Gospel Story Finder

By the time Anna was two, her family was living above her father’s shop in a tiny building at Number 18 Camomile Street, London, England. Across the way stood a rank of hackney coaches. The old horses often waited for hours in the rain, and in the wintertime stamped their feet on the treacherous frozen cobblestones to keep warm. They were plagued by flies during the summer and developed harness sores from pulling their heavy loads.
There was one coal black horse there with a white flash on his forehead, and every day Anna watched him as she waited, nose against the glass, until her mother was free to take her across the street to see him.
Mary Sewell often held her daughter up so that she could feed an apple to the horse. As he ate, Anna talked to him while checking his bit or untangling a knot in his mane. The coachman was amazed that the child showed no fear.
Anna’s mother, a remarkable woman, taught her own children. She took Anna and her brother to the country each day and they returned, brown from the sun, carrying wild flowers and birds’ nests to study. To earn money to buy her children books, she wrote a reader called Walks with Mama and sold it for three pounds.
Anna was elated when the family moved to an old mansion called Palatine House at Stoke Newington, for there she was able to attend her first school.
One cloudy day when she was fourteen, Anna raced off to school in her usual hurry, forgetting her umbrella. After school that day it began to rain. At the gate Anna fell and sprained her ankle. Doctors in those days didn’t have the benefit of X-ray machines, and sometimes mistakes were made in the treatment of bones and ligaments. For the rest of her life Anna was crippled. At times she could walk a little, but much of the time she was an invalid.
The family’s move to Lancing, when Anna was twenty-five, enabled the family to keep a pony and carriage. Each day Anna drove her father to Shoreham to catch the Brighton train, and then in the evening she picked him up. During these drives Anna was unaware that she was laying up much information that she could use later in writing Black Beauty.
By the time Anna was fifty, she was virtually an invalid, but her diary reveals that she must have been a very busy one.
An entry dated August 21, 1877, reads: “My first proofs of Black Beauty are come—very nice type.”
This book that was thought over and lived with for so many years before being written comes to life in spare, direct, and truthful words. Anna’s Quaker background gave her great reverence for people and justice.
Although the book proved very popular with all age groups, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals showed little interest. But George T. Angell of Boston, founder of the Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, had been watching for a story to promote humane treatment of horses. After reading Black Beauty, he raised enough money to print 10,000 copies of the book. And he made an appeal to the readers of the SPCA magazine.
By the end of 1890, two hundred sixteen thousand copies of Black Beauty had been sold. Twenty years later the book was still selling a quarter million copies yearly.
Anna Sewell died a year after the book’s publication on April 25, 1878, of a painful lung infection. When the horse-drawn hearse arrived at the door, her mother looked down from an upstairs window and saw that the horses had bearing-reins [checkreins]. “Oh, this will never do!” she exclaimed and hurried to order the cruel, restricting reins removed. This loving mother thereby performed one more service for her daughter and for her daughter’s friends, the horses.

One of the first doctrines that I heard when I joined the Church was about the temples. Missionaries taught about the temples using a picture of the Salt Lake Temple. Being a Christian from my childhood, I was excited to learn about the temples as I already have a fair idea of the holy places that God used to dwell. I learned about the tabernacle that Moses built in the wilderness and the temples built by Solomon and the one built during the time of Herod.
On my mission, I understood something interesting and amazing. While in the early days of the Restoration, they constructed the first temples in Utah, and members around the globe immigrated to Utah, which some people used to refer to as Zion. But Church leaders later emphasized the need to establish Zion wherever we live.
After our marriage, Asha and I had to spend our entire bonus amount which we got from our company in buying our plane tickets to Hong Kong. We had to spend a considerable amount of money towards the travel, stay, and other expenses. Though it was possible for us to do this then, we know that it is the most challenging thing that most of the members will do.
After understanding this doctrine on my mission, I was yearning to hear the announcement of a temple in India. That day came much before the time I anticipated, filling my heart with unspeakable joy and happiness. My wife and I were happy that we no longer have to travel a long distance to be in the Lord’s temple.
Much before the announcement of the temple came the good news to Bangalore that President Nelson and Elder Holland were going to visit Bengaluru. While many of us were not sure about the purpose of his visit, we knew that something was going to happen as a result of his visit. One member in our ward told the congregation on the fast and testimony Sunday that she strongly felt that the prophet was going to announce about a temple in India. To our surprise came that good news and flooded social media during the wee hours of Monday.
The prophet’s visit became even more exciting, and my family with several other families waited for his visit to see what he would counsel us. I was excited to get an opportunity to pray in that meeting and listen to his message from just a few feet away. His words strengthened my testimony significantly. He helped us realize how we should be preparing ourselves for the temple.
He counselled us that we should stop contentions, love one another, and be honest and fair. He told us to remember to follow the ABCs, In which ”A” stands for ancestors and antiquity, “B” stands for being worthy, and “C” stands for teaching children the gospel. After uttering these things, he invoked a powerful blessing on all of us. Without a speck of doubt, I know that he is the prophet and living witness of Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.
For some months now, I have been receiving the Liahona (Spanish), and I am very pleased with its contents.
For a First Presidency Message President Thomas S. Monson wrote: “The Paths Jesus Walked.” I was touched deeply by his counsel: “In a very real sense, all can walk where Jesus walked when, with His words on our lips, His spirit in our hearts, and His teachings in our lives, we journey through mortality.”
The magazine contains messages that teach so much. The articles about the Saints, and their testimonies, not only help me, but they can also help others who are not yet members of the Church.
Wanda RiveraIsabela Branch, Mayaguez Puerto Rico Stake

Aaron’s experience at Sinai reminds me of a similar experience I had as the leader of a small group of men in my army platoon at Fort Ord, California.

Our platoon was preparing for a special inspection; after cleaning the barracks, the men went outside to clean their gear. The platoon sergeant called the four squad leaders into the barracks where he noted a few tasks that still needed to be completed. He told me to call some of my men in to do these jobs. So I opened a window and called out to three men in my squad, “Sergeant Carrington wants you to come in and do some more work!”

As I turned around, Sergeant Carrington asked, “What did you tell your men?”

“I told them you wanted them to come in and do some more work.”

“No,” he said, “I told you to call your men in to do the work. You know what to do.” In Sergeant Carrington’s language, “You know what to do” was an order to do one hundred pushups, right then.

I was frustrated and embarrassed at the time; but after a few hours, I began to appreciate what he was teaching me. I was the men’s squad leader, and I had the authority to order them into the barracks to do their jobs. Instead I had used Sergeant Carrington’s name and authority to try and impress the men to do their work.

This story about the Aaronic Priesthood begins with a young woman, 16-year-old Lauren DellAquila of the Cary Second Ward, Apex North Carolina Stake. Lauren hadn’t come to Church for years. She had never been baptized and confirmed, “but I just knew in my heart that the Church was true.”
She also knew David Christison, 16, and Andrew Hill, 15, who attend the same school, are Latter-day Saints. “I’m in marching band with David and had a couple of classes with Andrew last year,” she says. And she knew they stood by their beliefs. “It meant a lot to see their example, because most teens at our school don’t have values like they do,” Lauren explains.
Then one day after band, some other classmates were making unkind comments about the Church. Lauren told them if they really wanted to know the truth, they shouldn’t repeat rumors; they should find out for themselves. Afterward, David thanked her and asked how she knew so much about the Church. “She said that when she was really young she went to Church, but then her parents divorced and she stopped coming,” David says. “So I invited her to come again.”
“People had tried to get me to come back before, but for one reason or another it had never happened,” Lauren explains. “But when I told David and Andrew that I did want to try again, they were excited. I started coming to meetings, and they introduced me to the bishop, the missionaries, and the young women in the ward. They helped me feel at home.”
Soon Lauren was baptized and confirmed, and today she’s a happy, confident Laurel who recently gave a sacrament meeting talk about the importance of the priesthood. “If the gospel had not been restored,” she says, “I wouldn’t have seen two young men honoring their priesthood. And I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I have had to make covenants and to draw close to the Savior.”
It’s a similar story for Hope Riner, an 8-year-old in the same ward. She benefited from the good example of her 17-year-old half-brother, Andrew Roberts. He joined the Church a little over a year ago and was recently ordained a priest, which meant he could baptize her. “I felt great about it, because we have a strong bond already,” Hope says. “I was glad my brother could use the priesthood to help me.”
“It was an incredible experience,” Andrew says. “I know I need to be an example to my sister, not only as a brother, but also as an example of the kind of young man she should have as friends and the kind of man she will marry one day. By my example, I’m preparing her to understand how the priesthood can bless her life.”
Both Lauren and Hope know that the young men in their ward—as well as in the Cary Third Branch (Spanish speaking), which is dependent on their ward—take the priesthood seriously. “They don’t just talk about it,” Lauren says. “They live it.”
Maxwell Guerra, 13, is another example. He’s a member of the branch but serves as the deacons quorum president of the ward. On any given Sunday, he’s meeting with the presidency and the quorum adviser to keep track of the quorum members, plan activities, and make sure all the deacons needed will be there to pass the sacrament. After church on a recent fast Sunday, he helped another deacon collect fast offerings and then visited Alma Parraga, who is about to turn 12 and will soon be joining the quorum.
Andrew Hill, mentioned earlier, is president of the teachers quorum, and he loves the fellowship he finds there. “It’s more than just getting along with each other,” he stresses. “We strengthen each other and learn from each other.” Any assignment, he has found, is easier with teamwork, and that includes home teaching. “One of the great things we do in the Church is to look after each other,” he says. “It’s a powerful thing when an Aaronic Priesthood holder and a Melchizedek Priesthood holder become a team, with a responsibility to watch over families and individuals.”
The teachers also spend time preparing the sacrament, and Andrew says that has special significance for him. “Priests bless the sacrament,” he says, “and deacons pass the sacrament. But teachers set a tone of reverence by having everything ready before the meetings begin.” Being involved with something so sacred is a great privilege for the Aaronic Priesthood, Andrew says.
Of course, the bishop of the ward is the president of the Aaronic Priesthood. In the Cary Second Ward, Matthew Watkins is the first assistant to Bishop Charles N. Anderson. Matthew says he feels one of the most important things the priests do is to study the gospel together. He is grateful when the bishop helps the priests to understand gospel principles. “The priests help teach each other, too,” he says. “Each Sunday I feel like I understand more and more.” In particular, he remembers a lesson about fasting. “It helped me see how important it is to get close to the Spirit.” He also enjoys providing music for priesthood meeting. “Music is another way of getting close to the Spirit,” he explains.
Another priest, Erick Wells, 18, recently ordained his younger brother, Michael, 12, to the office of deacon. “I wanted Erick to ordain me,” Michael says, “because he’s one of the greatest examples in my life. He never does anything wrong that I’ve noticed, so everything he does, I know I can do too.”
Erick smiles at the tribute. “I really enjoyed being able to use my priesthood to confer it on Michael,” he says. “I feel a great responsibility to be an example not only to my family but to other people as well so that I can share in the gospel with all of them.”
Erick says the goal of all young men in the Church should be “to obtain both the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthoods, make covenants in the temple, be missionaries, prepare for a lifetime of service, and live faithfully with their families so that they can be together with Heavenly Father again.” Matthew agrees. “The Aaronic Priesthood lifts us to a higher sense of what we need to be doing,” he says.
And that’s what’s happening in the Cary Second Ward. Ask these young men who is using the priesthood to make a difference right now, and they can truthfully answer, “We are!” Ask them who is using the priesthood to prepare for the future, and the answer is the same.
How has the priesthood made a difference in your life? E-mail your experience to us at newera@ldschurch.org.

Summer means Summiteer outings. The culmination of the Campcrafter program offers young women a chance to face a new challenge. Summiteers in Bremerton, Washington, took to the water in canoes while the Summiteers in Colorado Springs, Colorado, climbed Pikes Peak.
The Colorado Springs Colorado Stake tackled the trail to the top of Pikes Peak. It was the first Summiteer trip ever attempted by the stake for Young Women. Although the young women were aware of the difficulties, they found the stamina and strength to make the top and received a great sense of accomplishment and love for nature.

Helping girls become proficient in the kitchen was the goal for the American Fork East Stake. To stress creativity and use a central theme, the stake leaders chose to have all recipes include carrots. Lisa Faucett explained the reaction of most of the girls to the idea. “At first, everyone was really surprised. Most said they didn’t like carrots. But after we learned to make casseroles with carrots, carrot cake, drinks made with carrot juice, carrot cookies, carrot salad, carrot muffins, and carrot pudding, we all found something we really liked.” She shook her head in amazement. “I didn’t know you could do so many things with a carrot.”
The American Fork girls used their newfound abilities in the kitchen to help others. In several Share-and-Care evenings they prepared some of their carrot masterpieces and delivered them to a homebound person in boxes or cans decorated with the carrot theme. For Chris Stephens, sharing was the best part of the learning-to-cook experience. “It was fun to take what we made to different people. We visited an older lame couple. They really appreciated our efforts.” The gift of charity had been added to the basket.

Because of a drought, my husband, John, and I had to either sell our beef cattle at a loss or move them from the Melba Valley, in southwestern Idaho, USA. Fortunately, John found summer range at a cousin’s family farm, located in the Preston area, about 300 miles (480 km) away.
We arranged for a trucker to take all 40 cattle in one load, but he didn’t like the looks of a rough ranch road that led to the cattle pasture, still 20 miles (32 km) away. To our disappointment, he unloaded them at nearby stockyards. There we were, late in the day with 40 head of cattle to transport and no way to do it.
John stopped a local farmer, explained our plight, and asked for help. Minutes later Bishop Steve Meeks and his young son followed us to the stockyards to see what could be done.
The cattle had become unsettled. Seeing a broken section of fence at the stockyard, they ran toward it, seeking freedom. All the cattle hurdled the fence into another enclosure—except for one cow. She managed to get most of the way over, but one hind leg slipped between two fence planks. She ended up hanging precariously on the fence, one front foot barely touching the ground. She kicked her other hind leg furiously in an effort to free herself.
Releasing the cow would require hoisting equipment. If she broke a leg, we would have to put her down. To lose a cow would put considerable financial strain on us.
The cow weighed more than 1,000 pounds (455 kg), and we could not get near her, nor help her if we did. The havoc on the fence made the rest of the cattle nervous.
I didn’t think there was anything we could do, but at that moment I remembered Amulek’s counsel in the Book of Mormon: “Cry unto him when ye are in your fields, yea, over all your flocks” (Alma 34:20). I withdrew myself from the others, knelt down, and prayed with all the sincerity of my heart. Concluding my supplication, I pleaded, “Heavenly Father, please help the cow.”
I returned to the corral, the prayer still lingering on my lips. By now the cattle had quieted somewhat, including the one on the fence.
Suddenly, the largest of the milling animals broke away from the herd. Resisting our efforts to turn her back, she moved toward the dangling cow. Lowering her head, she dropped to her knees, forced her way under the stranded cow, and staggered slowly to her feet. She lifted the tangled cow into the air and then lowered her. The cow was free! A hoist could not have done as well.
As the two cows ran back to the herd, Bishop Meeks stared in disbelief at what he had just witnessed. My tears flowed as I whispered, “Thank You, Heavenly Father.”
Anyone who knows cattle will tell you that cows do not reason things out in their minds. But there is an explanation for this incident. Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. He answered mine—at a stockyard in Preston, Idaho.

“Ready … set …”
I heard Mom’s voice prompting the Cub Scouts as I peeked in from the doorway of the cultural hall. The ten boys in her Bear den were matched into pairs, standing back to back with their elbows linked. I could sense energy and tension pent up in their nine-year-old bodies.
Dad spied me in the doorway. “Hi, Temberly!” He started walking toward me, and I blushed because everyone was looking in my direction to see who was interrupting their fun. Even though the boys were two years younger than me, I still felt embarrassed. Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick sideways hug.
“Go!” Mom shouted, and the boys began pushing and straining against each other. I figured out right away what they were trying to do. Each boy was pushing against his opponent, trying to force him to cross a masking-tape line about ten feet away. Whoever crossed the line, lost. Little did I know, I’d have my own serious wrestling match that very afternoon.
Dad walked back closer to the group. “That’s it, keep pushing, don’t give up!” he yelled several times, coaching the red-faced Bears. I noticed that Sister Brandt wasn’t there. She was the assistant den leader, but she’d had a baby last week. I assumed Mom must have asked Dad to help her out. He was smiling widely, obviously enjoying helping with the boys.
Eventually there were five winners and five losers. My brother, Warren, was one of the losers. He was unhappy, but Dad mixed up the pairs of boys and told them all to try again. This time some of the losers became winners, including Warren.
I could tell that Dad was trying hard to make sure that everyone had a fun time. He wasn’t a member of the Church—yet—but I loved him, anyway. He had watched Mom, Warren and me get baptized last year after being taught by the missionaries.
Because it had been a long day of testing at school, I didn’t want to hang around. Mom was busy explaining the next game, so I turned to Dad and asked, “May I walk home?”
He seemed concerned. “Now?”
“I want to get started on my homework. And I’m really hungry, too.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being at the house by yourself,” Dad fussed, hoping I’d change my mind.
“I promise I’ll lock the door behind me.”
“Well, all right. We should be done here in about twenty minutes. But ring the foyer phone once for us so that we know you got into the house OK. Do you know the number?”
“It’s on the ward phone list. Thanks!” I said excitedly, feeling suddenly a little older and more confident in taking responsibility for myself. I turned and walked through the silent foyer and out the double doors. Our house was less than a block away, and I jogged all the way there.
At home, I followed up on my promises to lock the door and ring the phone at the meetinghouse. I was really thirsty at the moment, and something cold and wet sounded good. I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
That’s when I saw them. The lighting inside seemed to draw my attention to the six cans of beer, right beside the milk jug. At that moment, I was faced with a fierce temptation, an inner wrestling match: my gospel standards versus sinful desires. I just stood there and stared at the appealing-looking cans. I wondered what beer tasted like. My dry mouth needed quenching. It would be easy to open one, try a sip, then throw it away when I was done. Who kept count of how many cans were in the fridge, anyway? No one would ever know.
Who was I kidding? I knew who would know what I’d done. Me. More importantly, Heavenly Father and the Savior would know. That’s too many of us, I decided. I slammed the refrigerator door shut and repeated the words from My Gospel Standards we had been memorizing in Primary, “I will not partake of things that are harmful to me.” Trembling, I went to my room and lay on the bed.
Temptation, my powerful opponent, had tried to push me to step over a line my spirit knew I shouldn’t cross. I sat up and opened the blinds in the window above my bed and let the late afternoon sunshine fill the room. Deep inside, I felt as bright and glowing as the sun’s rays coming through the windowpanes. I was the winner!
After dinner, Mom loaded the dishwasher and Dad and Warren watched baseball on TV. I had gone back to my bedroom to finish my math homework. I decided it was time to ask Dad to help me.
“Dad?” I leaned my head out of the doorway.
“Am I in demand?” He tilted his head to the side to hear my answer.
“I need a greater brain than mine,” I replied, trying to sound exasperated. I watched him stand up, stare at the screen a few more seconds as a batter struck out, then walk down the hall toward me. My smile waned as I saw him carrying a beer can in his hand. He set it down on my desk. I could smell the beer, and I wished he had left it in the other room. We worked together until the fifteen math problems were solved.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re very welcome, Tembers.” I liked his nickname for me. “Is there anything else you need my intelligence for, before I finish watching the ballgame?”
The moment had presented itself, just as I’d hoped. “Dad, why do you drink beer?”
“Where did that question come from?” He looked surprised and embarrassed.
I took a deep breath and confessed, “This afternoon when I was home by myself, I was tempted to drink some and it scared me.”
He eyed me seriously, “But … you didn’t?”
“No.” I looked straight into his eyes and saw relief on his face.
“I’m proud of you, Temberly,” Dad said sincerely. “You made a wise choice today. I knew that as you and Warren grew older, this would be an issue we’d need to discuss. I didn’t realize it would come up so soon.”
“Oh, Dad, I don’t like having that stuff in our house. I know you don’t drink a lot—just when you’re watching ballgames. But when will Warren be tempted to try it? …”
“Tembers, you can be pointedly honest sometimes.” Dad ran his hand through his dark hair. “I suppose, deep down inside, I already knew you felt this way. I’d appreciate your love and patience with me as I try to find the willpower to quit.”
I wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand and rubbed it dry on my jeans. I felt the Holy Ghost strengthen me, and I found the courage to say, “Today, I heard you tell the Cub Scouts to ‘keep pushing and not give up.’ Can I keep pushing you about this?”
“Yes, Coach,” he said, squeezing my hand before he left the room. I was startled when he suddenly leaned his head back in the doorway and said, “Don’t ever give up.” He winked.
I smiled to myself. Dad hadn’t exactly promised to stop, but somehow I knew he was a lot closer to it. And that hope made me feel like a winner … again.

Forty-four years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake, speak to the brethren in the general priesthood session of conference, and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald. Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it, we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture—and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald,’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green, with a slender bit of gold chain. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse, galloped across the bridge spanning the stream, and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.”
The lesson to be learned from this story is found in the familiar couplet: “Do your duty; that is best. Leave unto the Lord the rest.”

This testimony sustained me when I realized I just couldn’t provide for our needs and we had to leave our home. Jonathan was taken to live with my mother’s side of the family, but Ephraim and I chose to stay with our other grandparents because they were members of the Church. In their home we arose early to do chores before school, then cared for our grandfather late into the night. It was exhausting. However, the Lord was mindful of us, and we stayed close to the Church. Every time I felt like giving up, I was reminded of the special moments I had had with my siblings as we read from the Book of Mormon surrounding a lamp. I know Christ was there beside us in those difficult times. From the moment our family members separated from one another, He did not forsake us. “I know that my Redeemer lives!”

Now, years later, I still have the picture of those words from above my bed in my heart and mind. That message has helped my brother Ephraim and me in our years of service as full-time missionaries and in striving now to live celestial marriages.

I could have missed a lot in my life had I doubted instead of trusting Christ. No matter how difficult life is, it has never been too difficult for the Savior, who suffered in Gethsemane. He can sustain one’s life with one sentence. He knows everything from the beginning to the end. His comfort is more powerful than any heartache this life can bring. Through His Atonement, there is no permanent problem—only constant hope, grace, peace, and love. Believe me, I know! I know that my Redeemer lives!

My best friends from school were trying out for a competitive soccer league. The tryouts were on Sundays. My mom told the coach that I was not going to try out for the team because the tryouts were on Sundays, which is our Sabbath day. The coach called back a few days later and said he had scheduled a special Wednesday tryout for me. I made the team. I know Heavenly Father blesses us when we keep the Sabbath day holy.

Before I went into combat experience, I had, at the prompting of my father, a patriarchal blessing given to me. As you know, that’s an opportunity, under the hands of those who hold the priesthood, to have the spiritual gifts and opportunities, the actual capacities that are within us, revealed to us in such a way that we can actually formulate our lives for the future as we apply the principles of the gospel. And you know, that patriarchal blessing stated in a number of paragraphs that I would live, as we might term in the vernacular, to a ripe old age, that I would have a wife and a family and certain experiences in the Church. And then it concluded, as they often do, with the conditional clause, “if thou art willing.” See, there’s the condition. If you are willing, Paul, these things will come to pass. And one of the paragraphs indicated divine intervention in time of combat.
Now there were 1,000 of us in my combat team who left San Francisco on that fateful journey, and there were six of us who came back 2 1/2 years later. How do you like that for odds! And of the six of us, five had been severely wounded two or more times and had been sent back into the line as replacements. There had been literally thousands of incidents where I should have been taken from the earth by the enemy and for some reason was not.
Not too many battles later my squad got the assignment to go out and find the enemy position and their ammunition and supply dump—an assignment that was frequently given to an infantry squadron. We used to rotate this and we took turns. This required an all-night skirmish. We were to go out and spend one complete day and night and come back the next morning. We went out and finally got behind their lines and secured their position and ammunition dump, plotted it on our map, and started back. But our battle line had changed, and the enemy now occupied the area where we had been the day before. They had pushed our forces back a quarter of a mile in a counterattack. So we came around a hill into a valley, thinking it was held by our side, but the enemy now held both hills, and we were in a valley right between them. By the time we discovered it, they had annihilated one or two of our squad, and the rest of us took cover in a deep shell hole right in the center.
It was late afternoon when we found ourselves in this particular position. We knew we had to be out of there by nightfall because they’d just squeeze us out, the fighting being what it was in that sector. So we sat there, 11 of us, plotting what we’d do and how we’d do it. We were still 350 to 400 yards from our lines. In fact, we could even hear our fellows yell when they saw our plight, but it was too late. So we kept calling back over to them that we were going to make a dash for it, but we’d let them know just as soon as we could decide, and as we sat there surveying our situation, we decided that right at dusk we would go as a team, realizing that some wouldn’t make it. But it was the only way to get some of us out of it. There’s a long inventory-taking episode, let me tell you, as you sit there waiting.
We decided that we’d go at 6:15 because it would be just dark enough that we would be less of a target but light enough that we could make our way. We called over to our fellows to give us as much cover as they could with fire power, that the 11 men they would see scampering would be us, and to protect us with all they had. They called back that that’s what they’d do. We stripped our rifles down because we couldn’t take them with us, and got rid of all the heavy weights: there was the ammunition, the pouches, the grenades. We disassembled them as much as we could so that the enemy wouldn’t get any value from them. Then we sat there meditating and talking, and the others asked if I would kneel and lead them in prayer. And then we promised certain things we’d do for each other in terms of family welfare and all the rest if one made it and the other didn’t. I always carried my blessing with me, and I remember looking at it at 6:05, and I opened it up and studied it again, and it said, in essence, “Paul, you will live to see certain things come to pass if you’re willing.” There wasn’t a human way out of the situation we were in. You’d have to have been there to appreciate what I’m trying to tell you.
Well, the zero minute came, and we shook hands, and you never saw 11 men scamper like that before. I wished I’d had the track coach there. I think I set a new world record as I made my way to the American line. Three or four of the others didn’t get above the surface of the ground; they were cut down with machine guns. One of my good friends was almost cut in two with a burst, and as I stopped to try to help, I could see it was hopeless, and so l started on. It had been raining hard, and it was slippery, dirty, muddy, and so cold, and you’d fall as many times as you’d take a step almost, trying to get some traction. I’d move this way and that way, and I could tell I had a sniper with a machine gun right on me because the dirt and the mud behind me would just kick right up, move right around me, and then I’d move this way and then he’d pick me up again and move back. I was going with all I had. By then it was everybody for himself, and as I scampered within 50 yards of our hole, the sniper got a direct beam on me, and the first burst caught me in the right heel. It took my combat boot right off, just made me barefooted that quick without touching me physically, and it spun me around, and I went down on my knee. As I went down another machine gun burst came across my back and ripped the belt and the canteen and the ammunition pouch right off my back without touching me. As I got up to run, another burst hit me right in the back of the helmet, and it hit in the steel part, ricocheted enough to where it came up over my head, and split the helmet in two, but it didn’t touch me. Then I lunged forward again, and another burst caught me in the loose part of the shoulders where I could take off both my shirt sleeves without removing my coat, and then one more lunge and I fell over the line, into the arms of one of the dirtiest sergeants you ever saw. He’d watched the whole encounter, and he said, “Paul, you sure are lucky.” He said, “Follow me,” and I crawled back up, and I was the only one of the 11 who had even made it the first 100 yards.
Lucky? Oh, you call it what you want. I’d had verification after verification. A thousand such incidents happened to me in two years of combat experience. I only relate these things because I feel that young people everywhere, in and out of the Church, need to commence a serious investigation of their own souls and status in this life, because they are at a time when they can prepare.

I was called as a member of the Seventy in 1977. Since then I have had the privilege of visiting hundreds of stakes. After one priesthood leadership meeting in Taylorsville, Utah, a large man approached me and whispered that his brother had been killed during World War II and that he hated Japanese people. Following the stake conference, however, this same man approached me with tears in his eyes. Crying for joy, he gave me a hug because I had shared my conversion story and my love for Americans and it had touched him.

One afternoon I was talking with Ebrahim, a new friend from Iran. He wanted to know how much I got paid to help in the camp. I smiled and told Ebrahim that I was a volunteer. He had never heard of this word, so I explained. He was shocked and then asked how much money my team leader made. I laughed and told him that everyone in that camp was a volunteer.

I guess word got around, because more of my new friends began commenting on it, saying how surprised they were that we would help them for nothing in return. They had never seen anything like it.

After the horrible, inhumane ways they had been treated, they were justified in thinking that no one would help them—especially strangers. Many told me they hadn’t had any idea what would happen to them once they reached European soil. What a great surprise it must have been to be welcomed off the raging sea into open, caring arms and emergency blankets.

It wasn’t long after these conversations about us volunteers had begun circling the camp that I noticed something very interesting. The refugees began to help me with my tasks! They started picking up trash. They asked if they could help make hot drinks and serve them throughout the freezing nights. They helped with folding, sorting, and distributing donated clothes and setting up and taking down tents. And to my amazement, by the end of my service, there were hardly any jobs left for me to do.

I couldn’t carry a heavy water jug without a man offering to carry it for me. I couldn’t wash dishes without refugees happily telling me they would do them. And not only could I not fling open a garbage bag without a herd of boys rushing over to help, the refugees had almost stopped throwing their trash on the ground altogether!

The changes I witnessed inside the camp were undeniable.

Brayden listened to Mom read from the Bible and looked at the picture she showed them. It showed Jesus after He was resurrected. He was talking to some of His disciples who were on a fishing boat.
The disciples had fished all night without catching anything. When Jesus came, He told them where to put their net to catch fish. They tossed the net into the water. This time it caught so many fish they couldn’t pull the net back up!
“They caught that many fish?” Brayden’s brother, Christian, asked, eyes wide. Mom nodded, and kept reading.
She read how the disciples dragged the net to shore. It had caught 153 large fish. But even though it was so full, the net hadn’t broken! (See John 21:2–11).
This time, it was Brayden who had a question.
“What do you think they did with all of the fish?”
Mom set her scriptures down on her lap. “You know, I’ve read these verses many times, but I guess I never really thought about that. But I love your question! Let’s keep reading and see what it says.”
Soon they found a verse that said Jesus cooked fish for Peter and the other disciples.
“So they ate some of the fish?” Brayden asked.
Mom nodded, but before she could read more, Christian jumped up and down.
“I know! I know!” he said. “The fish were like money back then, right? Because fishing was Peter’s job. Like our dad has a job building walls with cement.”
Mom smiled. “That’s right! So the fish were probably a blessing to Peter’s family, just like the money Dad earns is a blessing to us.”
This time, Brayden’s sister, Victoria, spoke up.
“Maybe they traded fish with a carpenter to get some furniture,” she said. “Joseph was a carpenter, right?”
Mom put her arm around Victoria and squeezed her shoulders. “Wow! You guys have some great ideas about this story. Let’s think of some of the blessings our family has. We already talked about one—that Dad has a job. What are some others?”
Making this list was easy.
“Our house!”
“Clothes!”
“Food!”
Brayden and Christian and Victoria were still calling out answers when they heard Dad open the door.
“You’re home!” Victoria said as she jumped into his arms.
Dad kissed the top of her head. “What are you kids up to?”
“We’re talking about blessing fish!” Brayden said.
Dad raised his eyebrows. “Sounds exciting! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
That night Brayden and his family decided to start a new tradition. Every night after dinner, they would tell each other about new blessings they had noticed. Tonight, Mom even brought out a bowl of fish-shaped candy to eat while they shared.
Brayden smiled as he took a bite. Who knew that blessings could be so sweet?

The quarterly conference of the Parowan Stake in December 1879 witnessed the call of forty-nine men and their families to a new mission. The call came from President John Taylor and the Twelve through Elder Erastus Snow. Later, others from nearby settlements joined the final company. What followed became the Hole-in-the-Rock expedition, an epic in Church history. Two hundred fifty of our people, with eighty wagons and hundreds of loose cattle and horses, cut their way through the rough, unknown country of southeastern Utah. The area traversed remains one of the least-known regions of the world today. Their objective was the San Juan country. In addition to desert cliffs and canyons, the forbidding Colorado River gorge stood in their way. No highway bridge crossed that gorge until 1934. No commercial airline flew from Utah to Arizona, near their route, until 1959.
Seeking the shortest route, Mormon explorers found a narrow slit in Glen Canyon. The river ran two thousand feet below the red cliffs. This “Hole in the Rock” seemed to offer the shortest route.
Only a slit in the sheer cliffs, the hole was too narrow for teams, or in some places even for a man. Sheer drops of as much as seventy-five feet made it impossible even for a mountain sheep, let alone loaded wagons. In December 1879, after having left the Parowan and Cedar valleys the previous April, the Saints began to cut a precipitous, primitive road with blasting powder and tools. Elder Platte D. Lyman, leading the party, found that if a road could be built, it would drop eight feet every sixteen and one-half, the first third of the way to the river. Thereafter came several sheer precipices. But the party was prepared. With faith, they were equipped not only for blasting cliffs and carving passages, but for building a raft-boat capable of carrying teams and wagons across the river.
A road was built and a boat made by January 25, 1880. Now came the effort to get families and the first forty wagons, camped at the rim, down the “Hole.” The others, back at Fifty-Mile Spring, would follow later.
Kumen Jones has left a description of the method of descent. Twenty men and boys would hold long ropes back of each wagon. The wheels were brake-locked with chains. Otherwise, rolling wheels would pitch, unchecked, into the struggling team. On January 26, 1880, a month later, Platte D. Lyman recorded in his journal: “Today we worked all the wagons in this camp down the Hole and ferried 26 of them across the river. The boat is worked by 1 pair of oars and does very well.”
The family of Joseph Stanford Smith and his wife, Arabella, was the last wagon to descend that day. A grandson, Raymond Smith Jones, has described their experience. I doubt that a modern film company, with millions of dollars and modern engineering resources, could film this epic.
Stanford Smith had helped the preceding wagons down that long day. His outfit had evidently been forgotten. Deeply disturbed, he climbed the two-thousand-foot incline. He found Arabella sitting on a quilt, holding the baby, patiently waiting. His outfit and their two other children in the wagon were hidden behind a huge, mountainous rock.
Stanford Smith moved his load to the edge. A third horse was hitched to the rear axle. Stanford and Arabella looked down the “Hole.” He said, “I am afraid we can’t make it.”
The wife replied, “We must make it.”
He said, “If we only had a few men to hold the wagon back we might make it, Belle.”
Replied his wife, “I’ll do the holding back.”
A quilt was laid on the ground. There she placed the baby between the legs of three-year-old Roy. “Hold little brother til papa comes for you,” she said. Ada, the older girl, was placed in front of them. Behind the wagon Belle Smith grasped the reins of the horse hitched to the rear. Stanford started the team down the “Hole.” The wagon lurched downward. The rear horse and Belle were thrown from their feet. Recovering, she hung back, pulling on the lines with all her strength and courage. A jagged rock cut a cruel gash in her leg from heel to hip. The horse behind the wagon fell to his haunches. The half-dead animal was dragged down most of the way. The gallant woman, clothes torn, with a grievous wound, later said, “I crow-hopped right along!”
On reaching the bottom, Stanford and Arabella heard a faint call from the children. Joseph Stanford Smith climbed to the top to get them. They were safely in place. Carrying the baby, the other children clinging to him and to each other, he led them down the rocky crack. As they approached the river’s edge, they saw five men carrying chains and ropes in the distance. The Smiths had been missed. The men were coming to help. Stanford called out, “Forget it, fellows. … My wife here is all the help a fellow needs.” (See David E. Miller, Hole-in-the-Rock: An Epic in the Colonization of the Great American West, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1959, pp. 101–18.)

Youth in the Manly Ward, Sydney Australia Greenwich Stake (above), celebrated by researching the Prophet’s life and teachings and then compiling a book about their findings. They used Mutual time to do the project.
The book has 13 chapters, each based on an article of faith, and is titled Praise to the Man (see Hymns, no. 27). The youth and their families plan on using their copies of the completed work to share the gospel with friends. They will also send copies of the book to missionaries serving from the Manly Ward.
The youth learned more than facts from writing their book. “I learned that when we have trials we need to trust in God like Joseph Smith did,” says Losi Motuliki, a teacher.
“Joseph Smith was a really great man,” says Antoinette Hilario, a Mia Maid. “He was able to translate the Book of Mormon, which is another testament of Jesus Christ. We are so blessed to have this scripture in our lives today.”

Mia was sad. It was time for bed, and she couldn’t find her stuffed cat, Tinkerbell. Everybody helped her look—Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, and Dad. No Tinkerbell.
They searched all over. They looked under the bed. They looked behind the couch. They even looked under the sink. Still no Tinkerbell.
“We’re not having much luck, are we?” Mom said.
“No,” Mia said with a frown.
“I don’t know where Tinkerbell is,” Mom said. “But there’s someone who does know.”
Mia’s eyes lit up. “Who?”
“Heavenly Father knows. Should we say a prayer and ask Him for help?”
Mia nodded and knelt down. Everyone stopped searching and knelt down too.
“Heavenly Father, I miss Tinkerbell. Please help us find her. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Mia prayed.
“Now we need to listen and think so the Holy Ghost can help us find Tinkerbell,” Dad said. They were all quiet for a little while.
Mom looked at Mia. “Where do you think Tinkerbell is?”
“In the closet,” Mia said.
Everybody checked a closet. But there was still no Tinkerbell. Suddenly Mom had an idea. “This morning I put your backpack in the upstairs closet. We didn’t check there yet. Maybe Tinkerbell is there.”
Mia and Mom ran upstairs to check. They opened the closet. Tinkerbell was in the backpack!
Mia gave Tinkerbell a great big hug. Mia and Mom knelt down right there and thanked Heavenly Father.

Very early in my childhood, I became aware of the importance of prayer and the awesome power of the holy priesthood. During the fall of 1942, the United States was involved in a war. My father was trying to finish building our house. He couldn’t get a furnace because all building materials were needed for the war. As the weather became colder, my little sister, Patricia, and I became very ill. She had bronchitis, and I had double pneumonia. The doctor offered little hope that I would live through the night.
Speaking of that “awful night of nights,” my mother said she became desperate as she felt for my pulse and could find none. She said I looked like a little statue lying there on my bed. She fervently prayed to the Lord, promising if I should live, she would give me back to the Lord for His service. During the night, my father gave me a priesthood blessing. As he laid his hands upon my head, I opened my eyes, and from that time on, I began to feel better. I know that through the prayers of my parents and the power of the priesthood, my life was spared.