Gospel Story Finder

One Sunday when leaving for church, our car would not start. We lived in Germany, far from our chapel and other members. My wife and I each offered a prayer for help, but still the car wouldn’t start. I suggested that perhaps we should rely on the faith of a child. We asked our three-year old son, David, if he would say a prayer.
“Heavenly Father, please bless the car to start,” he said simply but firmly.
We turned the key, and the engine started right up! We were grateful that day for David’s faith. It was pure, simple, and true.

Thanks for volunteering at our animal shelter! Are you ready to help some animals?
Yes!
This is going to be fun. Great idea, Margo!
Thanks! Helping animals makes me happy.
I’m glad! Jesus Christ made all living things. We need to take care of His creations.
That’s why I want to be a veterinarian when I grow up!
Now it’s time to go home and take care of our pet.
Kiwi must be hungry!
Illustrations by Katie McDee

On a dark, snowy Christmas night in 1776, the soldiers of Gen. George Washington’s army left their shelters and went down to the banks of the Delaware River. The men slipped and stumbled through ice and snow. Some of them had no boots. Others had clothing so thin that they were almost naked. All of them were hungry.
The 2,400 men in Washington’s command were soaked by an icy rain as they waited for the boats that had been assembled. This was the night that the “Old Fox” had planned to surprise the enemy forces across the river in Trenton, New Jersey. These soldiers were Hessian troops, well-trained German mercenaries hired by the British to put an end to the American Revolution.
The Delaware River was filled with fast-moving chunks of ice, but Washington had to take his small boats across anyway. In a few days the river would freeze solid again, and the Hessian soldiers would march across the ice to capture Philadelphia where the Declaration of Independence had been signed just six months earlier. The benefits gained by the brave words of that document were close to being lost.
As he watched his men, General Washington carefully reviewed his plans. It had only been a week since he had decided to try to surprise the enemy. Final plans for the crossing had been checked by his lieutenants the night before—Christmas Eve. He had kept his men parading around during the day to deceive any British spies who may have been watching. Now it was time to go.
Experienced sailor-fishermen from Marble Head, Massachusetts, used all of their skill to maneuver the boats that had been hidden behind some weed-covered islands. One of his officers wrote: “I have never seen Washington so determined as he is now. He stands on the bank of the river, wrapped in his cloak, superintending the loading of his troops.”
The men filed aboard the boats, but the snow was biting into their eyes and faces and the loading was going more slowly than planned. When the boats were ready, Washington took his place among his men, to lead them across the dangerous waters.
The swirling river and fast-moving pieces of ice threatened time and again to overturn the heavily laden boats as the sailors fought their way across. At long last, waiting patriots waded into the water to help pull the boats safely ashore on the New Jersey side of the river. The first crossing had been successful!
Back and forth the boats crossed the Delaware, bringing Washington’s men safely together, but the general was deeply troubled. If they were to surprise the enemy, they had to march out by midnight and the crossing was going to last much later than that.
It was after 2 A.M. when the troops began to march toward Trenton. Dawn was not far away and it would be broad daylight when the army reached Trenton. The element of surprise was in danger of being lost.
The snow changed to sleet and cut the men like a knife. General Greene, who was leading one column of troops, sent a message to Washington, “Muskets wet and can’t be fired.” Washington replied, “Use your bayonets then. The town must be taken.” But many of the men had no bayonets!
The troops arrived at Trenton at eight o’clock. No one tried to stop them. The Hessians had been celebrating the holiday far into the night and many still slept, some in a drunken state.
The surprise attack was entirely successful and the enemy soldiers quickly routed. In just two hours the Americans took control of the whole town. Twenty or thirty Hessians were killed and more than nine hundred prisoners were taken. The revolutionists had gained a complete victory without a single death in the battle!
The “Old Fox” had hit the enemy where they least expected it and so alarmed them that they fled from many outposts during the next few days. Most importantly, Washington had demonstrated that the cause of the colonies was far from finished. Confidence in the Continental army was restored among the colonies and their allies. It was with new hope and determination that the patriots went forth to fight—and win—the War of Independence.

As a youth I had many opportunities to perform baptisms for the dead in the San Diego California Temple. Though I always had a good experience, one trip in particular stands out in my mind.
I was 16, and my little sister had just turned 12 and was making her first trip to do baptisms for the dead. Since it was her first time, we decided to walk around the outside of the temple after we finished.
The temple grounds have a couple of lookout points on one side, so we walked over there. Because the San Diego Temple is situated next to a busy highway, when you stand at a lookout point, you actually look down at the freeway.
Standing on the temple’s higher ground that day gave me a new perspective on life. I was looking down at the world with its whizzing cars, crowded shopping centers, and graffiti-covered road signs.
It was then that the thought came to my mind: “You don’t want to be a part of that; it’s not what life is about.” I had always been taught that the purpose of life is to return to live with our Heavenly Father and become like Him. I knew I didn’t need the things of the world to accomplish that purpose.
I turned around and looked at the beautiful temple, and I was grateful for the knowledge of the gospel and the perspective it gave me. I knew that in the midst of the chaotic and treacherous world, I had found higher ground to stand on.
That day at the temple I promised my Heavenly Father that I would always stand on His side and not the world’s. No matter what the world throws at us, we can overcome it by keeping the covenants we have made and by standing in holy places (see D&C 87:8).

I have a friend named Jake, who, although he is not LDS, is a strong Christian. This past year we often chatted on Facebook. Jake often asks me questions about our religion, and I will use the scripture masteries to help him understand our beliefs. Jake believes in the Bible, so I often share a Bible scripture mastery and then share a Book of Mormon scripture that goes along with it.
One time he asked a question about our view of heaven. I was able to share the plan of salvation with him and refer to 1 Corinthians 15:40–42 to help him understand. By using the scripture mastery verses, I helped Jake to understand that we believe in the Bible.
Through the Internet I’ve shared the gospel and my own personal testimony of the Church. Jake often posts religious videos on Facebook and asks me to watch them. Afterwards, we discuss it, and a few times I’ve linked him to the Mormon Messages channel on YouTube.
Computers can be used for harm. However, we can and should use computers to share the gospel with friends and family.

Another quality my father taught me was that of trustworthiness. When I was just barely a teenager, he would send me into town on errands. He never said, “Now remember, don’t go any further; don’t ruin the truck,” etc. He just said, “Could you get me some silage?” And I went and got the silage. It didn’t even dawn on me until years later that maybe I could have taken a spin up around the foothills or gone on into Salina and had some fun!

A few years ago I was assigned to the Tampa Stake conference in Florida. I had to change planes in Chicago. As I boarded the plane after making the change, I found that I had been assigned a seat next to a young lady who was very busily engaged in reading the newspaper. When I sat down, I did not disturb her. But all at once she said, “This is disgusting.”
I replied, “What is disgusting?”
She said, “The point of view that so many people have today that they should look to the government to satisfy every want and need.”
I responded, “You must be a Mormon.”
“No, I’m not a Mormon,” she replied, “but I have heard about the welfare program of the Mormon Church, and I think it is just wonderful.”
This too provided an opportunity to explain the gospel. Before I reached my destination, she had given me her name and address and permission to send her a copy of the Book of Mormon, some Church welfare pamphlets, and other Church literature.

From the time I was a little girl living in Brazil, I dreamed of accomplishing great things. But I was very shy and insecure. I felt incapable of doing anything important. Because of my shyness, I was often misunderstood by others and failed at most projects I attempted.
As the years went by, I felt an increasing urgency to leave the anonymity in which I had hidden myself. I knew that God expected something of me, but I did not know what. And though I sensed that there was a way—a path—out of my inadequacy, I did not know where to find it.
When I married and gave birth to two sons, I became even more worried about finding that path; I had my children’s future to think of now, too. What would they do when they grew up? What could I teach them? All I had to share were the experiences of a shy person who had failed many times.
Then came the day that two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door. As they taught us, I began to see a path to a better future. But I still had to find out if it was the right path. It was a difficult decision because, in the beginning, my husband didn’t want to join the Church. After we had received the discussions, we decided to wait to be baptized. But we still continued attending the Church’s activities.
Two years later, my older son was in an accident, and I was reminded how fragile life is and how important it is to prepare for eternity. I decided that I was going to join the Church. When my husband realized I had made a firm decision, he also decided to be baptized. And thus, on 26 June 1976, the four of us were baptized members of the Church.
I had found the path I had been looking for. I knew I had a Heavenly Father who had given me talents and wanted me to develop them. I found myself loved by people who accepted me the way I was and who taught me how to grow as a person, as a mother, and as a wife. I knew that I had a Father who expected something from me and that I could no longer hide behind my shyness.

I have always loved the story of the son of King Louis XVI of France because he had an unshakable knowledge of his identity. As a young man, he was kidnapped by evil men who had dethroned his father, the king. These men knew that if they could destroy him morally, he would not be heir to the throne. For six months they subjected him to every vile thing life had to offer, and yet he never yielded under pressure. This puzzled his captors, and after doing everything they could think of, they asked him why he had such great moral strength. His reply was simple. He said, “I cannot do what you ask, for I was born to be a king.”12

At the age of 17, my grandfather left Denmark to find a new life in America. He worked his way to Mendon, Utah, where his uncle lived. He was employed by his uncle to help him with his farming. After some period of time, he came to his uncle and said: “You Mormons are a funny people. I have worked with you for many months, and not once have you tried to tell me anything about your religion or invited me to attend church with you.” His uncle asked him if he would like to know something about it, and he answered affirmatively. So his uncle told him about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. He gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon to read. After doing some reading in the book, my grandfather gave it back to his uncle and said, “I don’t see anything in that book that has much value to me.” The next day he was out plowing the field, and his thoughts turned to the story his uncle had told him about the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. He thought in his mind that no young man with limited education could have produced such a book. Maybe he should give it a second look. He asked his uncle if he could borrow the book again. This time he could not put it down. The Spirit burned within him that this book was true. He asked for baptism and remained active throughout his entire life.

It was beginning to get dark, and the softly falling snow was blanketing the busy New York streets. Tired office workers and shoppers rushed to the waiting horse-drawn streetcars. A driver viciously whipped the tired, thin horses forward, and the miserable animals, cold and hungry, struggled to pull the overfilled cars through the slippery streets.
Suddenly Henry Bergh, a tall, handsome gentleman in a black silk hat, stood on the tracks in front of the departing streetcar and ordered the driver to stop and unload the passengers. When the driver resisted, Bergh pulled him out of the car and threw him into a snowbank. Then Bergh unhitched the overworked, underfed horses. This action caused many streetcars to be stalled behind the first, now horseless, car. Bergh then stopped a car going in another direction.
The “man in the black hat” had been trying for many months to get the streetcar companies to treat their horses more humanely. He wanted them to assign more horses to each car and to not allow too many passengers on a car so that the horses wouldn’t have to work so hard. But no one at the companies would listen to him. Now, finally, after he had blocked traffic for two hours, at least one company listened! Henry Bergh had won a victory. A car was sent out with four horses pulling it, and the streetcar company agreed to treat its horses more kindly.
Henry Bergh was born in 1813, a time when life was extremely hard for many animals. Even when he was a child, and later, as a young man traveling through Europe, he felt sad to see the way many animals, particularly horses, were being treated. Then, while serving as an American diplomat in Russia, he began to speak out for the rights of horses. Whenever he noticed a peasant beating his horse, Bergh would order the peasant to stop beating it at once.
On his way home from Russia, this friend of animals stopped in England, where he observed the work of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. From that time on, Bergh was determined to form a similar organization in America to protect animals there. He began to talk to people about animals’ rights, he sought support for his views among his influential friends, he used his money as well as his diplomacy, and eventually he got some animal protection laws passed. In 1866 he and his supporters formed the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, generally known as the SPCA.
Although a lot of people did not take Bergh and the work of the SPCA seriously—they laughed at him, and the newspapers made fun of him—he and his friends continued to give speeches on street corners. They wanted people to know just how badly animals were being treated.
Finally the public started listening to Bergh and his supporters, who not only showed people how horses were being mistreated but also showed them the unsanitary barns where dairy cows lived. City people were upset when they saw the dirty dairy barns and the starving cows. As a result, Bergh and his followers got regulations passed that ensured that dairy cows were well fed and that barns were kept clean. Better conditions not only made the cows more comfortable but also helped make their milk safer to drink.
Bergh fought for the rights of not just horses and cows but also of dogs, sheep, and other animals. He believed that all animals were important, including those on their way to slaughterhouses. He later extended his care and concern to abused children, founding the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.
When Bergh died in 1888, he was greatly respected. His life had been devoted to improved treatment of animals and children and to the SPCA, which he helped organize. Today the SPCA is still actively carrying on the work of its caring founder, Henry Bergh, friend of animals.

Derek snapped on his life preserver and pulled out his sunglasses as the boat sped up. He liked to feel the wind whip through his hair as the boat made ripples in the calm lake. The afternoon looked perfect for a fishing trip. The sun shone brightly, and the smooth water reflected the trees standing along the shore.
Dad had invited Brother Taylor and his two children, Hannah and Jake, to come along, too. Dad had asked 11-year-old Derek to help look after the children since they were only six and four. All afternoon, Brother Taylor helped Hannah and Jake hold tiny fishing poles while Derek and Dad baited their hooks. Derek had fun, even though he didn’t catch any fish himself.
When the sun rolled behind a cloud, Dad looked up at the sky and pressed his lips together in thought. “We don’t have much sunlight left,” he said.
“Good,” Brother Taylor replied. “The fishing’s better when it starts to get dark.”
“The fishing’s better, but driving the boat isn’t,” Dad said. “The lake can be dangerous in the dark. We should stay for only a few more minutes.”
The lake looked peaceful and still as the sky grew darker. Soon, the fish began to bite. After Jake and Brother Taylor had each caught a fish, Dad started the engine.
“Time to go,” he said.
Derek found a huge red towel and wrapped it around Hannah and Jake like a blanket. The air felt crisp now that the sun had melted into the mountaintops.
Dad slowly steered the boat back to the shore as the darkness grew. The boat had two little lights at the front, but they weren’t very bright. “I wonder if Dad can see anything at all,” Derek thought. He didn’t like being out on the lake in the dark. The lapping of the water against the boat sounded creepy, and the air felt cold now. He wished they would go faster.
Suddenly, Dad pulled back on the throttle and the boat drifted to a stop.
“Why are we stopping?” Derek asked.
Dad didn’t respond. He pulled a flashlight out of the glove box and shined it in front of the boat. Directly ahead of them, Derek saw a rock sticking up out of the water. Dad slowly turned the boat and drove around it.
Derek held his breath. They had almost crashed into that rock!
When they reached the dock, Dad patted Derek’s knee.
“That was close,” Derek whispered.
Dad nodded. “I saw that rock this afternoon, but I didn’t think much about it,” he said. “In the light, I could have seen it from far away, but I couldn’t see it at all in the dark. All of a sudden, something inside told me to stop the boat. I didn’t see the rock until after we had stopped. If I had waited until I saw it, it would have been too late.”
Derek’s eyes widened.
“Thankfully, the Holy Ghost could see what I could not.” Dad smiled. “He was looking out for us, and I am glad I listened to Him.”
Derek felt glad, too. A warm feeling rushed through him. He felt safe and calm knowing that Dad had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Derek knew that if he, too, listened for the still, small voice, he would know what to do—even when he couldn’t see the way.

After that experience, the temple was one of her favorite topics. “Chris, isn’t the temple a beautiful place? That’s where I’ll get married someday. I’ve promised myself that.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting married there either,” I said. “It’s really no different than a cathedral.”
“It is different. When two people are married in the temple, they’re married forever.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ve always believed that true love lasts forever.”
Liz grew very serious. “You don’t understand. Only active members of the Church are allowed in the temple. You wouldn’t be allowed to enter.” She explained again that when her time came, she would be married in the temple. No other place was acceptable for her.
“But what if you really love a guy who’s not LDS?” I asked. “If you really love someone, it shouldn’t matter where you get married. All that matters is that you’re together and you’re in love.”
“If two people really love each other,” she answered shaking her head, “they’d never settle for anything less than an eternal relationship.” She paused and looked me in the eye. “I never would.”
As we neared the end of our senior year, we had many arguments about temple marriage. Liz maintained that she’d never marry outside of the temple. I argued that, in true love, the ceremony was not important. Love was eternal regardless of the type of marriage.
The more we discussed it, the more she talked about the temple and how special it was. I was confounded. It was obvious that we were falling in love, yet Liz wouldn’t budge on her temple marriage hang-up. I felt positive that if our love matured, she would eventually give in and agree to be married anywhere. I was wrong.
One afternoon at school, Liz met me at our locker. Her eyes were tearfully red, and her voice was taut with emotion. “Chris, I’ve decided that we can’t see each other anymore. We can’t go out again—ever.”
Her words stunned me. “What do you mean? Look, I don’t care what your parents think …”
She looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. “It’s not my parents. It’s me. I can’t allow myself to date you. I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
“Liz, you’re just upset. Why don’t we just talk this out like we’ve always done? You’ll feel better in a little while.”
She backed away from me. “No, I’ve made up my mind,” she sobbed. “I can’t afford to see you again!” She pressed a shiny black paperback into my hands and ran down the hall.
We stopped seeing each other. Liz started going out with LDS guys, and I moped around campus. I thought about the many discussions we’d had. What was it that made her so stubborn about a temple marriage? Why wouldn’t she compromise? What made her so special?
Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

I was ten years old when my grandfather, Elder Melvin J. Ballard, died. Grandfather Ballard was an Apostle. As a young boy, I didn’t fully appreciate what it meant to be an Apostle, but I understood that he was a great missionary.
While my grandmother was expecting her first child, Grandfather Ballard was called on a mission in the United States. He was sent to the Midwest, and he provided music at missionary meetings at which he, Brother B. H. Roberts, and Brother George Pyper taught the gospel. When Brother Roberts and Brother Pyper went back to Salt Lake City, Utah, Grandfather was left alone in Illinois. He was discouraged and lonely. He missed his wife and his firstborn son—my father—who was born after he left. Then he came across the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go.”* He had a beautiful baritone voice, and he sang that hymn often.
When he became a member of the Council of the Twelve, he was put in charge of the Music Committee of the Church. When the hymnbook was updated in 1927, he saw to it that “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go” was included. I think that this hymn has the greatest missionary message of any of our hymns. It has affected my life much the same as it did my grandfather’s. My commitment to go wherever the Lord wants me to go has taken me to almost every corner of the earth. As a General Authority, I have visited Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin America, the United States, Canada, and Russia. Truly the commitment to be a missionary has prepared me for a lifetime of service to the Lord.

Or the time I attended an Especially for Youth conference. I had heard rumors of girls dancing every dance with boys from all over the country. Knowing there would be a dance at the beginning, middle, and end of the week, I was ready to have the time of my life! The fact that there were two or three girls for every boy at my session that year left my hopes shattered when I went home having only been asked to dance once the entire week.

The word come is an invitation. It suggests movement from one place to another. Taylor A. knows well the meaning of this word.
Taylor is bright, joyful, and full of the Spirit, but she would be quick to tell you that those words did not describe her two years ago. She has moved to a different place now, spiritually and physically. She is a pioneer.
“I’ve been a pioneer in my life,” she said, “because I’m a recent convert. And my journey has just been amazing. I just feel like it’s a whole new life. And once we take that first step in our journey, miracles happen.”
Not only does Taylor understand the invitation to come—she knows the source of the invitation. She observed, “In our world, we’re so disconnected with what got us here, right? We are so caught up in our jobs and technology, and a message that’s really been hitting me lately is putting Christ first. If we just connect to really what the pioneers did—[they were] centered in Christ.”
Follow is another invitation. On the pioneer trek, Ethan G. gained a greater understanding of this word. “Sometimes I haven’t felt the best on trek, or I’ve felt kind of discouraged,” he admitted. “But I realize that the pioneers also felt that way.”
Ethan used to wonder why the early pioneers were willing to do what they did. He said, “I feel like I might have just given up. But as I’ve thought about that, I kind of realized that it’s because they loved the Savior, and they have a hope they can become better through Him. I want to try that too.”
Before Ethan went on the trek, he read about pioneers from the past, felt a connection with them, and was inspired by their faith to follow Jesus Christ. And what is Ethan doing now? He is preparing to receive a call to serve as a full-time missionary. True to President Monson’s counsel, he is getting ready to show others the way to follow.
Where should we come? Who should we follow? The Savior tells us: “Come, follow me” (Luke 18:22; emphasis added). When Harmony left home for trek, she saw the Lord’s hand in her experience. She knew she was following Him.
Harmony’s path to her stake trek was different from others’ paths. At age 15 she learned that she had a rare form of skin cancer. She wasn’t able to participate in her stake trek. “I was devastated,” she recalled.
Four years later, when her stake announced another trek, Harmony was free of cancer. But at age 19, she thought she wouldn’t be able to go. Then she received a calling to participate as a leader. She said, “It’s a testimony to me that the Lord knows who we are, and He knows the desires of our hearts, and if they’re righteous and good, He’ll bless us.”
Harmony offered advice to help us when we face trials: “To anyone who’s struggling, I’d say just to lean on the Lord. He’s always there for you. He loves us, and He won’t let us fall. We just need to reach out our hand to Him, and He will help us on our pioneer journey.”
If you never go on a pioneer trek, you can still be a pioneer. You don’t have to wear a bonnet or pull a handcart. You just need to follow Jesus Christ, as the early pioneers did. In doing so, you will be, as President Monson said, “one who goes before to prepare or open up the way for others to follow.”
If you do have an opportunity to go on a pioneer trek, enjoy it! And when it’s over and you leave your handcart behind, don’t leave your pioneer testimony inside it. Bring that testimony with you.
You are a real-life, modern-day pioneer. With the ultimate Pioneer—the Savior—as your guide, you are sure to succeed!

Thirteen-year-old Florence Onyejekwe reached her usual spot in the crowded outdoor market in Onitsha, Nigeria. The street was packed with sellers calling out to busy shoppers. Women balanced bundles on their heads as they walked. School had just ended for the holidays, and Florence knew her friends were enjoying the break from class. But Florence spent her holidays selling bitter leaf here at the market. It was her only chance to earn money for her school fees.
Florence did not complain, though. After all, her mother spent long hours at the market every day selling yams to buy food for the family. Mama worked so hard. Her parents both did. But without an education, there was only so much they could do. Florence was almost finished with primary school. Perhaps if she could continue her schooling, she could get a good-paying job and help her family.
When she returned home, Florence asked her parents, “Do you think I could go to secondary school? And maybe university?”
Mama looked at Nnam (Dad) and shook her head. “University costs so much more than we have,” said Nnam. Florence looked down at her shoes. She didn’t want Mama and Nnam to see how disappointed she was.
A few days later, Florence stopped at the hospital to pick up some medicine. The hospital was almost as busy as the market, though not as loud. Florence stared at the nurses in their crisp, white caps. She pictured herself in a uniform like that, helping the sick and taking care of babies in a big hospital. Perhaps she could become a nurse.
Florence knew her parents were right—getting an education would be hard. But Florence knew how to work hard. She decided to try.
No matter how many chores filled her day, Florence made time to study. She passed the tests for secondary school, and Nnam borrowed enough money for her to go. Later she found out the government would help pay for her nursing school! Her dream was within reach.
But when it came time to begin nursing school, Florence felt a little doubt. What if nursing was too hard? What if she was lonely? Florence bowed her head and prayed, Dear God, please give me the strength to go to nursing school and work hard.
At nursing school, Florence learned to give medicine and keep tools clean from germs. Sometimes her patients got better, but sometimes they didn’t. Florence prayed often for courage. After three long years, Florence graduated with the award for best student. Her dream had come true! She got to wear the white nurse’s cap, and she was able to earn money to help her family.

There is a much repeated story by Russell Conwell about acres of diamonds:
Ali Hafid, an ancient Persian, owned much land, many productive fields, with orchards, gardens, and money out at interest. He had a lovely family and was content because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was content.
An old priest came to Ali Hafid and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his, and Ali Hafid said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”
The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs over white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands, you will always find diamonds.”
“Well,” said Ali Hafid, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm, collected his money that was at interest, left his family in charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds, and he traveled through many lands.
The man who purchased Ali Hafid’s farm led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, Ali Hafid’s successor noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone, containing a strange eye of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafid’s successor and found that in the black stone, containing a strange eye of light, was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. Thus were discovered the diamond mines of Golconda, which were the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world. So, had Ali Hafid remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields rather than traveling in strange lands, he would have had acres of diamonds.

One hot summer day our family decided that the best way to enjoy the afternoon would be to go to the mountains. Long on our list of things to do together was a trip to a nearby cave. After we had gotten our hiking gear together, a lunch was packed.
We set out on our journey with anticipation and soon found ourselves in the refreshing coolness of the mountains. At the cave we were greeted by a park ranger, who became our guide. He told us that originally there were three caves, discovered separately, but that now the caves were joined together by man-made passageways. We noticed that there were many levels of interesting rock formations, some of which remained unexplored. Pointing to a slight opening at the side of the trail, the ranger commented that there were two unpenetrated caverns below the path on which we stood. He said, “We hope to explore both of these some day, but as yet we haven’t found a satisfactory way to get in and out of those lower caves.”
Ducking our heads to avoid contact with sharp-edged rocks, we walked along a narrow, slippery path with the unknown leading off in every direction. In order to keep our balance, it was often necessary for us to grip an iron pipe attached to the cave wall alongside the trail.
I had fallen to the end of the group to take some pictures with my camera, when suddenly the electric lights in the cave went out. Whether this was part of a demonstration to a group ahead of us or an unexpected power failure, I don’t know. Far ahead of me our guide raised his voice and it echoed back along the narrow passage. “Be calm, everyone; I’m sure the lights will come on momentarily. Everybody please stay on the trail and hold onto the railing.” His flashlight made only a tiny spark of yellow in the distance.
I had a strong mental image of the many jagged holes and side passages breaking off and down from the place where we stood. A person could get lost in one of these and never be seen again, I worried. To relax, I leaned against the slanted wall of rock. Feeling along the wall with my fingers, I found the iron railing. With the park ranger ahead and by holding onto the railing, we should be able to get out of here, I decided, even if the power isn’t restored.
An excited murmur of voices rose from the group ahead of me, but it soon subsided. We all seemed to sense that as long as we stayed on the trail and followed the advice of the guide, who had been over the path before, there would be no danger. There was no fear because we could hear his voice and feel the railing firmly fixed to the rocky wall of the cave.
After a few minutes the lights came on and we were able to continue our tour and view the wondrous beauty of the cave. But what would have happened if someone had abandoned the trail or let go of the railing? What if anyone had tried to get out by himself by feeling his way along the cave floor in the dark? What chance would any of us have had of getting out without the railing or without the ranger?
There have been many other exciting and memorable family outings, and each one has taught lessons of love, understanding, and cooperation. But on that long-ago day when I held tightly to a damp iron railing in a dark cave, I learned a lesson in faith that I have never forgotten.

Close to the home where I lived as a child was a large house. It was located on beautiful grounds, enclosed by what was to me a towering fence made of wood paneling, probably six feet in height. I recall peeping through holes in the panels where knots of wood had dropped out. It was like looking through a telescope into a different world. The beautifully manicured lawns, the well-kept flower gardens, and a small orchard provided an idyllic setting for the distinctive dwelling. Unfortunately, the opportunity to enjoy the view was always brief due to the vigilant British bulldog that patrolled the gardens and was immediately attracted to anyone standing close to the exterior of the fencing. Even though the fierce dog was confined in the garden, the sound of his sniffing as he approached the fence caused me to retreat in fear as my vivid imagination conjured up a variety of possibilities.
Mr. and Mrs. Lyons, who lived in the home, were schoolteachers. They had a dignified demeanor and seemed to enjoy the privacy that the house setting afforded them. To add to the intrigue, Mr. Lyons had no right hand, using instead a steel hook that protruded below the cuff of his jacket. In my boyish mind, I could imagine Mr. Lyons pursuing me, catching me by the collar with the hook, and taking me captive.
I recall an August morning when I was 10 or 11 years old, following a night of unusually strong winds, being greeted by friends as I left my home. They were obviously excited by something and inquired, “Did you hear the wind last night?”
When I said that I had, they proceeded to tell me what they had discovered—that the wind had blown down sections of the fencing surrounding the Lyonses’ home. I could not understand why this would cause so much excitement and asked them to explain the significance.
They responded with even greater enthusiasm: “We have access to the apple trees!”
I was still very cautious and asked, “But what about Mr. Lyons?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Lyons are not at home; they are away visiting relatives.”
“Where is the dog?” I probed.
“The family has placed him in boarding kennels,” came the reply.
My friends had certainly carried out detailed research. So, reassured by their words, we headed for our target with all haste. Entering the grounds, we climbed trees and hurriedly plucked fruit, filling our pockets and also the space between our shirts and our bodies. My heart was pounding and my pulse racing since I feared that any moment the dog or Mr. Lyons, or both, would appear in the garden and apprehend us. We ran from the scene of our trespass to a secluded place in a nearby wooded area and, after regaining our composure, began to consume the apples.
It was August, and the apples were not yet ripe enough to eat. In fact, they had a very bitter taste, but the tartness of these green apples did not deter us as we enthusiastically consumed our spoils, acting out of a compulsion I cannot now explain. After devouring a significant number, I contented myself with taking a bite out of each remaining apple and throwing the remnants of the fruit into the nearby bushes. The frivolity diminished as our bodies began to gradually react to the invasion they had experienced. The chemical reaction between my gastric juices and the unripe apples caused me to experience stomach cramps and to feel nauseated. As I sat regretting what I had done, I realized that a feeling within me was producing even more discomfort than the unripe apples.
The greater discomfort resulted from the realization that what I had done was wrong.
When my friends had proposed that we invade the garden, I had felt uncomfortable but lacked the courage to say no and so suppressed my feelings. Now, after the deed had been accomplished, I was filled with remorse. To my regret, I had ignored the promptings warning me of the error of my actions.