Gospel Story Finder

Now it was Michael who reached out and pointed to a square. This one was solid white.

“What about this one, Grandma?” he asked. “What’s the story behind it?”

“That,” she said, noticing that Jesse had fallen asleep in her arms, “is a piece of cloth from my grandmother’s wedding veil.

“My grandmother Nellie was the daughter of a farmer. Money was scarce for farmers in those days, and things like fancy wedding dresses were for the rich. But when Nellie became engaged to her beau of three years, she was determined to have a white lace dress.

“Not far from their farm lived an Italian woman who made the most beautiful lace that Nellie had ever seen. Now, because lace-making is a time-consuming and delicate work, it is quite expensive. When Nellie learned the cost of making an entire dress of lace, it seemed that she would have to give up her heart’s desire. Even though she had scrimped and saved for three years, the amount that she had was not nearly enough for the dress. In fact, it wasn’t even enough for the veil!

“Nellie was heartbroken. She lay in her room and cried for hours. Finally facing reality, she dried her eyes and went to talk to her mother. Together, she knew, they could make a pretty dress for her wedding day.

“With the money that she had saved, Nellie bought the material for her dress and some fancy beads to sew onto it. When it was finished, she was pleased. It was pretty and fit well.

“But as it turned out, Nellie was in for a surprise. Her mother, knowing how badly her daughter wanted a lace wedding dress, had been secretly learning to make lace. The Italian woman was her teacher.

“It had taken her over two years to learn the art of lace-making well enough to begin work on the dress. She worked late each night after her family had gone to bed and was still up before them each morning to prepare breakfast. She worked each chance she got, but, because it was such painstaking and delicate work, she had only been able to complete the veil before the wedding.

“Nellie was so touched by her mother’s sacrifice that she saved the veil for over sixty years. When she was very old, she cut a square of lace and sewed it onto a piece of material she had saved from her wedding dress, and added it to the Story Quilt.”

“So the story of her mother’s sacrifice will always be remembered by our family.” Jenna pointed out.

“That’s right,” Grandma told him. “And over the years I added many pieces of cloth to this quilt before I finished it.”

In Belfast, in Northern Ireland, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was rather unpleasant, but it was all we could afford.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for twelve needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister, Marian.
I had seen some of the miseries of the slums. The most poignant thing I remembered was a little girl in a torn summer dress sitting on the cold, windy sidewalk molding a lump of filthy clay because she had no other toy. I could not now find and help that child, but I could try to help some others.
Our Christmas tree was sixty centimeters high, decorated with nine small glass balls, strips of tinfoil, and a star we had made from the wrapping foil inside a cereal box. For decoration, we had strips of colored paper hanging from the ceiling, and some balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and an orange drink. The twelve gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of modeling clay.
The children arrived looking as clean as they could, and wearing the best clothes they had, most of it well-worn and ragged. Mentally I counted, eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her tiny sister, who had refused to stay home. That presented us with a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was making clothes for little plastic dolls for girls to play with. Several of the dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it by the Christmas tree.
Most of the children stood in a group at the door, but one determined boy about eight years old examined all the gifts through the thin wrapping paper.
“If you don’t mind, Miss,” he declared “I’ll have this game of table soccer for me and my friends.”
Carol smiled but was firm.
“We’re giving out the presents at the end of the party. Right now we’re going to play some games.”
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs, although we adults grew tired of singing some of their favorites over and over again.
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting dress and high-heeled shoes much too large for her twelve-year-old body, “I was to a party in a big hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a Christmas tree that touched the ceiling.”
“Was it good?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t. No one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
“You’ve left some food on your plate,” objected one boy to his neighbor.
“I can’t eat it,” she replied. “I’ve never had so much food on my plate at one time.”
“Give it to me, then, for it’s a shame to waste good food.”
He ate the leftovers on some of the other children’s plates, too, but finally was too full to eat any more.
We gave him the table soccer game. We gave the twelve-year-old girl the plastic beads. We gave the doll’s feeding set to a seven-year-old girl.
But, “It’s no use to me, Miss,” she said. “I don’t have a doll.”
So I got out another of the Relief Society’s plastic dolls. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree.
“It’s the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction. “I felt right at home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Miss,” seconded another voice, “For whenever any of us wanted something, one of you ladies was near to help.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more. The twelve-year-old, I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for the toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“It will be all right,” she said, trying to rewrap it, although the used wrapping tape wouldn’t stick too well any more.
“Would you have a piece of string, Miss? And a pencil, please?”
I gave her the string and the pencil, wondering what she wanted them for. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “It’s for my little brother, Miss. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford a present for him.”
The beauty and love of that little girl’s spirit shone through the ill-fitting clothes and continues to shine through the years as an example to me.

Last summer my family became part of a new ward because of boundary changes. Then my grandma died. It was very hard for my family to lose her. The night she died, our new bishop came to our house. Also we got a couple of phone calls from people expressing sympathy. We had to leave the next day and were gone for a week. When we got home we had nine phone messages. It didn’t matter what people gave us. Bread, cookies, a phone call, and visits all made the family feel better. I lost someone close to me, but I also found out that a ward can be a second family.Katelynn W., age 11, Colorado

I approached Luan, and we became fast friends. After his surgery, I visited him in his home, along with his bishop, Ozani Farias, and his stake president, Mozart B. Soares. These good leaders were a blessing in Luan’s life. They were always there to comfort, support, and help him.
I felt the Spirit very strongly in Luan’s home. Luan, along with his mother and sisters, had joined the Church eight months earlier. There was no father in the home, and Luan’s mother worked hard to provide for the family. Their small house was tidy and clean, and I knew that simple home sheltered a very special family.
During our visit, we noticed the family lacked many basic things. Luan had to sleep on an uncomfortable couch because he had no bed. But when we asked what the family needed, they replied, “We have the gospel, our friends at church, and a happy family. Thank you, but we need nothing else.”
A short time after our visit, Luan’s condition worsened, and his doctors found a large tumor at the base of his spinal cord. It could not be removed surgically, so Luan went to the hospital for another round of chemotherapy.
One night when President Soares and I visited Luan in the hospital, we found him in a lot of pain. He asked us several questions, including, “What is death?” and “What is dying like?”
I explained that dying is part of eternity and that death is not a closing door but a door that opens for us as we go back to the presence of God. Luan understood and smiled. He said he was prepared. Then he asked us to give him a priesthood blessing, and we did so.
In the bed next to Luan was a 14-year-old boy named Pedro. Pedro asked us to bless him too. I asked if he had faith in Jesus Christ, and he said he did. We explained what the priesthood is and that we would be blessing him in the name of Jesus Christ. He closed his eyes and smiled as we blessed him. Next an 18-year-old young woman asked us to give her a blessing too.
I found out Luan and his mother had comforted Pedro and many of the other young cancer patients and their parents. As I left the hospital that night, I was edified to see that Luan and his mother, though suffering themselves, found the strength to visit others and minister to their needs.
When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, even though he was in great pain, he was happy he could do something for others.
Luan Felix da Silva died on August 20, 2001. Whenever I think of my friend and fellow servant, I am reminded of the Savior’s words:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: …
“And the King shall … say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–36, 40).

Brother Nakamura was one of the foremost heart surgeons in Japan until he retired to serve a mission at the Tokyo Temple. “I had ten years left before I needed to retire,” he says. “But my wife and I wanted to serve in the temple.”

The decision to retire was not an easy one. Brother Nakamura had always wanted to be a heart surgeon. However, he believes the Lord was guiding him to the Church for a purpose.

The Nakamuras decided to accept a mission call to temple service. They knew it would mean a complete change in their lives, but to them, it was worth it.

Before their mission call, says Brother Nakamura, he was very busy in his profession and in the Church. He was enjoying his activities as the head of the hospital where he worked, and as the principal of a school of nursing where he was also an instructor. During this time he also served both as a counselor in the mission presidency and as a district president. He received many telephone calls—day and night—from patients who needed his help, which he freely gave.

“In the temple there are no midnight telephone calls,” he says. “The most wonderful thing is that the temple is the house of the Lord. It is peaceful everywhere. Now everything in my daily life is spiritually based. All of the ordinance work in the temple is to serve God.”

“When I was working in the hospital and involved in my Church duties, I was gone so many days and nights that my wife got lonely,” says Brother Nakamura. “Now we are working together all the time in a holy place. We are very happy.”

Baptized at age 15, Chen Hsin Shun learned early to exercise his faith during economic challenges and to make sacrifices for the Church. While he was preparing to serve a mission, his family’s business failed and his father asked him to help support the family. He told his father, “Trust my God for three months, and see if He doesn’t bless the family while I’m on a mission.” His father agreed to try the experiment, and Elder Chen prayed diligently for blessings. About a month and a half into his mission, he received a letter from his father saying he wouldn’t need to come back early because the family’s business had signed a lucrative 10-year contract. Today Brother Chen serves as a high councilor in the Kaohsiung stake.

Like Church members from Dresden, which was in the far southern part of the German Democratic Republic, members up north in Schwerin experienced great difficulty in finding a home for their branch. For ten years they moved from one rented room to another, then to one family’s living room. In 1956, they were able to purchase a piece of property—but had to do so in the name of the branch president because the Church could not own property. Members were not allowed to tear down a building on the property because it contained an apartment, but they were given permission to build on the remaining part of the land. They were also allowed to tear down an old army barracks eight kilometers outside the city to use as building materials.
Then, after they had hauled twenty-three truckloads of building materials to their site, they were refused permission to build! But after they had fasted and prayed, they were allowed to remodel an old horse barn on the property into a meetinghouse.
The remodeling project required more building materials, which were under strict government control. But members felt that they succeeded in obtaining these with the help of the Lord. (See Schutze, page 22.) On 5 January 1958, Henry Burckhardt, counselor to the president of the North German Mission, dedicated the former horse barn as a meeting place for the Schwerin Branch.
In 1973, the branch was given permission to expand the building, but this meant going through the difficult process of obtaining building materials all over again. A large quantity of building blocks was obtained through the aid of the building supervisor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, who had come to appreciate the industriousness and integrity of the Latter-day Saints. Other building materials could be obtained only in small amounts, after members had stood in long lines to request them. Because work schedules prevented men in the branch from waiting in line, the branch president’s wife took responsibility for obtaining the materials—even though it meant she had to get them to the building site in a hand-pulled cart. (See Schutze, page 24.)

Education is helping Christina Augerea from Hula, Papua New Guinea, accomplish her goals. Ever since she was little, she has had a love of reading and the goal of attending university. Her love of reading is what led her to the Church.

“When I was in fifth grade, we didn’t have books at my school,” she says. “My teacher was a Church member. She didn’t have other books, so she gave us the Book of Mormon.”
Years later, Christina served a mission in the Philippines and then started attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii, where she is working toward law school with a double major in political science and business administration and a minor in Mandarin.
Christina’s story came full circle after the COVID-19 pandemic forced her to return home. One day while visiting her village, she learned that the library at her primary school was infested with termites. With the help of local organizations and the Church, Christina oversaw the construction of a new library, with systems in place that will keep it running for many years.
As happy as she is that she was able to help her community, Christina explains that it took a lot of faith and work to get where she is now. “I know how it feels when you don’t have anything but you want to study,” she says. And through all her experiences, she has learned a lot about the value and purpose of education.
Our Church leaders often teach that it’s important to seek whatever education we can. “The Lord and His Church have always encouraged education to increase our ability to serve Him and our Heavenly Father’s children,” taught President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency.2
But, as Christina shares, education is more than just sitting in a classroom. “One of my professors told us that learning is not just about getting grades, a certificate, or eventually a job. It’s about understanding concepts.” And in order for education to really make a difference in your life, what you learn has to become a part of you. “You have to love learning,” Christina adds.
There are many ways we can become educated. “We don’t just learn in school,” Christina says. “We also learn in the Church. We learn at home. We can learn everywhere.” As we take advantage of opportunities to expand our knowledge, we become more educated, and the process of learning becomes more central to our lives.
Christina testifies that knowledge is key to helping each of us “prepare to meet God” (Alma 34:32). “We can grow and reach our potential by learning,” Christina says. As we humbly seek knowledge, we become more like our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and prepare to live with Them again.
By unlocking our personal potential, education also increases our ability to serve others. President Russell M. Nelson said, “Education is the difference between wishing you could help other people and being able to.”3
This is one of the biggest blessings that Christina has seen from education. “Education gives me the confidence to know that I can teach skills to others,” she says. “Even teaching in the Church is a lot of responsibility. So having confidence to be able to teach the young women or youth is amazing.”
Gaining an education takes persistence and strength—but it’s possible. At first, Christina didn’t know how she would accomplish her goals. “I didn’t know where I would get the money,” she says. But Christina found that when you trust in God and seek His help, He will help you accomplish what He needs you to do.
“With all my dreams and plans, two things that I always asked Heavenly Father for was to teach me what I could do and how I could do it. And He never left me. He knew that there was something better for me, and He guided me. I knew all those times that Heavenly Father was with me and that He still is.”
And as we seek Heavenly Father’s help, He will bless us with opportunities to gain more education and knowledge.
Christina knows that gaining an education is worth the effort. “I would tell people who think that they can’t do it to remember the huge potential God has given us. We can unlock that potential by believing that He has given it to us.”

I used to feel like my mom didn’t understand me. It seemed that all she cared about were her rules. How could she understand me? She had never done anything wrong in her life.
I decided I could do better without her, so I started to define myself in opposition to her. She always wore nice skirts and dresses. I always wore big, shabby jeans. She followed rules of etiquette meticulously. I ignored them. She did everything she could to invite the Spirit into our home. I listened to counter-culture music. She worked to avoid even the appearance of evil. I hung out with kids who were in trouble, and even though I wasn’t participating in their serious transgressions, Mom knew I was on the edge.
My mom spent many rough nights worrying about me. One night she got up to check on me and found a pile of pillows shaped like a sleeping form beneath my open window. When I got home after my mom had spent a long night calling my friends, the police, and anyone else she could think of, I was told I was grounded until further notice.
Soon after, feeling angry and rebellious, I found myself in the principal’s office at school. Knowing that I could identify the culprits of a recent prank, he explained to me that if I didn’t tell him who the guilty party was he would suspend me instead of them. I defiantly kept silent. So he called my mom and told her I would be staying home the next day.
This time she was really angry. While waiting for me to come home and considering an appropriate punishment, she was getting a box out of storage in our unfinished attic. Distracted, she took a wrong step between the beams, which sent her crashing through the insulation, drywall, and plaster of the ceiling onto the floor of the dining room below. Still gathering her bearings in that painful pile of rubble, the thought came to her: your relationship with Michelle is this sensitive right now. One wrong step and the floor will fall out from under you and will be permanently damaged.
When I got home from school, I expected a lecture. Instead, when Mom greeted me, she gently showed me what had happened and explained that she loved me and that she had been prompted to take special care of our relationship and needed my help. I looked at her legs, black and blue from the ankles up and covered with some fierce looking scrapes. All I could think was how amazing it was that as the ceiling gave way beneath her, her first thought was for me. Even I was humbled. We prayed together for help to learn to love and accept.
It wasn’t easy. I really had to work to change my attitude. Looking back, I realize that, all along, she only had my welfare in mind. I eventually found out that Mom was a really fun person. We looked for ways to spend time together in positive situations, doing things we both enjoyed. I learned to allow her to function in roles other than disciplinarian. And most importantly, I learned to change my perspective. Instead of being embarrassed by our “old-fashioned” home, I came to love bringing friends over. I finally realized that I was equally responsible for the success of our relationship.
I guess I’m the one who should have fallen through the ceiling, but I doubt I would have heard the Spirit at the crucial moment. I’ll always be grateful for a mother willing to love me into loving her.

When a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy is called to be the president of a quorum and is left alone by his adult leaders, he might well flounder and fail. It is critically important that his adviser and others teach him how to be an effective president. To do this, the adviser, who has a major role to play, will not take over his responsibility but rather will coach him in order to help him grow in the office. One deacons quorum president must have been taught well by his adviser to have had the following experience:
A stake Aaronic Priesthood committee member attended one of the quorum meetings for several weeks in a row. One Sunday morning, he noticed a boy in attendance who had not been there before. To his dismay, this inactive boy was called on to offer one of the prayers. Anyone would know that the first time an inactive boy comes to priesthood meeting he should not be embarrassed by being asked to pray.
After the meeting, this high councilor asked the adviser why the president of the quorum would do such a foolish thing. The adviser said, “Why don’t you ask him?” When asked, the quorum president replied, “I just spent three days this week teaching him how to pray.” Sometimes these young people have a special touch which only peers seem to have. However, they do need to be taught well how to lead.

I grew up in a dry country. It seemed to me that hardly ever was there enough rain to spread over the crop-growing period to carry us through the season—not enough water to distribute between the many hungry canals and the tens of thousands of thirsty acres, not enough to irrigate all the crops.

We learned to pray for rain—we always prayed for rain.

When I was still very small, I knew that plants could not survive in dry country more than about two or three weeks without water. I knew how to harness up the old mare to a lizard (a forked log on which a barrel was placed) and I drove the animal to the “big ditch,” the Union Canal, which was a block below our home. With a bucket I scooped up water from the small stream or the puddles and filled the barrel, and the horse dragged it back so I could pour bucketsful of precious liquid on the roses, the violets, and other flowers, and the small shrubs and hedges and new trees. Water was like liquid gold, so reservoirs became the warp and woof of the fabric of my life.

Thirteen-year-old Jody Earnshaw climbs over the chute and with trembling knees carefully lowers herself onto the back of a holstein calf. Her hands, in green garden gloves, are wrapped in the rigging of the stamping animal. With a cry from her comrades and a shout from the stands, Jody explodes from the chute. Down the arena she goes—one second, two seconds—her hands still in the rigging as she fights to keep her balance on the twisting animal.
Not until eight seconds later does Jody slip from the holstein’s back, dodge its flying hooves, and roll into the dirt. She lies on the ground for only a moment before standing up. The crowd cheers wildly: “You did it! Jody, you did it!” A spectacular ride, her very first in rodeo competition.

Jason remembered how his foot had tingled when it went to sleep that night as he stood motionless by the kitchen door, listening. The big folks were in the living room, discussing Grandpa! Mom had sent him off to watch TV, but when he went to get a drink, he couldn’t help overhearing them. Then he just stayed there.
There was no mistaking Aunt Madge’s high-pitched, nervous voice. She always seemed to talk too fast. She and Uncle Bill had flown in from Texas the day before Grandma’s funeral. Jason could hear Aunt Madge say that there was no way that Grandpa could live alone now that Grandma wasn’t there to take care of him. And that it was impossible for him to live at their house.
Aunt Edith said that she was sorry, but she didn’t have room for him in her little apartment. Aunt Sherma and Uncle Dick traveled a lot; besides, Aunt Sherma said, they just didn’t have an extra bedroom either.
Jason’s mom had spoken up quickly. “We can move the TV into the living room and give Grandpa the TV room. We’d be happy to have him live here with us.”
Jason was delighted!
Grandpa moved in with them at the first of the year. It had been hard for him to leave his home. The movers brought his bed and dresser, a lounge chair, and some boxes of his personal things, but that was all.
He and Jason soon became good buddies. Grandpa was a great storyteller, and Jason loved to listen to his stories. Grandpa talked a lot about his boyhood, the time he’d spent overseas during the war, the early days of his law practice, and the years that he sat behind a big podium as a judge in a black robe. But he was old and frail now, and it was hard for Jason to picture him as a little boy, a soldier, a lawyer, or a judge.
Grandpa helped fill the empty spot in Jason’s heart. Jason had never known his own father—he’d been only two at the time of the car accident. “Did Daddy look like me when he was six?” he asked Grandpa one day.
“You’re a dead-ringer for my Joe when he was your age,” Grandpa told him. “Your dad’s hair was darker than yours, but he had your same nose and that same cleft in his chin.” Grandpa smiled and started talking about all four of his children—Madge and Edith and Sherma and Joe.
Later Jason pushed Grandpa’s wheelchair out onto the front porch to try to escape the hot, humid house. The cool, fresh breezes from the sycamores brought a refreshing change. Jason threw his leg across the brick-bordered porch, pulled a leaf from the lilac tree, folded it, and put it to his lips. As he blew softly, out came a low, clear whistle.
Grandpa stopped, then said, “If you’d like to see the seashell, I still have it. Would you go get the brown shoe box in the back corner of my bottom dresser drawer, please?”
Jason returned a few moments later with the shoe box. Grandpa opened it and took out a small white and coral seashell, beautifully formed and with black and gray striations. “I want you to have this, Jason,” he said, placing it in Jason’s hands. “If you listen to it often, it will help you remember another Voice that is always there to guide you and help you make right decisions.”
Jason placed the seashell next to his ear and listened for a moment. “Thank you, Grandpa, for telling me about Dad,” he said softly. “And thank you for sharing your treasure with me. It will always remind me of the Holy Ghost, Dad, and you.”

John’s soggy shoes slid in the rutted ice alongside the handcart. A toe snagged on a half-buried rock, and he pitched forward into the snow.
Mama helped him up. “My feet hurt bad, Mama. Could I ride a little way in the handcart?”
“Papa’s too sick to pull extra weight, John. See the willows ahead? We’ll camp there tonight by the river.”
John peered through the falling snow. The willows were so far away! He counted steps: “One … two … three … ,” trying to forget the pain in his half-frozen feet. An ache started in his hands. It worsened until he could no longer concentrate.
His gaze fixed on Mama’s skirt, blowing stiffly in the rising wind. “Your skirt’s frozen, Mama.”
“Only the edges where it drags through the snow,” Mama said, hugging him. Then her light, sweet voice sang out, “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear …”
Instantly, every voice in the handcart company took up the words. It was a camp rule that when one began singing that special hymn, all must join in.
As Papa’s thin frame pulled against the weight of the handcart, his lips moved soundlessly to the words. A fit of coughing doubled him over. He staggered and fell.
John leaped to Papa’s side and cradled his head in his lap. Men dropped their own handcarts and hurried to help. Papa whispered, “I just need a moment to catch my breath.” Heavy coughing shook him.
The men lifted Papa into the handcart. Tears trembled on Mama’s eyelashes as she tucked a warm buffalo robe around him.
Papa had said that the robes they had bought in Fort Laramie were a mixed blessing. Those who chose to keep warm with them might die of hauling the extra weight. John was glad now that they had discarded other things in order to keep them.
As the men went back to their own handcarts, Mama said, “It’s up to us now, John.” She took Papa’s place in front of the handcart. John stood beside her. His body strained. The handcart bumped slowly forward.
John’s feet, clumsy with cold, trudged inch by weary inch toward the willows. After a while, he felt neither hands nor feet, numbed as they were by wind-whipped snow and sleet.
Finally they reached the willows. “Get what rest you can,” the captain told the company. “Tomorrow we cross the river.”
Cross the river? John could see no ferry. The river was dark with slush ice. He shuddered.
Papa crawled from the handcart and steadied himself against the wheel, coughing weakly.
“I can make camp, Papal” cried John. Papa reached into the handcart for the tent. “Some are working who are sicker than I am,” he said.
Digging in the snow, John found a few sticks of firewood. Soon a pot of mush bubbled over a fire.
Mama scraped the mush into three bowls. “It’s such a little bit,” John sighed, gulping the steaming gruel.
“I know,” said Mama. “The company captain said we must cut the rations in half again.”
Papa spooned a bit of mush into his mouth. “Nobody dreamed that winter would come so early,” he murmured. “Nor be so savage.”
That night John huddled with Mama and Papa under the buffalo robes. Slowly, feeling returned to his hands and feet. Exhausted, he slept.
The next morning John awakened to a camp half buried in snow. In the fierce wind, he helped Mama and Papa pack the handcart. With other Saints, they struggled through the still-falling snow to the riverbank.
“Oh, Papa!” John stared at the rushing slush-thickened water.
“If I stumble, grab the handcart,” was all Papa said. Grimly he pulled the cart into the icy water.
John splashed in behind him. He gasped as the freezing water crept to his chest. Mama hiked up her long skirts and waded after him.
Chunks of jagged ice floated by. One slammed into Papa. He staggered and fell. Trying to reach him, John stepped on a sharp rock and slipped. In an instant, the freezing water closed over him.
Hands grabbed him and steadied him in the fast-moving current. He looked for Papa. There he was! Men were helping him across the river. He saw Mama pulling their handcart onto the far bank.
By the time John reached the handcart, the bitter wind had frozen his clothes to his body. Mama tore them off and helped him into dry things. She replaced her ice-crusted skirt with another one.
Reeling with cold, Papa found dry clothing. Mama shielded him from the storm with a buffalo robe while he changed.
Nobody in the group had strength enough to pitch a tent, but Mama spread their buffalo robes in the scant shelter of the handcart. They burrowed under them, hugging each other for warmth.
John heard snorting and stamping. Horses? That creaking—was it wagons? He poked his head from the covers.
“Papa! Mama!” he called. “It’s covered wagons pulling into camp!” Papa coughed, unable to answer. Mama’s blue lips moved, but no sound came. John scrambled from the covers to get help.
“Brigham Young sent us with provisions as soon as he heard about your company,” a rescuer told John.
“Your mama and papa are suffering from fatigue and exposure,” another said. “We’ll get them into a wagon right away.”
Soon fires blazed in the camp. John stood warming himself, breathing in the smell of sizzling buffalo meat and pan bread.
Given a plate of hot food, John could eat only a mouthful. He was so tired!
The rescuers lifted him into the wagon with Mama and Papa. Bundled under heavy quilts, he listened to Papa’s racking cough and labored breathing.
“Are you all right, Papa?”
Papa couldn’t speak for coughing. The wagon began to move through swirling snow toward Salt Lake. Weak voices of the handcart company joined joyfully with the strong voices of the rescuers. “But if our lives are spared again To see the Saints their rest obtain, Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—All is well! All is well!”

Carolyn sat down on the stairs, pressed her face against the banister, and peered through the posts. She was waiting for breakfast to be ready.
“Toast with Grandma’s strawberry jam!” called Mother from the kitchen.
Carolyn hopped down the stairs, singing:
“Daddy likes dinner.
Mommy likes lunch.
But breakfast is the meal
That I like to munch.”
As Carolyn skipped into the kitchen, she saw her dog, Inky, disappearing through the swinging door into the pantry. Mother was making orange juice in the blender. Peter was eating crunchy cereal and reading the back of the cereal box.
Carolyn sat down at her place at the table. Her plate was empty, so she waited for her toast.
Carolyn waited and waited. But when Mommy finished giving them each a glass of juice, she sat down and started to read the paper.
At last Carolyn said, “Mommy, I’m ready for my toast and jam now.”
Mommy put down the newspaper. “I already gave you your toast and jam, Carolyn. What did you do with it?”
Peter chuckled. “She probably ate it and then forgot about it.”
“No I didn’t. Someone else must have eaten it.” Carolyn looked suspiciously at her brother, who was always hungry.
“Don’t look at me,” Peter said, picking up his books. “I’d rather have cereal.”
While she waited for another piece of toast, Carolyn sang:
“I think jam and toast are fun.
I guess I’m not the only one!
Someone else likes toast just fine.
But I wish he would not take mine!”
The next morning when Mommy called, Carolyn hurried to the kitchen and sat down at her place. Her plate was empty.
Carolyn reached down to pet Inky, who was lying beside her chair. “I hope,” she whispered to her, “that no one has eaten my toast again.”
Mother was already reading the paper. Peter was studying his spelling words.
“Mommy,” Carolyn said, “I’m ready for my toast now.”
Mother looked up. “Not again! I put your toast on your plate before I called you, Carolyn.”
“But, Mommy, it’s not there now.” Carolyn looked hard at Peter, but he just kept studying his words.
Mother got up and put another piece of bread into the toaster.
After breakfast Carolyn and Inky sat on the stairway landing together while Carolyn thought about how to catch the toast thief. Finally, she had a plan.
The next morning she and Mommy waited outside the kitchen doorway until they heard the toast pop up. Mommy went into the kitchen, spread the toast thickly with butter and jam, put the toast on Carolyn’s plate, pretended to call to Carolyn, and then went back into the hall.
Peeking into the kitchen, Mommy and Carolyn saw the thief! They saw Inky put her front paws on Carolyn’s chair, reach up, and carefully grab the toast with her teeth!
“Inky, you naughty dog!” Carolyn scolded.
“From now on, Carolyn,” said Mommy, “I’ll wait till you’re here before I put your breakfast on the table.”
“And I’ll give Inky a dog biscuit so that she won’t want my toast,” Carolyn said.
Carolyn sat down and waited for more toast. While she waited, she sang:
“I am not the only one
Who thinks that jam and toast are fun.
Inky stole my toast away,
But I still love her anyway.”

What do you do when there is only one park in your town and 1,875 people to share it?
“That’s easy,” says Tyson Ekker, a 14-year-old teacher. “You make another one.”
And that’s exactly what the youth of the Huntington Utah Stake, who live in the small towns of Huntington, Cleveland, and Elmo, did. For their youth conference service project, they decided to use donated supplies to restore an old, run-down, vacant park, creating a second facility for people in their communities to enjoy.
Just off the highway was an old baseball park covered with salt grass and weeds. The only hint that the lot had ever been used for baseball was the old backstop on the corner. But in three short hours the entire scene changed. The park buzzed with more than 70 youth, either carrying shovels or paint brushes. It was the first week of summer vacation, the first day of youth conference, and already hot outside—an ideal day for fun summer activities.
There was no stopping these youth from serving. “We’re making a difference for the little children, for the whole community,” said Rachel Humphrey, 17, of Huntington. “And that makes it all worth it.”
Some teens scattered sand for the volleyball court, while others dug holes for trees, a sprinkler system, and a drinking fountain. Some picked up trash around the park and cleared fresh lanes for the baseball field. Others painted semitrailer tires with bright colors, to transform them into children’s playground equipment. Of course, they had to try their hands at making sand castles with the fresh sand, and lots of paint was “accidentally” dripped on clean faces.
But however much the park will mean to the community, it will also mean a lot to those who helped restore it, for this service project affected the Huntington Stake youth directly. “Not only have we helped others, but now we have a place to play baseball and volleyball,” Tyson said.
“Someday, when I have children, maybe I will bring them here to play and show them what the youth, working together, were able to do,” said Elayna Luke, 14, of Huntington.
Everyone hoped their efforts would be contagious throughout the community. “I hope people will see that someone cares,” said Kelly Kay, 15, of Lawrence.
“And then maybe others will help also,” said Natalie Stream, 14, of Huntington. “It’s just like if you clean up your yard, people around you are likely to clean up theirs too.”
The park was coming together quickly, but everyone knew there was no way the park could be completely finished in just one morning. “We’ve created an ongoing service project for ourselves,” said Clint Oveson, 15, of Cleveland, as he shoveled dirt into a tire. “It’s even a service project our children can continue to work on.”
The Huntington community will no longer have to plan all its events around one park’s schedule. There’s now another park in town. All because the youth of Huntington Stake decided the community needed another place to play ball, and they weren’t going to wait for someone else to make it happen.

The sign above closet door in Sue Keller’s bedroom says, “You Can Make a Difference.” She heard the phrase in a talk, and it has earned a place on her crowded bedroom wall among her group photos of the girls’ varsity volleyball and basketball teams and next to her favorite Mormonad posters.
But Sue has done more than just hang up a sign. She is a living example of how one person can make a big difference. She served her school, Mt. Si High School in North Bend, Washington, as student-body president, seminary president, and captain of her volleyball and basketball teams. And she encouraged her fellow students in some big projects that made their senior year unforgettable, like a talent show and painting the school.
Sue didn’t start out as a leader. She learned by trial and error. Growing up, Sue was just part of the gang until the gang started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a different perspective than her friends.
“In my sophomore year, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but you can’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, no one is going to stick with you through this. You’re on your own.’”
That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to bring people up to a higher level. “Sue has always been a magnet towards the good. She has pulled up the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been affected.”
Sometimes making a difference is as easy as saying one sentence. A couple of years ago, before the start of the girls’ basketball season, Sue said, “Let’s say a prayer.” They followed her suggestion before that first game, and it became a habit. “I always said the prayer before every game. Sometimes I would say, ‘Doesn’t someone else want to say it today?’ And a couple of times someone else would say it. Most of the time, the team would all be standing around waiting for me, yelling, ‘Sue, hurry up and pray.’”
During her campaign for student-body president, Sue introduced a theme, “Seek for the highest that is in you.” As high school students will do, some started making fun of the theme. But Sue persevered, using the theme for all the activities throughout the year, and the silliness died down. The principal of Mt. Si, Scott Menard, said, “There are always those who will take something positive and try to undermine it. Sue was able to overcome that just by her good-naturedness and by not taking herself too seriously or getting defensive when people would put the theme down. She kept it through every assembly. She didn’t allow the focus to wander, and it became the accepted motto for the students that year.”
One of the projects that the students at Mt. Si really had to stretch to complete was the painting of the school halls. It was a huge job. Sue and other student-body officers decided to try for it, but it was a scary undertaking. They needed more than 200 students to show up to help with each step of the project. What if they didn’t come?
Elaine Clifford, assistant principal, said, “I walked into the first meeting, and I knew right then that they were going to make it because Sue had a notebook ready to go. In it she had inspirational sayings and a time line about what needed to be accomplished. She had a calendar. She had a list of jobs that needed to be done. And she had invited all the right people. She had invited some students that she saw as leaders. She had invited someone from the maintenance staff. She got me there. She understands organizational skills.”
The big painting project was successful, but not before Sue sweated out some last-minute crises. The first day of the four-day project dawned bright and sunny. In the normal wet weather of northwestern Washington, a sunny spring day is a rarity. “Suddenly I panicked,” said Sue. “Who would want to come paint the school on a day like that? What are we trying to do?”
But people did show up—in time for the second crisis. After the walls were sanded and taped, it was time to apply the deglosser. Just as more than a hundred students were really getting into the swing of things, the custodian rushed up to Sue and showed her the label on one of the cans. The flammable deglosser was supposed to be used only in well ventilated areas. They opened every window and door, turned off the electricity to avoid sparks, and covered all the electrical outlets. In the meantime, Sue had retreated to ask for some additional help. “I whipped into the bathroom, my favorite bathroom for praying, and was down on my knees.” Everything went smoothly. The danger was avoided. And the group had a great time. It was hard work but really a lot of fun too.
After giving the school halls a new coat of pale gray paint with maroon trim, the students under Sue’s leadership took new pride in their school. Now, if anyone even thinks about marring the walls, they are warned by their peers, “Don’t try it. I painted this wall, and nobody is going to write on it.”
Then there was the talent show where, for the first time, the students who could play the piano, sing, dance, or act were highlighted. “The neatest thing,” said Sue, “was that we have these super talented people and they never get recognized like the athletes do. That was our point. People you never hear about came out and were excited to be in the show. We held a school performance and an evening performance.”
And there were other times when a sophomore boy broke up with his first girlfriend or a star athlete got kicked off the softball team for drinking. Principal Menard said Sue was there to help. “I’ve seen her take people of all grade levels, both sexes, with her arm around them when she knows they are down, just walking down the halls with them, talking to them and cheering them up. To have the student-body president come up and do that for you is a very meaningful experience to a lot of kids. I think she works so well with people on an individual basis.”
But what holds Sue together? Where does she get the strength and resolve to keep standing up and making a difference in other people’s lives? “My mom is one of my best friends,” said Sue. “After the hardest days, I can dump out everything. She has the answers. She’ll tell me things to do about school problems or boy problems. I do it, and it works. If I didn’t have her and my dad’s support, I don’t know what I would do.” Sue also gets good advice and support from her older brother and sister and younger brother.
The Church is one of Sue’s greatest sources of guidance and comfort. At youth conference, the bishop challenged all the youth to pray for confirmation that the Church was true even if they already had a testimony.
Sue accepted the challenge although she had some reservations. “I felt I didn’t need to ask because I know the Church is true. But I wanted to tell my friends about my testimony before I graduated. They sometimes tease me about being a Mormon.”
Sue did pray, but the answer didn’t seem to come in a big way. Then she and some friends had to drive to the next town to have their pictures taken for graduation. Suddenly, she was in the middle of an intense conversation about the Church with a receptive friend. The friend asked, “How do you know that it is true, Sue?”
“All of a sudden it dawned on me that Heavenly Father was giving me an opportunity to say that I do know the Church is true. Here I was bearing my testimony, telling her this is the truth. It didn’t hit me until that night that it was the answer to my prayers.
The friend then asked if she could go to church with the Keller family. Soon she was attending seminary with Sue and receiving the discussions from the missionaries. “That’s been the greatest,” Sue said. “I’ve never done that with a friend before.”
Sue Keller is just one girl, but she is one who has made a difference. Her dad, Ward Keller, tried to pin it down. “She’s extra special, and I don’t really know how she got that way.” But he really did know. In describing his daughter, he hit upon the quality that has helped her make a difference. “She’s been an example to her peers. She has held her standards and beliefs high and has lived them.”

“Let’s get more sticks!” Callie said to Marco.
Marco looked at the sky. “I have to go home. It’s almost sunset.”
“But we haven’t finished our fort yet!” said Callie.
“Sorry!” Marco called out as he hurried off. “I have to be home before the Sabbath!”
Callie sighed. There were great things about being Marco’s friend, and there were hard things. Well, mostly just one hard thing. They didn’t have very much time to play together. They were in the same grade at school but not in the same class. They didn’t have the same recess. Plus, they both spent the Sabbath with their families. In Marco’s church, the Sabbath was started at sunset on Friday night. For Callie, the Sabbath was on Sunday.
And the good things? There were lots of them. One was that Callie never had to worry that Marco would swear, try to get her to do bad things, or watch things that weren’t good. He and his family went to a different church, but they believed a lot of the same things Callie did. Like keeping the Sabbath day holy, even though they had it on a different day.
Callie set down her armful of sticks and went inside.
“Did Marco go home?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Callie said, slumping into a chair. “We hardly ever get to play.”
“Maybe you two can get together Friday. It’s a school holiday,” said Mom.
“OK,” Callie said, cheering up. She would get everything ready so when Marco came over, they could start working on their fort right away.
During school later that week, Callie’s teacher made an announcement. The whole third grade was going to watch a movie together.
“Yes!” Callie said. She put her lunch box into her backpack and went into the common area between the classrooms.
Everyone found a place to sit on the floor, and the teachers turned off the lights. Callie got excited as the movie began. It was about some boys building a fort together, just like she was building a fort with Marco! If we ever finish it, she thought. She shook her head and focused back on the screen.
But as the movie went on, Callie noticed that some of the words in it weren’t very good. She started to feel more and more uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to do.
Just then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Marco! He had crawled all the way through the crowd of students to talk to her.
“Callie, I don’t think we should be watching this,” he whispered. “I think we should go ask our teachers if we can read instead.”
Callie breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to know someone else felt like she did. “Yeah. I don’t like this movie either.”
She and Marco stood up and tiptoed around their classmates until they reached their teachers. Marco went to his teacher, and Callie went to hers. She asked if she could read a book instead of watching the movie, and her teacher said yes.
As Callie went into her classroom to read, she saw Marco doing the same thing. He waved and smiled. Callie smiled back. Having a true friend was even better than having a finished fort.

Some years ago, while attending a luncheon, I sat next to a very able and perceptive young attorney. I had come to know this young man quite well. I knew him to be a member of a Christian faith other than our own. He knew that I was an active Mormon.
After a few superficial niceties, he asked me some serious questions. He first asked, “Is the Mormon Church Christian?” He added that his question was a theological rather than a moral one; he wanted to understand the role of Jesus in Mormon theology.
Such a broad question overwhelmed me. As I paused to collect my thoughts and to formulate an answer, I realized than any explanation of the role of the Savior in Mormon belief had to begin much earlier than with Christ’s mortal mission. I answered my friend by briefly telling about twelve roles of Jesus the Christ.
First, I explained in brief terms our belief in the eternal nature of man by paraphrasing and explaining several verses of the ninety-third section of the Doctrine and Covenants, where Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph Smith of the eternal nature of the intelligence of man: “I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.
“Ye were also in the beginning with the Father …”
“Man was also in the beginning with God. Intelligence, or the light of truth, was not created or made, neither indeed can be.
“Behold, here is the agency of man.” (D&C 93:21, 23, 29, 31.)
Second, I described the great council in heaven where all the Father’s children met to learn of his plans to further our eternal development. Jesus was the Father’s advocate for that plan which protected that agency of man inherent in the concept of beings possessing an uncreated and eternal existence. Lucifer wanted to alter the plan and eliminate the agency of man. (See Moses 4:1–3.)
Third, we discussed the role of Jesus as the creator of this and countless other worlds, in furtherance of the Father’s plan, which was accepted by the majority of his children. I quoted from the great vision given to Moses:
“And by the word of my power, have I created them, which is mine Only Begotten Son, who is full of grace and truth.
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten.” (Moses 1:32–33.)
This view of Jesus in relationship to the universe was entirely new to my friend and left him deeply impressed.
The next role of Jesus, though known and preached by the early church, again was foreign to my friend. I explained that Jesus was Jehovah, God of the Old Testament, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he who gave the Law of Moses. Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph of this fact in the Kirtland Temple (D&C 110:1–4) and had long before explained his role to the Nephites:
“Behold, I am he that gave the law, and I am he who covenanted with my people Israel; therefore, the law in me is fulfilled, for I have come to fulfill the law; therefore it hath an end.” (3 Ne. 15:5.)
This view of Jesus as Jehovah, the God of the Old Testament, prior to his birth in the flesh, was preached by the early church for four hundred years before being superseded by apostate doctrines. A constant affirmation of the early Jewish Christians as they were accused of subverting the Law and the Prophets, was that what was preached was not new but very, very old, having been preached by Jesus himself to the prophets from the beginning. Arthur Cushman McGiffert, (U.S. theologian, 1861–1933) in his edition of The Church History of Eusebius, notes that this first great church historian held to the same view as did all the early Fathers, that Jesus was the personage who appeared to the prophets in the divine appearances in the Old Testament.
“Eusebius (Palestinian theologian, church historian and scholar, A.D. 260?–340?) accepts the common view of the early Church, that the appearances of God of the Old Testament were appearances of Christ; that is, appearances of the second person of the Trinity. Augustine (early Christian church father and philosopher, A.D. 354–430) seems to have been the first of the Fathers to take a different view, maintaining that such appearances of Christ were not consistent with the identity of essence between Father and Son.” (McGiffert, ed., The Church History of Eusebius, 1890.)
It was only at the point of the fifth great role of the Master that my friend’s knowledge gave us a common background in our discussion of the role of Jesus in Mormon theology. We agreed in our belief that Jesus was born of a virgin, Mary, in fulfillment of prophecy; that he taught the gospel to the people of his day (in our belief, he once again taught the gospel to his people, in direct fruition and fulfillment of his earlier teachings to the prophets) and was crucified. I explained that Mormons believe that Jesus established his church with priesthood power while he was on the earth; that the church was not the creation, as some believe, of Jesus’ followers after the crucifixion. The Master ordained his apostles, sent out the seventy on missions, and had an organization of identifiable officers prior to the crucifixion.
The central role of the Master, of course, that role which could not be performed by another, was that of Jesus the Christ, who was crucified for the sins of the world. I bore testimony to my friend that I believed this is the most literal way. I told him that though I did not fully understand how one could take upon himself the sins of others and thereby bring into effect a universal resurrection, I knew with all my heart that it was so and that this part of the plan is self-operative and need nor be understood to be effective.
I knew that our belief regarding the sixth role of Jesus would be entirely new to my friend and, because of its peculiar nature, probably alien to his understanding or appreciation. I explained as best I could the mission of Jesus Christ to hades, or hell, or the underworld, the place of departed spirits. Once again I affirmed that this mission was well known to the members of the early church. This mission was true and of critical importance to the Father’s plan.
Jesus told of his intention to his apostles as he spoke to them at Caesarea Philippi just prior to the transfiguration. The Prophet Joseph Smith said that Peter, James, and John received important keys and endowments at the time of the transfiguration, which fact would make more meaningful the Master’s previous comments to Peter regarding binding and sealing powers. (History of the Church: 3:387). After hearing Peter’s great confession, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” in response to the Master’s question, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” The Savior said to Peter that the “gates of hell shall not prevail” against the church (See Matt. 16:13–19).
Hell did not mean to the King James scholars who translated the New Testament what it means to some people today. It did not denote the place where bad people go, the domain of Satan. Rather, it was a synonym for hades, the place of the dead, where all the spirits of all people went at the time of death. Further, “the gates” of a city referred to the outer defenses of the city, keeping those within it separated from those without. Therefore, what the Master was saying to those disciples was simply that the gates, or the outer defenses or boundaries of hades, the place of the dead, would not be able to prevent the church from penetrating hades and freeing those people there bound by death. He was, in effect, announcing his descent into hades, the introduction of the gospel there, and his triumph over the lasting effects of death upon mankind.
I reaffirmed that his belief was among the most ancient beliefs of the early church, the complete knowledge of which had been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. In one of the great priesthood sections of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord revealed to Joseph that he had a plan of salvation sufficient that “not only those who believed after he came in the meridian of time, in the flesh, but all those from the beginning, even as many as were before he came, who believed in the words of the holy prophets, who spake as they were inspired by the gift of the Holy Ghost, who truly testified of him in all things, should have eternal life.” (D&C 20:26.)
The same message was taught by Irenaeus, a second century Christian scholar, in language surprisingly close to that used by Joseph:
“For it was not merely for those who believed on Him in the time of Tiberius Caesar that Christ came, nor did the Father exercise His providence for the men only who are now alive, but for all men altogether, who from the beginning, according to their capacity, in their generation have both feared and loved God, and practiced justice and piety towards their neighbors, and have earnestly desired to see Christ, and to hear His voice.” (Irenaeus, book 4, “Against Heresies,” in The Writings of Irenaeus, vol. 1, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 454–55.)
I explained that this doctrine of universal opportunity of salvation involved the introduction of the gospel into hades. Clement of Alexandria writing in the second century, stated:
“Wherefore, the Lord preached the gospel to those in Hades. Accordingly the Scripture says, ‘Hades says to Destruction. We have not seen His form, but we have heard His voice’ … But how? Do not the scriptures show that the Lord preached the gospel to those that perished in the flood … The apostles, following the Lord, preached the gospel to those in Hades. For it was requisite, in my opinion, that as here, so also there, the best of the disciples should be imitators of the Master; so that He should bring to repentance those belonging to the Hebrews, and they of the Gentiles … the Lord descended to Hades for no other reason but to preach the gospel … For it is not right that these should be condemned without trial, and that those alone who lived after the advent [of the Savior] should have the advantage of the divine righteousness … If, then, He preached the gospel to those in the flesh that they might not be condemned unjustly, how is it conceivable that He did not for the same cause preach the gospel to those who had departed this life before His advent” (Clement of Alexandria, book 6, “The Miscellanies,” in The Writings of Clement Alexandria, vol. 2, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 328–34. Italics added.)
A similar knowledge was given by revelation to a modern prophet, Joseph F. Smith, as he earnestly sought the meaning of Peter’s account of Christ preaching to the spirits in prison (see D&C 138).
Many of the fathers of the early church emphasized time and again that Christ descended into hades and organized a missionary force from among the prophets, his disciples from the time of the Master’s mission as Jehovah.
I mentioned to my friend that an ordinance necessarily related to this function of the Master was that of baptism for the dead, or baptism by proxy. I noted that this was what Paul was referring to when he cited this ordinance to the saints at Corinth as proof of the reality of a physical resurrection: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29). This practice of proxy baptism survived in the rural parts of the Roman Empire, relatively uncorrupted by the philosophies of the urban centers, until well into the fourth century and perhaps longer.
My friend’s background permitted us to talk of the seventh role of Jesus with common understanding. We discussed the resurrection, the appearance of Jesus to Mary, to Peter and the brethren, to the two on the road to Emmaus, to Peter and others fishing in Galilee; and finally the ascension of the Lord. I pointed out to my friend that the Lord undoubtedly used this time to further instruct his apostles. Whatever the subjects of those teachings, he left indisputable lessons to us all on the literal nature of the resurrection (his appearance to the brethren: “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have” [Luke 24:39]) and the promise of an equally literal return (at the time of the ascension: “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven” [Acts 1:11]).
The eighth great mission of the Master again found my friend in ignorance. I described the ministry of the Lord to the Western Hemisphere, in fulfillment of his statement to the Jews: “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” (John 10:16). I told my friend that the Father introduced his Son to the people of this continent: “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne. 11:7.) I described how Jesus organized a church like that which he had established in the East. Twelve disciples were called and ordained; great miracles were performed—the blind were made to see, the lame to walk. Children were blessed with miracles not matched by those in the East. A dissertation was given by Jesus on the nature and functions of the House of Israel unequaled by any other single scriptural reference. The sacrament was instituted and the Holy Ghost bestowed. Finally, after a three-day ministry, Jesus ascended.
I mentioned a ninth mission of the Master about which we know very little other than that it occurred. Jesus, in speaking to the Nephites, stated that he had yet other sheep who would also hear his voice (3 Ne. 16:1–5). Consequently, there must have been other people who enjoyed a personal ministration of the Master, though we do not now have the records of such a ministry.
The tenth mission of the Master was the ushering in of the restoration through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I described, through my own testimony of the occasion, how Joseph Smith asked God to direct him to the true church. I related the events of the First Vision: that the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph, and from the time of that event other angelic ministrations occurred to Joseph Smith sufficient to restore the knowledge of the gospel and the priesthood power to again establish the Church of Jesus Christ upon the earth as it had been when the Master personally established his church at the meridian of time.
I grouped together as the eleventh mission of the Master several appearances of the Savior to different people, from Joseph Smith, subsequent to the First Vision, to others of the prophets, including Lorenzo Snow, pointing out to my friend the reality of the Master’s direction of his church today as in time past.
Finally, I described to my friend the final and yet unfulfilled role of Jesus Christ in the great plan of his Father. I stated that Mormons believe in the literal second advent of the Master, to rule over the earth that he, under the direction of the Father, created.

Some time ago I learned I was about to lose my job. At this time the June 2000 Liahona arrived; it included a message from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles titled “Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence.” I immediately thought, “This is for me.” Indeed it was. I read the message several times until I had gained what I needed in peace, confidence, and security. My faith increased, and I knew I was not alone.
By applying the principles Elder Holland taught, I was able to find a new job. My heart was filled with happiness and gratitude to my Heavenly Father because once again I had been a recipient of His goodness. I realized that adversity is necessary for our spiritual growth and that we should not cast away our confidence.Freddy Baeza Sandi, Nuevo Loarque Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Toncontin Stake