Gospel Story Finder

Joseph and Hyrum Smith’s martyrdom shocked every Latter-day Saint, including the youth of the Church.
One hundred and fifty years ago this month on June 27, 1844, Joseph and Hyrum Smith were murdered by a mob of angry men. The events of that tragic afternoon at Carthage, Illinois, have usually been seen through the eyes of adults. Yet there were many young men and women who knew the Prophet and the patriarch and who felt great grief at their passing. While we don’t have a great deal of information about young people who were affected by the deaths of their leaders, a few records do give us a view of the martyrdom through teenage eyes.
Fifteen-year-old Mary Ann Phelps told of being asked to help the Prophet. “When [Joseph] found he had to go to Carthage [to meet with Thomas Ford, governor of Illinois], he wanted a man by the name of Rosecrantz, who was well acquainted with the governor, to go with him.”
At the time, Mr. Rosecrantz’s wife was ill. The Prophet thought that if someone could be found to take care of her, Mr. Rosecrantz would be more likely to make the trip. He asked Mary to stay with Mrs. Rosecrantz.
“I went to stay with Mrs. Rosecrantz,” Mary recalled. “As [the Prophet and Hyrum] were going, they called at the gate with their company of about twenty men, and Joseph Smith asked me if I would bring them out a drink of water.” Mary took them a glass and a pitcher. Joseph leaned over and said to her, “Lord bless you.”1
Another young person, William Hamilton, met Joseph and Hyrum when, on their first night in Carthage, they stayed at his father’s inn. They arrived at the Hamilton House hotel five minutes before midnight on June 24. Early the next morning, the Smith brothers voluntarily surrendered to a constable. After a court hearing during the day, they met with Governor Ford. During the interview a justice of the peace appeared with a paper from a judge authorizing the jailing of Joseph and Hyrum Smith until they could be tried for treason—which was a change from the original charge of rioting.
Despite protests from their attorneys, Joseph and Hyrum were hurried off to Carthage jail, only a few blocks away. Several friends and associates were allowed to stay with the Prophet and the patriarch that evening. On the next day, June 26, the treason hearing was held. No witnesses appeared, so Joseph and Hyrum were required to stay in jail until another hearing could be held, this one scheduled for June 29. But the conspiracy to murder the Prophet and his brother was already in motion.
On June 27, 1844, William stood as lookout on the roof of the county courthouse. It was hot and humid. Sometime near five o’clock, William noticed a group of about 100 men with blackened faces going toward the jail. He hurried to report the movement, but it was already too late. The soldiers assigned to protect the prisoners were outnumbered by the mob. They stormed the jail, rushed up the stairs, and fired shot after shot after shot. Then a yell that the Mormons were coming caught everyone’s attention, and the mob fled.
William went into the jail, where he saw the body of Hyrum Smith. Outside the jail, the Prophet Joseph also lay dead in a pool of blood. John Taylor was severely wounded. Willard Richards was only grazed on his ear by a bullet.2
Fourteen-year-old Eliza Clayton also entered the jail. The doors were still open. She said it looked “as though the people had left in great haste.” When she went upstairs, she saw “some Church books on the table and the portraits of Joseph’s and Hyrum’s families on the fireplace mantel.” But when she saw the “blood in pools on the floor and spattered on the walls,” Eliza started to cry.3
Fifteen-year-old Henry Sanderson was one of the first in Nauvoo to hear the tragic news, “when a runner went past our house shouting that the Prophet was killed.” Henry recalled how “sad a blow” it was to him and his family.4
The news spread quickly. At Hyrum’s home on Water Street, not far from Joseph and Emma’s home, George D. Grant knocked at the door and delivered the sad tale to the family.
“The news flew like wild-fire through the house, and the anguish and sorrow … can be easier felt than described. But that will never be forgotten by those who were called to go through it,” recalled Mary Ann Smith, one of Hyrum’s children.5
On the morning of June 28, the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were gently placed on two different wagons, covered with branches to shade them from the hot summer sun. William Hamilton and his father Artois accompanied Samuel Smith and Willard Richards to Nauvoo with the bodies of the slain Church leaders.
They left Carthage about 8:00 A.M. and arrived in Nauvoo about 3:00 P.M., where they were met by a great assemblage. When the bodies were returned to Nauvoo, they were washed and dressed. Then family and friends were ushered in to see them.
When young Joseph Smith III entered the room, he dropped upon his knees, laid his cheek against his father’s, and kissed him. He was heard saying, “Oh, my father, my father!” Other children of the Prophet and the patriarch crowded around to see their slain fathers. It was an almost unbearable scene.6
On the following day, June 29, the bodies lay in state in the Mansion House while thousands of Saints silently filed past the coffins, grateful but sobered to see their beloved leaders one last time. Mary Ann Phelps’s father took her to the Mansion House early in the morning, before the bodies were prepared for the public viewing.
“I went down, saw them, and laid my hand on Joseph’s forehead,” she said. “The sheet that was around him was stained with blood. Still he looked very natural.”7
Slowly, life in Nauvoo got back to normal. Missionaries left to serve missions; new converts arrived. Work continued on homes, shops, and most importantly, the temple. Young people fell in love and were married. Parties and sporting contests were held.
Yet the memory of Joseph and Hyrum did not fade. For example, one young woman made a sampler, a common activity at the time. She embroidered:
“Sacred to the Memory of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Who fell as Martyrs for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, June 27th, 1844. Aged 38, and 44, years.
“Zion’s noblest sons are weeping,
See her daughters bathed in tears,
Where the prophets now are sleeping,
Nature’s sleep—sleep of years.
When the earth shall be restored,
They will come with Christ the Lord.”
She signed it: “Mary Ann Broomhead’s work, 1844, Age 13 years.”8
Following a short period of peace, dark clouds cast their long shadow on Nauvoo again. Eventually the Saints were driven out, leaving their beautiful temple and the graves of their Prophet and his brother behind. Yet these young people who lived in the days of Joseph and Hyrum remembered them throughout their lives. They passed on their personal stories and experiences to a new generation. By doing so they kept alive their own faith and the testimony of two great witnesses of the Restoration.

It was 5:30 p.m. on a Friday in June 2001, and I was working in my home office when the phone rang. It was my wife calling in a bit of a panic. She and our three daughters had been on a bike ride and had stopped at the supermarket for a cold drink and some ice cream. When they came out of the store, the combination lock securing the bicycles wouldn’t work. The combination was 3690, but it didn’t open the lock, which was firmly holding the bicycles against a metal fence just outside the store.
I jumped in our minivan and drove to the supermarket, but I had no more luck than they had had. I drove my wife and daughters home and began to think of what I could do. The first counselor in the branch presidency repairs saws, so I called and explained my predicament to him. He told me that most bicycle locks of this kind are made from toughened steel that is impervious to saws and bolt cutters. But he said I could at least try to cut the lock.
I found the box containing my electric saw and an extension cable. I called the store to ask if I could use their power for my saw. They kindly said I could. By the time I arrived, it was 7:45, and the store would close at 8:00. I was under pressure and started to panic too.
If the bicycles were there overnight, they would surely be a target for vandalism, and besides, my wife, who couldn’t drive at that time, used them every day to get the children to and from school.
When I got to the store I grabbed my electric saw’s hard plastic case, opened it, and found I had brought my cordless drill by mistake. They both have the same black plastic casing. It was now 7:55 and too late to get home and back before the store closed.
I tried the lock again, tugging as hard as I could to separate the two pieces, but nothing moved. A couple of people were staring at me, and employees were starting to close the store.
I sat in the minivan and thumped the steering wheel, feeling utterly frustrated. Then in my “mind’s ear” I heard my daughter singing the hymn “Did You Think to Pray?” (Hymns, no. 140).
In my panic I had failed to do the simplest thing. I had forgotten to pray. So I bowed my head and explained my situation to Heavenly Father. I left nothing out. I even told Him how silly I felt about the drill/saw mistake. In an instant I felt prompted to try the lock again. I got out of the car, and as I started to tumble the combination to read 3690 again, I heard a number whispered in my ear: 2591. I looked around, but no one was standing there. I tried 2591, and the lock fell open in my hands.
Never before or since have I had an answer to my prayers given so clearly or so quickly. Tears rolled down my face as I loaded the bicycles into the back of our minivan. I hurried home and related the story to my wife and children.
Later when I turned the numbers to 3690, just as I expected, the gaps in the teeth inside the cylinder didn’t line up so that I could put the two pieces of the lock back together. I then tried 2591, and it didn’t work either. On closer inspection I realized that the tumblers had broken. Every time I turned them, a different number would open the lock. So, considering the thousands of possible combinations I could have tried that Friday evening, only heaven could help me find the one unique combination. And all I had to do was ask in faith.

One day, I was playing a trivia game with two of my neighbors. In the game you draw a card and answer the question on it. If you answer correctly, you get to advance on the game board. I drew a card that asked this question: “One of the world’s major religions was established by a man named Joseph Smith. What is the common name for the members of this religion?” My two neighbors are not members of the Church, so they looked confused, but I had a big smile on my face. I knew the answer! I quickly said, “Mormons!” I was so surprised to read a card about my religion. I was very happy that I knew the right answer.

Elder Sorensen loved sports and excelled in football, basketball, and baseball in high school in Salt Lake City. As a younger boy, however, he played baseball with the neighborhood boys in an open field, with a black friction-taped ball, a few gloves, and one old bat. “My mother wanted me to learn to play the piano,” Elder Sorensen said, “and she persevered for about six months, but she had a hard time getting me to practice, especially when I wanted to be out playing baseball. However, I had enough musical training so that when I was in the mission field, I could play about fourteen or fifteen hymns. I wish I had practiced more!
“I remember the excitement of being chosen as a crossing guard in sixth grade and how cold it was walking in the snow all the way to the school on the hill when I was in seventh grade. My biggest challenge was applying myself in school. I was more interested in sports and other things. Then, in junior high school, I was stimulated to learn so that I gained a balance in my life. I was able to pull up my grades and earn a scholarship.
“Serving a mission in Brazil was a great turning point in my life,” declared Elder Sorensen. “When I was twenty and had just completed two years of college at the University of Chicago on an academic/athletic scholarship, I had doubts about my going on a mission. When I returned home that summer, Mom said to me, ‘Well, now you can prepare for your mission.’
“Elder Sorensen told his mother that he had changed his mind and didn’t think that he would serve a mission. “I’ll never forget the hurt look on Mom’s face,” he recalled, “after I told her my decision. She didn’t scold me, but afterward she privately cried and prayed.
“I didn’t go back to school in Chicago that fall. With the help of Mom and Dad and a wise and understanding bishop, I accepted a mission call to Brazil and left for South America in 1940.
“It wasn’t very long after I arrived in the mission field and began studying the scriptures regularly that my testimony really began to grow. Since then it has never wavered but has grown stronger. I’m grateful to the Lord and my parents for guiding me at that very important crossroad.
“Children, listen to your parents. They love you more than anyone else does, except your Father in Heaven, who has an even greater capacity to love. If you follow their good teachings and example, you will always be happy that you did. And remember to follow the counsel and guidance of Church leaders, particularly your bishop.”

The Mike and Shaz Kramer family of Garwood, New Jersey, USA, held a party earlier this year to which several non–Latter-day Saint families were invited. One family arrived early so the husband could ask a question about the Church. A minister friend of his had indicated that Mormons didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. Brother Kramer said, “I simply reached over and picked up the March Ensign, with Christ’s picture on the cover, and asked, ‘Does this look like a church that doesn’t believe in Jesus?’ ” The man took the magazine with him and met with the missionaries later that week to ask more questions.

Some years ago while I was serving as an Area Seventy we lost a dear friend who served as the Relief Society President in our stake when I was serving as the Stake President.
The energy and strong faith of this sister was evident everywhere she went as she blessed the sisters in our Stake by helping them to see the importance of living the gospel.
Then one day she was diagnosed with liver cancer and was told that recovery from this type of cancer would be very difficult. Her family and the entire stake were devastated and over the next many months countless prayers were offered on her behalf. Then after more than two years of treatment, she found out she was cured. It was a miracle.
However, just a few months later the cancer came back, this time effecting her pancreas. The doctors tried everything possible but with no positive results.
Several months went past and then one morning while I was traveling in my car her husband called me and asked me if I could come to see them since he felt his wife did not have much time left. I immediately turned the car around and drove to their home.
While there I visited with their sons. The youngest son was in his room where he sat quietly not understanding what was happening. The oldest son understood the situation and was taking good care of his mother in her final hours. As she lay on her bed in the living room I noticed that there was not much left of this once so energetic sister. After some time she noticed me. She opened her eyes and smiled at me and inquired about my family. Then later she silently took her journey into the spirit world.
Before she died She had asked me to speak at her funeral and to help lowering her body into the grave (Belgium Tradition).
I will never forget standing there with the end of one of the four rope ends in my hands looking into a dark hole in the ground and slowly lowering the casket. There were so many thoughts in my mind and some of them were frightening like “What if there were no resurrection?” “What if this were the end?” Without the resurrection there is no hope and no meaning to this life. All would be lost and the sting of death would have no end.

Every day that Cheya Wheeler’s friend picks her up for school, the same thing happens. They drive by a stately red brick building, one tower topped by a golden figure, and Cheya’s friend starts singing, “I Love to See the Temple.” Cheya usually joins her. “It brings a good spirit,” she says.
Cheya and her friend live in Vernal, Utah. The temple, created from the old tabernacle, has brought a whole new spirit into their valley. The Vernal Temple has stood as a building for more than 90 years, but during its first 90 years, it served as a tabernacle, a meetinghouse for a local ward and stake, a lecture hall, a place for musical recitals, a gathering place for the community. This great old building eventually fell into disuse and was closed. Most teenagers in Vernal had never actually been inside the tabernacle.
“When they first announced that we were going to have a temple at stake conference,” says Jeff Ross, 15, “I was there. It took forever for the meeting to go on. Everyone was turning and talking to each other. It was great.”
The Vernal Tabernacle had always been a prominent landmark and favorite spot in the town. Growing up, most young people in the area have ridden their bikes around the block containing the building and had picnics on the tabernacle lawn. It was a great old building, but it was no longer feasible to hold church functions there any more. What would become of it?
In 1907, after seven and a half years of work, the Vernal Tabernacle was completed and ready for dedication. A little seven-year-old named Porter Merrell was there, ready to attend the dedication with his parents. His father had worked as a carpenter on the tabernacle.
Approaching his 98th birthday, Brother Merrell remembers that day. “When it came time for the dedication, there were too many people to fit inside. They rounded up all of us kids about the ages from seven to ten and took us down to the east of the tabernacle. Before I left, I looked down from the balcony. All the ladies wore hats. They decorated their hats, and looking down it looked just like a flower garden.”
President Joseph F. Smith had made the long journey from Salt Lake City to dedicate the tabernacle. Brother Merrell was in the group of children chosen to greet the prophet as he arrived in their city. President Smith also visited every ward in the Uintah Stake. Porter was seated with the other children on the little chairs in front of the prophet. He still remembers what the prophet with the flowing snow-white beard said.
“He told us,” says Brother Merrell, “that he wanted us all to remember. The Spirit of the Lord was going to be poured out upon the world. There would be more development and more progress in the world during the next 30 to 40 years than there had been in the history of the world. He looked at us and said, ‘I want you little fellers to remember that and see if there won’t start to be progress.’”
Once again, 90 years later, Brother Merrell attended a dedication in the Vernal Tabernacle, only this time it was a temple, the house of the Lord.
It has always been difficult traveling in the area that is now the temple district of the Vernal Utah Temple. It includes parts of Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado. It is a country where the weather is unpredictable and the winters can be downright dangerous. Several youth choirs that were planning to sing for the Vernal Temple open house had to cancel at the last minute because winter storms had closed roads, preventing them from traveling.
One group, the Smart family choir, was asked to sing an additional hour in the cold morning hours of the temple open house because another choir had been prevented by the weather from making the trip.
The Smart family chose to hold a family reunion and form a family choir to coincide with the open house of the Vernal Temple. They have a particularly warm feeling about the tabernacle building itself. Their relative William H. Smart was the stake president of the Uintah Stake when the tabernacle was dedicated. For the teenagers attending the reunion, the trip to Vernal meant learning a little more about their heritage and about temples.
“There’s always a special feeling in the temple,” says Michelle Maddocks, 20, from the Salt Lake Grant 12th Ward, and a member of the Smart family choir. “You feel the Spirit there.”
Another Smart descendant, Hales Swift, 15, from the Academy Ward of the Colorado Springs North Stake, was looking forward to going through the Vernal Temple after the family choir’s performance. For Hales, his knowledge about the truthfulness of the Church came from his family. “Prayer is a peaceful time for me. I have always accepted the gospel as being true, partially because I was brought up in it, and also because it makes sense.” In a serious moment, Hales tries to explain what the Spirit of the Lord feels like. “It’s something hard to put your finger on. It’s overpowering. It testifies of the truthfulness of the gospel. It’s sort of like when you hear something that is really truly good. It’s the same sort of feeling.”
Also singing in the family choir, JoAnnie Everett, 14, from the Grove Creek Fifth Ward in Pleasant Grove, Utah, was looking forward to going inside the Vernal Temple. She has been to several temples, including the Mount Timpanogos Temple near her home. She had the opportunity to go when her brothers and sisters were sealed to their family after their adoption. “The temple is special before it is dedicated, but it has an even better feeling after.”
The Young Men and Young Women of the Vernal Third Ward have a unique outlook on the new temple. In Sunday School class, they just have to glance out the window to see the temple. They can’t be rowdy in the parking lot after Mutual, because it somehow doesn’t feel appropriate when it’s right next to the temple.
“I live right across the street. The angel Moroni looks down on my house,” says Curtis Ogden, 17. “It’s just a reminder every day when I walk outside and I see the temple. It makes my day a lot better.”
Emily Malouf, 15, says, “I think with the temple being next door to our church house, it’s brought a level of reverence to our ward. When you drive past it every day, you have to strive for the goals you know are right so that one day you can get married there.”
“When I went through the open house of the temple, something occurred to me,” says Jeff Ross, 15. “It’s perfect. It sets the standard. It’s kind of a wake-up call to me that we need to strive to make our bodies, our minds, and our homes like the temple, perfect like that. It sets the standard for everything else in our lives.”
These young people watched the transformation take place. An old, dilapidated tabernacle was turned into something heavenly—a temple. They heard the stories of the miracles that took place during the construction. They saw the dedication of those who worked on the project. They noticed as their friends and neighbors started reconstructing their lives to be worthy to enter the temple.
“The building was in bad shape,” says Leslie Richards, 16. “It’s the same kind of thing with our lives. If you get off track and wicked, it takes a lot of work and time. No matter how long it takes, you can still come back to the temple.”
The Vernal Temple brought a spirit of change. “A lot of that is taking place in this valley,” says Sam Malouf, 17. “There are a lot of people who have changed so they can attend the temple. I’ve seen a lot of kids our age quit drinking, quit doing a lot of things so they can be worthy to attend the temple.”
For most of the young people in this ward, the most impressive and memorable moment of the temple open house was when they entered the celestial room and saw the welcoming portrait of Christ. “It took my breath away,” says Cory Hunter, 17. “It was just like, this is where it is. This is where it happens. He’s here. It was amazing.”
The Vernal Temple is the 51st temple in operation. It is also the first temple ever made from a building originally built for a different purpose. But somehow it seems appropriate that it should be put to use serving the Lord again. The Vernal Temple quite literally stands as a monument to change. Just as a decaying building can be rebuilt, we each can rid ourselves of the rubble of sin in our lives and change, change into something worthy of heaven.
Restoration of the Vernal Temple went carefully, brick by brick. However, some of the native brick was damaged and needed to be replaced. What’s more, additions to the building itself needed to match. A long-time Vernal resident had a pioneer home built of the same brick as the tabernacle. Though not a member of the Church himself, he graciously agreed to donate it to the temple. So two years before the temple was completed, youth groups from all the wards in the four stakes surrounding Vernal spent service time dismantling the house and cleaning the brick. Each small effort toward the restoration gave joy and satisfaction to those who helped.

A six- or seven-year-old boy in the car parked ahead of you turns and sticks his tongue out at you. What should you do?
This happened to Elder Wayne S. Peterson of the Seventy while he was waiting in his car. What do you think he did? Elder Peterson remembered how important it is to choose the right. He said, “I waved at the little boy. He stuck his tongue out at me again. I smiled and waved again. This time he waved back. Soon he was joined … by a little brother and sister. [When their car] pulled away, my newfound friends continued to wave for as long as I could see them.”*
Elder Peterson chose to show his faith in Jesus Christ by following His teachings. The Savior taught, “Therefore, all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (3 Ne. 14:12). Elder Peterson felt good as the car drove away, because he had chosen the right.

At a very young age I realized my father and mother loved each other very much. It became evident in the symbols that represented their bond. Their anniversary was an event marked with great celebration. At other times of the year, outward symbols served to renew their marital commitment. The look on my mother’s face when my father presented her with a dozen red roses is indelibly painted in my mind. The symbol was powerful in my life, and my parents renewed the event many times as I grew older.

On my own wedding day, we also selected roses to represent our special occasion. Thus we continued a tradition that symbolized commitment, a symbol I had loved to witness in my parents.

Evan Payne owned and operated a gasoline and auto repair station in Thousand Oaks, California. He was quick with a smile and even quicker to remember people’s names. He knew his customers, their children, and their cars. Evan worked long hours, six days a week, and was genuinely interested in helping people. He gave jobs to teenagers who had family problems or who were preparing for or returning from missions. He would stay late or arrive early to accommodate a customer. Nearly everyone in town knew Evan Payne and liked him.
Evan was also busy at home and at church. He and his wife, Becky, had five children, ages 7 to 13. He had served twice as a counselor in the bishopric, as bishop, and now as a counselor in our stake presidency.
Evan was young, athletic, happy, and outgoing. He had dark hair and a handsome face. He loved to ski and play Church softball and basketball. So it didn’t seem possible when I heard that Evan had leukemia.
In the months following his diagnosis there were family, ward, and stake fasts. Evan went through chemotherapy and radiation. When Evan’s illness did not go into remission, his brothers were tested to determine if they could be bone marrow donors. None matched. He and Becky got their affairs in order and prepared for the worst, but in spite of the pain Evan remained upbeat and positive. He continued to work nearly every day, although he was clearly suffering.
One day my office phone rang. “Joel,” Evan said, “what are you doing tonight? I want you to come with me to give a blessing to someone in your ward. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” I said. “Who are we going to bless?”
“Sally Carlisle (names have been changed). She is an elderly lady from San Diego. She is in town visiting her daughter, Joan Wilson, who isn’t active. I should be taking the Wilsons’ home teacher, but I don’t know who it is, and she needs a blessing right away. Can you pick me up?”
I had a sudden sinking feeling, and a wave of guilt flooded over me. For many months I had been assigned to home teach the Wilson family, but I had not even called them. Numerous times I had intended to call or stop by, but each time I rationalized my way out. I had not done my duty. I told Evan I would pick him up at 7:00.
As we drove Evan explained that the Wilsons had been customers at his service station for many years. Joan had been raised in the Church but had drifted into inactivity as a young adult. She had married Mike Wilson, who was not a member of the Church, and they had raised their four boys in Mike’s religion. Evan explained that we would be giving a blessing to Joan’s mother, who had the flu. Joan had called Evan at the station and asked him to come. He was the only member of the Church she knew.
When we arrived at the Wilson home, Joan greeted us at the door but excused herself while we visited with her mother. Sally explained how much she wanted her daughter to come back to the Church and how she prayed for Mike and Joan to be able to receive the blessings of the gospel. After we visited for a few minutes, I anointed Sally and Evan blessed her. It was a simple blessing of comfort and good health.
As I drove Evan home, I felt grateful to have witnessed that priesthood blessing. I was also grateful for the introduction to the Wilson family and for spending those moments with Evan Payne, who passed away just a few months later.
In the following years I visited the Wilson home regularly. They welcomed me and remembered me as Evan’s friend. At first we just talked about Evan and what a great power for good he had been in our community. I remained the Wilsons’ home teacher for 15 years, and I tried to be like Evan and help whenever I could. Mike and Joan became my good friends and blessed my life in return.
Although Joan did not return to activity and Mike did not join the Church, I will always treasure their love and friendship. I was serving as bishop when Joan passed away. At the time of her death, Mike donated a large sum to the ward missionary fund. That money supported a missionary from our ward who joined the Church as a teenager and had no family resources to allow him to serve. Mike’s contribution indirectly touched the lives of the many converts that young elder taught.
Although I am certain Evan Payne did not intend to teach me any lessons that night many years ago, I learned that it is no burden to be about the Lord’s business. I try to be, as Evan was, truly interested in and concerned for our Heavenly Father’s children. And as a home teacher I try to be as faithful as Evan was and as the Savior would want me to be.

Archie noticed the red-orange reflection in the mirror as he walked through the family room on his way out the door. He had seen that color thousands of times in his life. He had grown fondly accustomed to the vibrant orange hue that surrounded his roundish face. Every time Archie looked in the mirror he was reminded of the fact that he was not only a redhead, he was the personification of the brightest, most intense, flaming red that ever graced the top of a young man’s head.
He recalled several years earlier when he was living with his parents in Africa that people would pat him on the head because they thought red hair was an omen of good luck—a symbol of good fortune.
His pleasant reflection was startled by the “MEEOOOP!” of the horn from the enchanted yellow bus that would carry him to his first day of junior high.
Archie anxiously gathered his books and papers and rushed to the front door where he was greeted by a proud reception line composed of his mother, his two little brothers, his grandmother, and his dad. After all, it isn’t every day that the oldest son in the family takes off for the first day of junior high. A little embarrassed and hurried, Archie kissed his mom on the cheek, waved to his grandma and brothers, and shook his dad’s hand as he galloped off to his new adventure.
Archie slipped through the folding doors of the bus, only to find himself staring into the faces of dozens of different and older students who would also be attending Jefferson Junior High School.
With a sigh of relief he focused on Jimmy, his best friend, who had saved a seat for him by the window.
Archie plomped into the seat as the bus rumbled down the road. Jimmy said, “Greg said that we’d better watch out today at school or he and his ninth grade friends will sit us on the fountain or write on us with lipstick.”
Archie asked, “Why do they do that?”
“He said it is called initiation to junior high. Sort of like when you have to do something scary to join a club.”
While Archie’s face showed no fear, he suddenly became intensely aware of the bigger kids at the back of the bus who were laughing and joking.
Finally the bus halted in front of the big sign that said Jefferson Junior High. As he and Jimmy jumped down from the bus, his combined excitement, joy, fear, and anticipation made his heart thump twice as fast as normal.
As he reached the top of the stairs he pulled open the big metallic doors that led into a whole new world. He gazed down the hall and saw hundreds of jostling, laughing, bustling students who all seemed to know where to go and what to do. Even his friend Jimmy had wandered down the hall on his own. Now Archie was alone in the strange and exciting new environment. As he walked down the hall he felt as if everyone was staring at him. Just then he saw one of his pals from grade school.
Walt yelled across the hall, “Well, if it isn’t red Archie!”
Archie cringed when he heard the word red, and his face blushed to fit the description. Suddenly he wished that he had a hat to cover his bright thatch of red hair.
Just then the “ZZIINNGG!” of the bell sounded to go to class. He hurried down the hall to his locker and spun the dial to his combination, but nothing happened. Again he tried … 37 to the left … 15 to the right … and 22 to the left. His locker still wouldn’t open!
Frantically he pulled on his locker door but to no avail. “ZZIINNGG!” went the second bell, and Archie realized that he was tardy for the first period. He gave up on his locker and ran down the hall to his first class. As he-entered the room everyone looked at him and he hurriedly went to one of the empty desks and sat down. The teacher called the roll, “Steve Cranbrook … Archie Crenshaw … Richard Daines …” until he had called out all twenty-six students in the homeroom.
Mr. Williams, the teacher, closed the rollbook and said, “I remember the first day I went to junior high. I was so scared that I had to walk around the block twice before I dared go in. Then I couldn’t remember where my locker was and was late to every class for the first week. The worst thing was that everyone teased me.”
As Mr. Williams talked, Archie felt a grin blossom on his face. The teacher went on to explain how the first day is always the worst, and after that you get to know your way around and have a good time.
From that moment on, Archie felt a lot better about being in junior high. He didn’t even mind if kids called him Red. In fact, his bushy red locks became his trademark. Archie became confident and happy (and finally figured out how to open his locker). And it all started with Mr. Williams in social studies class.
Archie’s parents were both proud and happy that their son was doing so well in school. Nearly every day Archie had something good to say about Mr. Williams and what he had learned in social studies.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw were interested in meeting Mr. Williams, the man they had heard so much about from Archie. Finally the day came for parent-teacher conferences for Jefferson Junior High. Archie couldn’t wait for his folks to go and talk to Mr. Williams. He even drew them a map of how to get to his room so they wouldn’t get lost!
Archie’s mom and dad walked into room 29 with the sign that said Mr. Williams and suddenly understood everything they had heard about him. As they went in Mr. Williams gave them a glowing grin that was accented by the brightest, curliest, flaming red hair imaginable.

“Miguel,” his mother said impatiently, “eat your breakfast.”
Miguel’s dark eyes were troubled. He played with his cereal, stirring it slowly with his spoon.
His father’s voice was more gentle. “Yes, Miguelito. If you are to learn well in school, you must eat.”
“No tengo hambre (I am not hungry),” Miguel said.
“Speak in English,” his father reminded him. “In order to improve your English, you must speak it.”
“I am not hungry,” Miguel repeated in English. “And I do not want to go to the school.”
“Why not, my son?” his father asked.
Miguel lowered his eyes. “They laugh at me when I do not speak the English well. I do not want to be laughed at.”
“Miguelito,” his father said softly, “are these children not your friends? I am sure that they mean no harm. It’s just that your accent is strange to their ears.”
“They do not like me, Papa. I know it,” Miguel said sadly. “Three days ago, when I first went to the school, they were very nice to me. I thought that they were my friends, but now I know that they are not. I would never, never laugh at someone who makes mistakes, especially if it was someone that I liked.”
His father laid a hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “Do you remember the story I read to you from the Bible—the one about King Solomon and how he asked God for only one thing?”
“I remember,” Miguel replied. “He asked to have an understanding heart.”
“Exactly,” Miguel’s father said, smiling. “This great king knew that when the heart understands, a man is indeed rich. Perhaps that is what my son needs, an understanding heart.”
Miguel looked at his father. “I do not know what you mean, Papa.”
His father’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Perhaps you will,” he said. “Tonight I would like for you to come to my Spanish class.”
“Can I really come to the class and listen to you teach the Americanos?”
“Yes,” Papa said, “but only if you go to school—now!”
“Good-bye, Papa!” Miguel shouted as he picked up his books and scurried off to school.
It did not seem possible to Miguel that only three months ago he and his parents had left the country of his birth. Papa had been a professor of English at a school there. Here he worked in a supermarket during the day and taught Spanish to grownups at night.
As he came into class, Miguel’s teacher smiled warmly at him. “Good morning, Miss Smith,” Miguel said slowly, trying to pronounce each word correctly. The day before, this simple greeting had made the entire class laugh at him.
As Miss Smith said, “Good morning, Miguel,” she looked around warningly at the other children. Miguel remembered that at the end of class yesterday Miss Smith had asked everyone but him to stay for a few moments. He had felt a little hurt at not being included, but now he realized that she must have talked to them about laughing at his English. He lowered his head and went quietly to his seat.
Miguel tried very hard not to make mistakes in speaking English, but he said “leg” when he meant to say “arm” and “left” when he meant “right.”
But no one laughed or even smiled.
That evening after supper Miguel went to Papa’s class. It amazed him that grownups should find it hard to learn Spanish. Surely it is the easiest of languages to speak, he thought. It is English that is difficult!
After greeting the class, Papa read a sentence from a textbook: “‘Where are you going today?’” Then he said to one of the students “Now, Mr. Robins, please translate that sentence into Spanish.”
How simple the lessons are, Miguel thought. Anyone would know that the translation is “A dónde va usted hoy?”
But that was not what Mr. Robins said. Mr. Robins said, “De dónde … ve … usted ayer?”
Miguel felt a big bubble of laughter building up inside him. Then it broke out, and he laughed and laughed.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, his laughter stopped. A feeling of deep shame washed over him. He had done the same terrible thing to Mr. Robins that the children in school had done to him!
But there was no look of anger or hurt feelings on Mr. Robins’s face. Instead, he was smiling. So were the other students. The smiles became grins, and suddenly the room seemed to explode with laughter, with Mr. Robins laughing hardest of all! “What did I say?” he asked Miguel’s father.
“You said, ‘From where do you see yesterday?’” Papa smiled. “A very strange question, indeed.”
There was another burst of laughter.
After class was over, Papa put his hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “You see, Miguelito,” he said, “when one has the understanding heart, one can never be laughed at. Tonight we laughed with Mr. Robins. That is because he joined in the laughter. The person who has grown up in his heart does not get angry at his friends for small things. He understands that his friends do not mean to hurt him.”
Miguel thought about that for a while. He decided that tomorrow he would ask Miss Smith to let him speak to the class. He would tell them how sorry he was that he had misjudged them. He would tell them how he had laughed at Mr. Robins’s Spanish and that it would not hurt his feelings anymore if they laughed with him as he learned English. And he would laugh with them, for they really were his friends.

In 1918 Brother George Goates was a farmer who raised sugar beets in Lehi, Utah. Winter came early that year and froze much of his beet crop in the ground. For George and his young son Francis, the harvest was slow and difficult. Meanwhile, an influenza epidemic was raging. The dreaded disease claimed the lives of George’s son Charles and three of Charles’s small children—two little girls and a boy. In the course of only six days, a grieving George Goates made three separate trips to Ogden, Utah, to bring the bodies home for burial. At the end of this terrible interlude, George and Francis hitched up their wagon and headed back to the beet field.
“[On the way] they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break, George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’
“On the last wagon was … freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George.’
“[Brother Goates] turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’
“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as [his father] drove onto the field. [George] pulled up, stopped the team, … and scanned the field. … There wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George!’
“[George] got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then … a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Then [he] sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.
“Then he arose, wiped his eyes, … looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”

A new animal was coming to live in the zoo, and the other animals were excited. One morning a big truck backed up to an empty cage, and out stepped the new animal. The zookeeper hung a sign outside the cage that said “ZELMGID.”

The other animals stared in amazement. The zelmgid did not look like any animal that they had ever seen. He had a long neck and a long tail, and when he opened his mouth, he barked. One by one the other animals turned away from the cage. Because the zelmgid was so different, they were not sure how to treat him.

The zelmgid was very lonely. The animals ignored him, so he had no one to talk to. He was so sad that he didn’t eat. The zookeeper began to worry. People stopped visiting the zoo because the new animal was sad and the other animals hid in the backs of their cages.

One day the elephant heard the zelmgid barking to himself. “The zelmgid does have a good trunk,” he told the giraffe. “It’s not as long as mine, but it’s really quite nice.”

The giraffe stretched her neck to take a closer look. “Look at his strong neck. He can reach as high as I can.”

The lion was looking quietly at the new animal’s mane. “My goodness! He has an excellent mane—almost as thick as mine.”

Just then the zebra trotted by the cage. “His coat has a very nice pattern,” she said.

“And his horns are curved just right,” the ibex said, “just like mine.”

When the monkey came swinging from the trees, he said, “Look at that handsome tail. I wonder if the zelmgid would like to play tag?”

Finally the duck waddled by the cage. “What fine feet you have. You probably can swim faster than I can,” she said to him.

The zelmgid stopped crying and thanked the duck for the compliment. Soon all the animals were talking together. They felt much happier. Even though the zelmgid looked different, the other animals had all found something about the new animal that they liked.

On a recent trip to New Zealand, I met with a mission president who wore a beautiful tie tack with the inspiring CTR, or “Choose the Right,” emblem. I had the impression that there must be a story behind this unique pin. When I returned home, I wrote him a thank-you letter and asked him about his tie tack. I received this answer:
“You are very perceptive. Yes, there is a story. I have a number of tie tacks I really prize. They have been gifts from my children, my wife, and friends. However, I choose to wear this silver shield inlaid with lovely blue turquoise, with the inspiring CTR emblem of our Primary.
“Why? I suppose it started back when I was a bishop. I had an interview with a good-looking young man who was to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. He told me a special story. One day after school, he and some of his friends found a package of cigarettes. They lit up, and the young man said as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out and made a very wise choice never ever to do such a thing again. He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for. From this story I gained a special love for the CTR emblem.
“Now for the story of how I received the CTR tie tack. A few weeks before coming to New Zealand as a mission president, I was in the Kayenta Ward in Arizona. As I was saying some tender farewells to many of my Navajo friends, a remarkable young Navajo bishop gave me a big hug, then removed his tie tack and pinned it on my tie. He asked me not to forget him.
“Now here in New Zealand, the last thing I do every morning as I dress for this great calling is to pin my tie with this beautiful silver and turquoise CTR emblem. I love it! It helps this old boilermaker make the right choices throughout the day. I know it also helps fulfill the prophetic promise made to my wife and me by President Gordon B. Hinckley as he set us apart.
“He said words to this effect: ‘You will have an instant bonding of love for every missionary in your mission.’ I can’t tell you how many times a missionary, during a visit, has said something like this: ‘President Gardner, I love your tie tack.’ And then he or she will show me their CTR ring.
“I believe that Navajo bishop was inspired to give me the tie tack and that I make the right decision every day when I choose to wear it. And the beautiful blue and silver CTR pin is helping bond me to a royal army of missionaries in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.
“I appreciate the opportunity of relating to you my special experience associated with this great Primary children’s motto, ‘Choose the Right.’”

In the summer when Spencer was five, his father gave to him and Alice [Spencer’s sister] a patch of planted potatoes. When Spencer had dug them with a garden fork and Alice had cleaned them, Spencer put on clean overalls, Alice a dress, and off they went with a box of potatoes in Spencer’s red wagon. The potatoes sold, Spencer and Alice returned home jubilant. Andrew [their father] listened to them count their money, then said: “That’s capital! Now what will you do with the money?” The children answered: ice cream, candy, Christmas presents. Andrew gently said: “… The Lord has been kind to us. We planted and cultivated and harvested, but the earth is the Lord’s. He sent the moisture and the sunshine. One-tenth we always give back to the Lord for His part.”

“Pa made no requirement.” Spencer remembered, “He merely explained it so convincingly that we felt it an honor and privilege to pay tithing.” (Page 32.)

My best friend Emily and I were two of the six members of the Church at my high school in Indiana. At an activity, we were invited to think of someone in our lives we could share the gospel with. To our surprise, we both immediately thought of the same person—our English teacher. We were nervous to share it with an authority figure, but we decided to act on the prompting and give him a Book of Mormon. It was summer, so we sent it to him in the mail with our testimonies written on the inside cover.
When the school year started a few weeks later, we walked into his class apprehensively. But he didn’t say anything that first day. Or the second day. Or the day after that. We wondered if he was just going to act like nothing happened or if he even got our package at all, but we were too afraid to ask. Finally, about a week and a half later, he handed us a card. When we opened it, we read that he was respectful with his thank you, but we were disappointed to realize that he wasn’t interested in learning more. Though I’m still not sure why we both felt that prompting, I know that it was the right decision to act on it and send him the Book of Mormon.
Carli C., Utah, USA

Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler,by Heinrich Hofmann
I was reading my scriptures one day when, for about the hundredth time, I read that Christ was the Father and the Son. Having been raised in the Church, I know that God and Jesus Christ are two separate beings. I had always been confused when the scriptures referred to Christ as the Father, but I never had tried to figure out what it meant. However, for some reason, this time I really wanted to know. I went and asked my mom if she knew, but she didn’t either. We researched it, using the scriptures and an article called “The Father and the Son,” which was published by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1916 and reprinted in the April 2002 Ensign.
We already knew that Christ is the Son because He is the Son of God. We learned He is called the Father for at least three reasons: because He is the Creator (or “Father”) of the earth, because we take upon us the name of Christ when we are baptized (just like a baby takes his or her father’s name), and because Christ does His Father’s will, which means He has the authority of the Father and is therefore called Father. That explained why the scriptures sometimes refer to Christ as both the Father and the Son. I know that God loves us and wants us to understand things, so He blessed my mom and me so that we were able to understand the scriptures.

The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in an 11-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.” After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attend church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined.

When the temptations of the teen years came along, I already had firm faith in Jesus Christ, which gave me strength to overcome these temptations. I could see how Satan tempted my peers with worldly things and how small compromises led to bigger ones. It was hard to stand for my principles, but the connection I had with my Father in Heaven through prayer helped me stay away from temptations. I had decided to live by the principles of the plan of salvation. I knew without a doubt that one day I was going to be blessed.