Gospel Story Finder

In March of this year, my wife and I had the privilege of taking some invited guests on a tour of the new Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple during the open house prior to its dedication.
As we stood in the beautiful temple baptistry, one of these guests asked an intriguing question. He said something like this: “In our tribal traditions, our ancestors are so important to us—how is it that you connect your families together through the generations?” It was a beautiful teaching moment as we then shared how in a gift of love and service, many faithful members of the Church perform vital ordinances, such as baptisms, on behalf of loved ones who have died. We then took him to the sealing room where we showed him the altar where families are united for the eternities and had him look into the mirrors which face one another—symbolic of the eternal links made between past and future generations.
This good man had many follow up questions and left the temple deeply affected by what he had seen and felt. He eagerly took a copy of the My Family booklet so he could collect names and stories of his own ancestors. With great sincerity he expressed gratitude for being in the temple and left with a new understanding of God’s plan for eternal families and the importance of sacred temples in that plan.
Another guest was so moved by the feelings of peace he had felt while sitting reverently in the celestial room that he asked: “I am a Catholic, but can I still come back to the temple to pray with your members, because I have felt so good in this special place of worship?” We invited him to bring his family as often as he wanted during the open house but explained that coming to the temple after it had been dedicated would require him to be a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

On June 7, 1994, I was returning home by ferry with five other missionaries after a zone conference in Eastern Samar, Philippines. The night air was humid and heavy. After stowing our travel bags at our cots on the second level, four of us went to the front deck to escape the heat. Elders Dunford and Bermudez, however, stayed and went to sleep.
I was conversing with Elder Kern when we heard a firecracker-like explosion from the starboard side. Suddenly flames, fed by fuel from the engine room, were consuming the back of the ship. Smoke filled the passageways, followed by a power outage that left the panicked passengers in the dark.
The four of us on deck gathered together, praying for calm and clear thinking and for the Spirit to guide us. Immediately afterward, Elder Valentine walked quickly back inside the ship looking for life jackets. In the cabin he met Elder Dunford, who gave him two life jackets and left to find Elder Bermudez. Then Elder Valentine found two more life jackets in the dark. Miraculously, despite the chaos, he made it down the passageway without anyone getting in his way, and he was back on deck in 20 seconds. By this time the bow was crowded with passengers, and the flames were coming close. There was no other choice except to jump. We put on our life jackets and said a short prayer before plunging in. Elder Valentine was shoved by the panicked group behind us, but he hit the water unharmed 10 feet (3 m) below.
The area around the boat was well lit because of the fire, and we could hear the screams of people around us. The four of us regrouped a short distance from the boat, amid the crowds that had also jumped, and swam to get away from the burning three-level vessel. We prayed again, thanking our Father in Heaven for the protection we had received and asked for help in finding our companions, Elder Dunford and Elder Bermudez. Elder Valentine saw them with life jackets, but we hadn’t seen them on the deck.
As the fire went out, the night became completely dark, and the waves were rolling, making it difficult for us to stay afloat even with the life jackets. Again we offered a prayer, this time asking for guidance to someone we could help. We soon found two women with children and an elderly man, and we took turns keeping everyone afloat. We managed until we found a small raft and put the passengers on it, but we felt others could use it, so we remained behind in the water.
After 30 minutes the wind picked up, rain started falling, and the already-large waves grew. We were still not sure what had happened to the other elders and knew the storm would halt any rescue efforts. Elder Kern, acting as a voice for the group, prayed for the storm to calm and that the other elders would be protected. Within a few minutes, the storm was gone.
We waited, awed by what we had witnessed, then heard Elder Dunford yelling out to Elder Kern. We shouted and swam towards them. Elders Dunford and Bermudez had managed to jump off the ship by climbing out a window, and they had two women, without life jackets, clinging to their backs.
We stayed together for some time, then caught sight of fishing boat lights leaving the Guiuan shore area. It was not long until one boat discovered us, but it was almost full, so we placed the two women in it and waited.
We had been in the water for two hours when another boat found us and took us to shore. We made it to the missionary apartment in Guiuan in the early morning of June 8, which was my 21st birthday. We prayed for the safe rescue of others still out in the sea and again gave thanks to our Heavenly Father for the protection we had received.
I will never forget this experience, and I hope never to forget the feeling of security we had throughout the whole ordeal. The Lord truly protected us. From this experience, I gained a greater testimony that the Lord is with His children always and grants us the peace and help we need during our trials.

One interview taught me more than I expected—not so much about business but about how the Lord works in the details of our lives. One day I sat down for what I thought was my big break: an interview with a large multinational company visiting this campus. I was confident and prepared. I really wanted the job. About 10 minutes in, I had started answering a standard interview question when I noticed the interviewer’s head starting to bob—as if he were listening to slow jazz. Then his eyes closed. He had fallen asleep! He was out cold!

I paused and looked around, almost hoping that someone would jump out with a camera and tell me I was on a prank show. But no such luck. I just sat there in a long, awkward silence, not knowing what to think. After what felt like an eternity, his eyes suddenly popped open. He looked straight at me and said, “Thank you for that response.” Then the interview ended. That was it. Done. No follow-ups. No second round. Just my hopes dying a slow, quiet death in a small room in the Tanner Building.

Feeling deflated, I wandered into the BYU career center and noticed a stack of résumés for Shell Oil Company. At this point I figured, “Well, why not?”—and dropped mine on top. The next morning I got a call asking if I could meet within the hour for an interview. Another door had opened!

I said a quick prayer, knowing only divine intervention could help me, and rushed to campus. The interview began with a question I was not prepared to answer: “What do you know about Shell?” My mind raced. My first thought was “not much!” Then inspiration—or maybe desperation—struck.

I grabbed the calculator from my backpack and said, “Well, the first thing I learned about Shell was in second grade.” I typed the numbers 71077345, flipped the calculator upside down, and nervously awaited his response. (You can see it spells Shell Oil.)

For the record, I do not recommend this approach in any professional setting! But somehow it worked. The ice was broken; the interviewer laughed and began a genuine conversation. Of all the things we discussed, he was most interested in my missionary service in Brazil, and at the end of our conversation he invited me for three more rounds of interviews in Houston. Those interviews led to what became a nearly 30-year career with Shell.

It’s interesting how life unfolds when we remain persistent and resilient, put forth effort, and trust the Lord. Looking back, I can see that even in my insecurities, with the résumés, the interviews, and even the calculator tricks, the Lord was guiding me toward something deeper—understanding a question He had eloquently asked both John the Beloved and Nephi: “What desirest thou?”3

“Why didn’t you bring me a horse, too, Grandpa?” Janey asked, reaching up to pat the horse’s soft forehead longingly.
“You’ll get a horse when you are a little bit older, Janey,” Grandpa told her. “I only had Glory to give away now, and Dusty has been waiting even longer than you have for a horse.” Janey didn’t see the twinkle in his eye when he added, “But you be patient, and you’ll get a horse, too, before long.”
Janey was sad not to have her own horse, but she was glad that her brother, Dusty, had Glory. And Janey had to admit that what she really wanted was a foal. Still, Janey loved Glory. The horse had large, dark eyes and a long bushy tail. Her white coat glistened when it was brushed. Her mane was long, and it waved on each side of her neck as she ran in the pasture.
Dusty was very generous. He let Janey ride Glory around the barnyard. She could feed Glory lumps of sugar and stroke her smooth, soft face. She loved Dusty’s mare, and it wasn’t so bad sharing a horse with Dusty. But Janey remembered what Grandpa had said about her having a horse of her own, and she wondered when “later” would come.
One day Grandpa told the children that Glory was going to have a foal! Janey and Dusty were happy and excited. Grandpa had a big smile, too, at first, but then he looked very serious as he told them, “The veterinarian says that Glory may have a hard time and be very sick. We must keep her in the stable close to the farmhouse.”
“So we can keep an eye on her?” asked Dusty.
“That’s right,” Grandpa answered.
The children and Grandpa watched Glory night and day. When Janey and Dusty were in school, Grandpa watched the horse. When the children were home, they gave her sweet-smelling hay and oats and corn. They brought her fresh water and fed her lumps of sugar. Each night they covered her with a warm blanket. They petted her and let her know that they loved her very much.
When Janey’s class was dismissed early one day, she went home and sat on the back porch and played with Angel, their cat. Suddenly she heard Grandpa calling to her.
“Is it Glory, Grandpa?” Janey asked as she hurried to the stable.
“Yes,” Grandpa answered. “I must stay and help her. Please go call Dr. Jameson. Hurry!”
Janey raced back to the house to call the vet. How glad she was to hear him tell her that he could come immediately!
When Dusty came home, he saw the veterinarian’s van. “Is it Glory?” he asked Janey. She nodded, and together they ran to the stable.
There, standing on wobbly legs close to Glory, was a tiny white horse! It looked kind of lost, like it needed someone to love it. Glory lay on the soft, mellow hay Grandpa had forked down for her. Her big brown eyes were closed.
“Glory?” Janey’s eyes searched her grandpa’s face, then the doctor’s.
“Glory is only tired. She’s resting,” Dr. Jameson explained. “She’ll be all right.”
When Janey looked at Grandpa again, this time she saw the twinkle in his eye when he said, “Well, Janey, it’s ‘later.’ Glory’s foal is yours. What will you call her?”
Janey blinked back happy, excited tears. She quickly put her arms around the little horse’s neck and said, “Her name’s Glory II. And I’m going to share her with Dusty.”

Illustration by Craig Stapley
I have a lot of good friends. Some go to church, and some don’t. One day a group of us, including one other LDS young woman, was eating lunch when a few of my friends began to use the Lord’s name in vain. No one else seemed bothered by it, and soon other students at the table started saying the Lord’s name in vain too. At first I thought, “Just let it slide; they don’t know any better.” But then it started to really bother me. They kept saying it, and I felt a pit in my stomach. So I stood up. I said firmly, “It really bothers me when you talk like that. Please stop.”
They laughed and kept going.
I stood up again, but this time my LDS friend stood up with me. We grabbed our lunches and moved somewhere else. It felt good to leave the table when they were doing that. As I walked away, I felt the Spirit.
I’m glad my friend left with me. It reminded me of the song “We’ll Bring the World His Truth” (Children’s Songbook, 172–73) and how “we must do as the Lord commands.” While I may not have had an “army of Helaman,” my friend showed me that I am not the only person trying “to bring the world [H]is truth.”

As a young missionary serving in France, I wanted to know for myself that the Book of Mormon was true. I believed it was true. I hoped it was true. I had even gone on a mission with faith that it was true. However, as I worked day after day as a missionary and told people the best I could in my limited French that I had a testimony of the book, I still did not actually know for myself.
Our little apartment in southern France was cold and damp throughout that first winter. Every morning and evening, before and after the work of the day, I would huddle with a blanket and an overcoat to read and study my Book of Mormon. I knew of the promise of Moroni, that if I were to read, ponder, and pray, I too could know. For days and weeks I read, but nothing happened. No light, no angel, no voice—nothing except a feeling of peace as I read.
I continued to read and underline meaningful passages and pray to know that the Book of Mormon was true. The miracle eventually came. As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has described, it was more like the rising of the sun than the sudden turning on of a light switch.4 A light began to illuminate my mind and my heart. I began to see the Book of Mormon in a different way. Passages that I had read before began to mean something new. The best way I can describe the experience was that my mind began to be enlightened.
Over a period of weeks and months, I can say that I came to know more surely than anything I had ever known that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I came to know that it was written and preserved for our day and was brought forth as a powerful witness of Jesus Christ and His Church. The impression that came to me again and again through the voice of the Spirit was, “It’s true, it’s true, it’s all true.”
Forty years later, that same witness continues with me. I have now read the Book of Mormon many times, and each time—every time—I again hear the words “It’s true.” This has given me the assurance that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that this is His great work of salvation.

“At a time when we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, are unable to attend the temple, it would seem easy to let our recommends lapse. Why? We’re not using them, are we? For me, my recommend was approaching out of date, I needed to have my accountability interview with my Saviour through appointed representatives, a member of the bishopric and then a member of the stake presidency. At the time, we were in lockdown, no sacrament meetings, no temple attendance, no visiting the sick and vulnerable. To do the Lord’s work in these times, an interview was over the phone with my bishopric member. This was just as spiritual as sitting in the office. We had a friendly chat, then an opening prayer and then the worthiness questions. It was humbling and very special. I could answer with a pure heart and mind answers that would see if I was able to enter the house of the Lord. I could feel the Spirit of the Lord just the same. Then an appointment was made to have the next interview with a member of the stake presidency via Zoom. I was so blest to have a face to face interview. I am so blest to have technology that enables this. Again, the Spirit was involved with the interview and again, I felt grateful that I could be held accountable to the Lord. So, I have peace in my heart and at a moment’s notice can attend the temple. In the meantime, we have more time with family and opportunities to discover names that we can add to TempleReady and Family File. Yes, my ancestors are waiting, and I know that the time will come that they too, can enter the holy temple, so I hold a current temple recommend, the link between me and my ancestors.” —Ellen Ender, Perth, Australia

In November 1975, seven years after their baptism, Gerard was called as president of the France Paris Stake, the first stake organized in France. Three years later, he and Annie came to a turning point in their lives. Gerard was unhappy with the corruption he saw in the company where he worked, and he began looking for another job. At that time, the Church’s distribution center for France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal was in Grenoble, France, and the center needed a purchasing manager. To be hired for that position, however, Gerard would have to be released as stake president and move to Grenoble at a reduced salary.
During his interview with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Gerard expressed his willingness to abide by any counsel he received. “If I shouldn’t be released as stake president, we won’t move,” he said. “I have given my resignation, but I will stay and find another job. We have a year’s food storage; we can manage.”
He was released as stake president and accepted the position in Grenoble. The family lived with Gerard’s mother for a time while they built a new home. About a year and a half later, when their new home was almost finished, Gerard received the assignment to find a new location for the distribution center in the Paris area, which he found in Torcy. The family moved again, never having lived in the home they had built in Grenoble. However, they had been in the area long enough for Gerard to serve as district president.
In Paris he was called as a regional representative. Annie reflects on one experience they shared during those years: “My husband often had to be away all weekend to participate in stake conferences. One conference Saturday the alarm clock rang very early. Half asleep, I became aware of Gerard’s presence at the edge of the bed as he knelt to pray. He stood up and asked how I was feeling. I told him I felt fine. After a moment, he came back to ask about my plans for the day. He kept questioning me and even asked if I would like him to postpone his departure. Puzzled and completely awake by then, I decided to get up. When I got out of bed, I was overcome with dizziness and could not stand. My husband delayed leaving for a few hours until I had recovered. I’ve always appreciated his sensitivity to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.”
In 1988, Gerard was called to preside over a new mission in the Mascarene Islands, with headquarters on Reunion. When he and Annie and four of their seven children arrived, they found home and office to be a missionary apartment with only an old typewriter and little else. They moved temporarily into the apartment and went to work.
Annie quickly accepted her own role as a missionary. “One day,” says Gerard, “she saw a lady in the supermarket whom she had met at a parents’ meeting. The lady had been impressed by Annie, but had never dared ask about her name tag. At the store, the woman took the opportunity to ask. She was baptized one month later, and the following year she received her temple endowment.”
In 1991, when the family returned from their missionary service, the Europe/Mediterranean Area was organized, with offices in Thoiry, France. Brother Giraud-Carrier was asked to move there and set up a Materials Management office.
In November 1993, he was given his current calling—patriarch of the Switzerland Geneva Stake. At the time, Sister Giraud-Carrier was serving as Relief Society president of the Jura Ward, Geneva Stake—her third assignment as Relief Society president. She has also served in ward and stake presidencies of the Young Women and Primary. Their three oldest children have served full-time missions.
Reflecting on the 25 years since he and his wife met two elders in front of a movie theater, Brother Giraud-Carrier says, “Throughout our Church experience, we seem to have been always beginning. Each assignment we have received has been a beginning for us. We have been privileged to preside over a new stake, a new mission, and a new department in a new area of the Church. Perhaps now, with my calling as patriarch, our beginning days are over.”
Perhaps. But given their pioneering spirit, Gerard and Annie likely have many more beginnings ahead of them.

The troubles predicted by Elder Taylor suddenly struck during one of the first nights out. Below deck nearly 400 souls were asleep in the tightly stacked berths along each side of the “extensive bedroom”—about 27 meters long and 7 meters wide. “In the middle of the night” a 13-year-old boy excitedly leaped from his bunk and at the top of his voice screamed over and over again the name of a fellow passenger. The boy’s parents and a brother and sister could not silence or subdue him. “It soon became apparent,” noted passenger Wilson Nowers, “that he was possessed of an evil spirit.” Through the administrations of the priesthood, the evil spirit was dispelled.

Lobo is the reason David started going to church in the first place. He was out one morning when some boys from the neighborhood ran up and asked if they could pet his dog. They were three brothers, all younger than David, and they weren’t allowed to have a dog themselves. So David let them pet his dog. After that, the boys started coming around all the time to see Lobo, and eventually they told him they were LDS. Did David want to come to church with them some time?

That’s how it happened. The rest was simple. David prayed about it, and he gained a testimony of the gospel. Unfortunately, those three boys moved away.

Now David goes to church by himself. He takes the 7:45 one train to Lincoln Center, then walks across the street, skirting the construction at the corner of 65th and Columbus. It’s the seven-story building with the gold lettering above the door that says “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” “Visitors Welcome” is the sign on the corner, but David is not a visitor.

It was my turn to stop someone and talk about the Church. I had been in Germany only two days, and I was terrified of the people and of my calling as a missionary.
I anxiously searched the street for someone I thought might react positively. I wondered how I was ever going to do this for the next eighteen months.
I didn’t want my companion to know how scared I was, so I held my breath and walked up to a woman in her early forties. But instead of asking her the questions I had intended to, I turned from her and ran. The fear of rejection was more than I could handle—I had to escape.
When I was finally able to collect my thoughts, embarrassment swelled inside of me. I desperately wanted to hide. My fear had been exposed, and it was preventing me from being a good missionary.
Unfortunately, as the days went by, my weakness did not subside, and I began to worry that I would never be a happy, brave, and successful missionary. My weakness became the main topic of all my private prayers.
Nothing seemed to help until I had been in the mission field for about two weeks. It was a chilly spring morning, and my companion was making breakfast. I was sitting on the floor, looking up scriptures on missionary work and reading them out loud.
“Doctrine and Covenants 84:88,” I said. [D&C 84:88] “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also.” My voice broke. My mind raced as I realized that, as a missionary, I had divine support.
I started again, “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”
I had no reason to be afraid of teaching people the gospel. Heavenly Father was on my right hand and on my left, and his angels were around me to make me strong. From that morning on, whenever a wave of fear came over me, I just imagined those angels all around my investigator, my companion, and me. There was no way I could lose with that kind of support.

I was stumped by the question. A night at the movies with a friend had somehow turned into a one-hour discussion about religion. We’d discussed our beliefs and read Bible verses, and now my friend had posed this question:
“Why are you going to serve a mission?”
I’d been preparing for my mission all my life, and now, somehow, I couldn’t come up with a good answer. Why would I give up two years of my life—college, scholarships, friends, family—for a mission? It didn’t seem logical from a worldly point of view.
I don’t remember my answer from that night, but whatever it was, it didn’t satisfy me. I pondered the question over and over again for the next several months.
One day I was chatting online with a friend. She’d met with the missionaries but wasn’t really feeling the Spirit, and another friend of ours kept encouraging her to listen to the missionaries. She asked me why our friend was so eager, and I told her, “Well, if you had something in your life that meant everything to you, you would be a pretty bad friend if you didn’t try to share it with others!”
Suddenly, my answer started to come to me. As I lay in bed that night, I remembered a time when I’d felt the Holy Ghost very strongly. I’d been struggling with a decision; I’d finally prayed about it and felt an overwhelming sense of joy and peace, knowing that everything would work out. I realized how much I wanted everybody to feel that same feeling. I thought about how if you discovered a cure for cancer, you wouldn’t just hide it in a laboratory—you’d share it with the world! I understood that the gospel was a “cure” for all of life’s problems, so why wouldn’t I want to share it with others? I realized that nothing the world offers can ever measure up to the wonderful opportunity of serving the Lord and sharing the gospel with others.

A student wrote:
“In my own family I can remember times when my father spent long days at the office and helped very little with the children at home. He was under a lot of stress, and I don’t think he took his problems to the Lord like he should have. Rather, he spent more and more time trying to make money. It seemed as though he worshiped money, spending all his time and resources to get more.
“I don’t know exactly when things changed. But all of a sudden our family started to be together more. We prayed more as a family, and we were happier all around. It didn’t take long to realize that my father had turned to the Lord, and our family has been blessed ever since.”

After my mission I wanted to attend college, but my family could not afford to send me. So I took a job in the freight yards of the Southern Pacific Railroad in Los Angeles to earn money for school. I worked fourteen hours a day moving freight between warehouses and boxcars on a two-wheeled hand truck. Often I had a thousand-pound load on the hand truck. I’m sure you can understand why I was tired at the end of the day.
I was living with my sister two or three miles away. The streetcar fare was ten cents, and I trudged the whole distance each way in order to save twenty cents a day. I wanted very much to go to college, and walking that distance made my goal that much nearer realization. I was able to save enough to return to my home state of Arizona and attend the University of Arizona.

I first came face-to-face with depression at the end of my mission in South Africa. I was oddly unhappy. My spirits were low, my perspective less positive, and my faith shaken. On top of that, my mom was unwell, and my family had other challenges. I pretended that everything was OK, but it wasn’t. One moment, I had been handling all sorts of stress just fine, and the next, I hit my breaking point. My thoughts were crushing me, and everything seemed to turn against me.

I was emotionally and mentally drained, so I decided to fast and pray for guidance. As a result, I received three specific promptings:

The first was to talk to my mission president. Finally opening up about my struggles helped me feel better and know I wasn’t alone.

Second, I was prompted that learning of Jesus Christ could help me through this. As I studied about Heavenly Father and the Savior, it became clear to me that They knew my pain and felt my sorrow. I relied on Them for strength when I felt I had none.

The third prompting came from a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley: “Service is the best medicine for self-pity, selfishness, despair, and loneliness” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Gordon B. Hinckley [2016], 201.) As I focused outward and on serving others, over time I felt happier, more confident, and more trust in Heavenly Father.

I got through my mission, but depression struck again during my first few months in university. I had just moved from Zambia to Malaysia and was far from home with no friends or family close by. I didn’t even know where my branch met for church.

I held onto hope and felt prompted to fast and pray for guidance again. From there, I was led to becoming friends with a girl in my class who helped me find the closest branch. As I walked into the chapel on that first Sunday, I felt the Holy Ghost lift my burden from me. I knew that I could follow the healing steps I took on my mission. Again, I spoke to my Church leaders for help, studied the life and teachings of the Savior, and then focused on serving others. I found people to talk to and reached out, helped others at school, and accepted a calling at church.

Akasiwa Wamunyima, Malaysia

Red Squirrel had started on her strange mission at dawn. Spring had come and tiny leaves were unfurling like tattered banners, but the air was misty and cold.
The river carried her canoe along swiftly. Now she only used the paddle to steer her fragile craft away from boulders, but it would take two days of hard paddling to return against the strong current. She watched carefully for logs or other hazards ahead. If the canoe overturned, she could not long survive in the icy water, fed by melting snow high in faraway mountains.
Can I find the lonely grave site again? She wondered. Will the wooden cross still be standing to mark it? The Indian girl sighed deeply and rested the paddle across her lap, pondering whether her quest would bring happiness or more sorrow to the white man and woman waiting at her village.
Running Elk, a scout for the army, had brought the couple to see Chief Standing Bear. Their son and his friend had started west almost two years ago. Except for a letter from Kansas, where the two young men had joined a wagon train, they had never heard from them again. The father felt that both of them must have died on their journey, but the mother had stubbornly refused to abandon hope.
A recent letter from a physician in Oregon had renewed the couple’s hope and their fears. The doctor was treating a young man who suffered from amnesia and had no memory of his past. However, the patient carried some papers containing two names. One was a letter addressed to their son, Benjamin Allen. The other was to his friend, Zeb White.
Dr. Barkow’s description of his patient did not help. Both young men were tall and had blue eyes and dark curly hair. Members of the wagon train had disbanded and settled over a wide area before the patient had been brought to the doctor. From the meager information he had gathered, one of a pair of young men on the train had drowned in a flash flood. A carpenter among the group had carved the victim’s name on a wooden cross the party had placed on the grave. If they could find the lonely grave, the couple would know if the doctor’s patient were their son or his friend.
The tribe had gathered and listened as Running Elk translated the white man’s story. The location of the grave was said to be near Tracy’s Ford on the Oregon Trail and downriver from their village. Had one of Chief Standing Bear’s people seen the cross?
Red Squirrel was very shy. She did not want to step forward, although she had seen the grave last fall while gathering nuts. No one else moved. She looked at the sad faces of the youth’s parents and could not remain silent. Hesitantly, eyes downcast, she stepped out of the group of women and children.
“I have seen the place,” she told her chief. “The marker still stood last fall, at one end of a grave covered with a pile of stones. I can find it again.”
The gray-haired couple was filled with dismay when Chief Standing Bear said that the slim young girl would go alone at dawn and return in a few days. They had expected to go along, possibly with a few braves to guide them. The chief sensed their disappointment, but he was tactful enough not to tell them that white people were too clumsy for their bark canoes, especially in the flooding spring current. He considered the girl capable of going alone. True, she could not read, but she was a basket and rug weaver, who carried many beautiful designs in her head. She would remember and be able to draw the lines carved on the grave marker that only the distraught parents could read. The chief arose and entered his tepee, ending the talk.
Now that she was close to her destination, Red Squirrel watched the boulders strewn along the riverbank. When she saw a round one split down the middle like a ripe melon, she expertly used her paddle for a rudder, and the canoe whipped through the cleft rock into still water. It would soon be dark, so the Indian girl used bent twigs and pine boughs to erect a wickiup for shelter. Then she built a cooking fire. She would search out the grave tomorrow.
Early the next morning Red Squirrel’s heart hammered with dread as she approached the mound of stones and stared at the tilted cross. She wished the carved letters could speak to her so she would know if she would carry good news or bad news back to the village. The heavy responsibility overwhelmed Red Squirrel. She did not want to bring more sorrow to the elderly couple. Carefully she went over the letters again and again, making certain she remembered all the strange lines.
A glint of gold at the base of the cross caught her eye. It was a locket with a broken chain. This would be another clue as to which man was buried here, but she worried about taking something from a grave! Reluctantly, she removed her beautiful turquoise necklace and hung it on the cross. Her father had spent many hours polishing and drilling the stones, and she was very proud of it. Leaving it was a great sacrifice, but it made her feel better about taking away the gold one.
When the boys shouted that Red Squirrel had returned, the people gathered near the river to greet her. She was drenched and trembling from cold and fatigue. However, she had fought a fierce two-day battle against the strong waters and won. Red Squirrel’s mother wrapped a blanket around her daughter and tried to lead her away to change into dry clothing, but she refused. Her news—good or bad—must be delivered first. Mrs. Allen almost wept when she looked at the exhausted girl.
Red Squirrel picked up a stick. Then she walked away from the group and smoothed out a place in the soft dirt. Mrs. Allen, her face ashen with mixed hope and dread, started to follow. Gently, her husband drew her back. This girl, who could neither read nor write, was an important key to the knowledge of their son’s fate. Their watching her draw the unfamiliar lines might make her nervous.
When she had finished the drawing, Red Squirrel stood, waiting. She forgot how cold and miserable she was as the troubled parents approached. Her eyes misted at the way they clung together for support. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and turned away, not wanting to watch them.
Red Squirrel jerked as if she had been struck when the mother suddenly cried out and began to weep. She turned and then whispered a prayer of gratitude when she saw that the woman’s tears were of joy and relief!
“Zeb White! It’s poor Zeb who lies there, not our Ben,” the father murmured. His voice broke from the emotion and strain.
“This necklace had hung on the marker, until the chain broke,” Red Squirrel said. “I left mine in exchange.”
The woman took the necklace and pressed a catch and the locket sprang open to reveal tiny pictures of a man and woman. “Zeb’s parents,” the woman whispered. “Oh, how my heart goes out to them. We’ll send them the locket.”
“Yes,” Mr. Allen agreed softly, wiping his eyes. “Now we’re going to Oregon and get our son and take him home!”
Mrs. Allen went to see Red Squirrel before she and her husband left the village with Running Elk the next morning. She knew that the girl would not accept payment for her help. A gold lapel watch, a gift from her husband on their thirtieth wedding anniversary, was the most treasured piece of jewelry she owned. It opened like the locket, and opposite the watch face was Ben’s baby picture and a curled whisp of his hair.
The mother felt no regret as she pressed the watch into the hand of Red Squirrel’s mother to give to her daughter. The gift Red Squirrel had given them was beyond value.
Their son still lived!

On an August night three years ago, the Thornton family was in Roseburg, Oregon, at a baseball game. Before making the two-hour drive home to Reedsport, they stopped at a park to eat. The weary family then climbed back into their van that was stuffed with baseball equipment. At 11:30 P.M. the van pulled into their driveway, and the sleepy riders crawled out only to discover that six-year-old Greg wasn’t with them. Everyone panicked!
“Our focus wasn’t on anything except where he might be,” said LaRee Thornton, Greg’s mother. “We called 911, and it put us right through to the Roseburg police. My husband, Steve, started explaining the situation, and they said, ‘It’s OK. He’s right here.’ A Good Samaritan had found Greg alone at the park, shaking with fear. The man had wrapped him in a blanket and taken him to the police station.
Everyone wanted to go back to Roseburg to get Greg, but only Mom and Dad went; the rest of the family stayed at home, prayed, and waited. “It was 2:30 A.M. when we got back,” Mom continued. “Everybody had stayed up. Nobody wanted to sleep alone in their bedrooms that night, so we all slept in the living room together. Now we always want to make sure we know where everyone is. We’re kinder to each other and appreciate one another more.”

As I grew older, I doubted that I would be able to serve a mission because of my family responsibilities. Still, I had a great desire to serve and often thought of the blessings I would lose if I did not go on a mission. Then one night I dreamed that the Savior was sitting next to me. I had such a special feeling of peace and safety that I could no longer doubt what I needed to do.
My employer gave me a leave of absence from my job, and I accepted a mission call. When I had been on my mission a year, my brother wrote that my employer had changed his mind and refused to hold my job until I returned. He said if I did not return home, I would lose my job. “Do not worry about material things,” I wrote back. “If I lose that job, the Lord will help me find something better.” I finished my mission.
I am grateful that, during my mission, none of my brothers or sisters suffered any serious illnesses. I returned to find them all well. We are still together, helping each other. We have been sealed to our parents, and I have been married in the temple to a very special woman. We have been blessed with two children of our own, so now there are nine of us.

I was the first member of my family to join the Church. As an eight-year-old, I waited to feel somehow different because of my baptism. To be honest, the only thing I felt when I was brought out of the water was … well, dripping wet. I thought something more profound would happen when I was confirmed. However, after receiving the Holy Ghost, again I felt happy but certainly no different than I had just a few minutes before.

It wasn’t until the following day at fast and testimony meeting that I experienced what I now recognize as the influence of the Holy Ghost. A brother stood to bear his testimony and tell about the blessings of his membership in the Church. I felt a flood of warmth sweep over me. Even as an eight-year-old, I recognized that this was something different. I felt a peace descend on me, and I had the distinct feeling that Heavenly Father was pleased with me.

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who would make a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture—chairs—and one wall decoration—a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. And some of my teachers were satisfied that that was true too.

But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and gave to me. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. His teaching took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time he had spent earlier when he had the chances you have now. Because he had spent time then, he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me.

And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy who let me sit down with him one year. We rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on his report card. But I’ll tell you what improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under a Christmas tree for Stuart has half the chance of becoming a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.