bags on higher ground. The precaution paid off.
“We got up the next morning and looked at where we had planned to camp,” Brother Holdman said. “The water had risen a foot. If we had stayed there we would have been wet.”
It was a long, hard hike to make it all the way out the next day, but after coming in, going out would seem anticlimactic. And everyone was eager to make the additional stops at Lake Powell, Hole-in-the-Rock, and Dance Hall Rock. “It’s only 50 miles to Hole-in-the-Rock, once you hike out from Coyote Gulch,” Brother Holdman explained.
“Thinking about the additional things we would see kept us going,” Brad said, “but after five days of dehydrated food, so did the idea of eating the treats we’d left in the car.”
By 1:00 P.M., four hot, tired young men and one exhausted adult leader were snacking on candy bars, then relaxing in a car rolling down the highway.
“If you think you had it bad hiking out of Coyote Gulch, imagine what the pioneers went through,” Brother Holdman said. “The group that went through Hole-in-the-Rock took six months to go 300 miles, through all kinds of country even rougher than this. And they had to build trails and move wagons and cattle over mountains and through canyons.”
The words took on a deeper meaning when the young men actually stood at Hole-in-the-Rock, where in 1879 colonizers dropped down into Glen Canyon through a narrow gorge to cross the Colorado River.
“If you ever come this way it will scare you to death to look down it,” wrote one settler, Elizabeth Morris Decker. “It is about a mile from the top down to the river and it is almost strait down, the cliffs on each side are five hundred ft. high and there is just room enough for a wagon to go down … They put the brake on and rough locked the hind wheels and had a big rope fastened to the wagon and about ten men holding back on it and then they went down like they would smash everything. I’ll never forget that day. … [My son] looked back and cried and asked me how we would get back home” (Miller, David E., Hole-in-the-Rock, University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, 1966, p. 116).
Shriedhar, Rob, Willie, and Brad had probably never thought so much about the sacrifices others made for the Church as they did looking out at the waters of Lake Powell that day. Although the lake water now covers much of the area the pioneers traversed, the courage of the moment was evident.
“I don’t even know how they did it,” Rob said. “I’d rather go 500 miles the other way.”
“You can still see the stairs they carved in the solid rock,” Willie said. “You can see blasting holes they drilled when they tried to make the opening wider.”
Shriedhar said, “It’s not something I’d want to do. All those rocks and steps to try to take wagons and cattle down. It’s so steep. And that’s just to get you to the bottom where there’s more work to do.”
Later however, as the group visited Dance Hall Rock, they glimpsed another side of pioneer life—recreation. Dance Hall Rock is a huge sandstone formation shaped like a natural amphitheater with a smooth floor. With three fiddlers in the company to supply music, pioneers spent several pleasant evenings dancing. Even today, some expeditions to the area will provide music so their participants can enjoy the acoustics.
“You think of pioneers just being in wagons all the time,” Rob said. “It’s nice to know they danced and had fun too.”
After the stop at Dance Hall Rock, it was time to head home.
During their five-day journey through Coyote Gulch, the members of Varsity Scout Team 6475 hiked enough to qualify for a merit badge, and they were proud of what they’d accomplished. But they also had learned a little bit about history and gained some empathy for colonizing pioneers.
“The next time I hear the names of those places I’ll pay more attention,” Willie said, “because now I’ve been there.”

Speaking of responsibility, it reminds me of a story I heard some time ago of an individual who was a bit reluctant one morning to meet his commitments. It went something like this:
The kind motherly figure entered the darkened bedroom and gently said, "Get up Donald. It’s time to get ready for school."
The silent figure didn't move at first and then quietly turned over, pulling the covers up over his head.
With a firm tone in her voice, she said, “Donald, get up right this minute. Your breakfast is getting cold, you're going to miss the bus, and you'll be late for school."
Pulling the covers back down, Donald turned over and replied, “I don't want to go to school! Nobody likes me. The kids make fun of me, and even my teachers all hate me."
"Now Don, stop making excuses. You must go to school. You have responsibilities and you have made commitments. Besides, you're forty years old, and you're the school principal. Now get up and get dressed."