Gospel Story Finder

“What’s this?” I said to myself as I walked into my bedroom and saw a vase and flower on the dresser. It was a bud vase of green glass, with a yellow ribbon tied around it. It held a red velvet rose, made with obvious care and skill.
I knew my 15-year-old daughter, Ellen, had made flowers like this before, usually for friends or to give away as presents. But why would she be giving one to me? Though we rarely quarrel, she and I had quarreled earlier in the day, and the storm clouds between us had not yet evaporated.
And what was this—a note addressed to me? I opened it and read:
“Dear mom, this may seem like a small thing to give, and it may only be a copy of the real thing, but it still has the beauty of a real rose. This rose isn’t real, though, and that’s on purpose. Because real roses die. But this one will always be alive. And so will the love I have for my mother. Even though it sometimes seems that I don’t love you, I do love you.
“Just like when there’s dust on the rose and you blow it away and everything seems new, the same is true when we’re upset. Blow the dust away and our love shines clean and new. I love you, mom. I always will.”
Tears dropped down my cheeks. I felt ashamed for not having been the first to apologize, but Ellen had apologized first. She had more than cleared the problems between us. She had given me a gift of love.
We still disagree occasionally, but now we both know how superficial that dust on our relationship is, and we have learned to quickly blow it off. After we have, then, with warmth and tender appreciation, I walk into the bedroom and blow the dust off my velvet rose, too.

When I first got to know the Church in 2016, it was a strange thing for me to have received the gospel through my two classmates, who today also serve in the same mission as I do. I waited a year to be baptized since my family was Catholic and it was a difficult thing for me, but thanks to prayer, the Lord supported me, and I was baptized in July 2017. I was in fifth grade, and I was the only member of the Church in my family, and in my neighborhood. I had to walk at least nine kilometers every Sunday to attend sacrament meeting, which from the start was difficult for me.
After my baptism, I lost the job that I had, and I began to go through a difficult moment. I applied the advice given in Deuteronomy 31:6, only if I was not afraid, the Lord was going to help me, and with His help I brought one of my best friends to Church who was the second person in my neighborhood to join the Church, and who also serves a mission today in Liberia.
After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.
In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.
When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.
I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.
I am happy to serve Him in this time, I know that our Heavenly Father knows us personally and prepares us with the means to serve Him in his time by the tools He himself prepares to help us get there. Fervent prayer is the only way that can bring us closer to Him and help us prepare to become more like the Savior Jesus Christ.

After my freshman year, I was called to serve a mission in South Carolina. Once again I found the same thing: good, faithful people who helped me grow and come closer to the Savior. The people we taught were absolutely amazing. These many experiences confirmed something I had already begun to learn: Some of the greatest blessings in life come through the people the Lord places in your path.

On my first day in the mission office, I was overwhelmed—even though I told the mission president I was “fine.” One of the assistants, Mike Acton, could see that I was uncomfortable. He immediately stepped in—talking with me, joking, and helping me relax until I truly felt okay. That moment marked the beginning of his influence in my life. He continued to check in on me several times a week, showing genuine care and concern.

Mike’s love for missionary work and for people has always defined him. For many years he has carried that same spirit of service forward. He became a tremendous support to our men’s golf team and played a key role—alongside his business partner, Jim Pritchard—in building a facility for both the men’s and women’s golf programs.

Mike’s impact goes far beyond what he built. It’s seen in the relationships he has nurtured and the lives he has touched.

Recently an attractive young woman came to my office with her parents. She came from a good family, but she had lost her way and now was in serious difficulty. She was unmarried and expecting a child and wondered what she should do. My heart went out to her. I think she loved the Lord. She had forgotten that those who love the Lord keep in touch with him and keep his commandments. She had control of her emotions until I asked her if she said her prayers. Then she began to cry.
How important it is that we communicate daily, and more often if necessary, with our Heavenly Father. He always loves us whether we are good or bad. It takes initiative on our part, however, if he is to bless us.

In the mid-1980s, my husband and I were newly married and getting ready to move away to law school. We were worried about having enough money to make the move. We had always been self-reliant and did not want to ask our families for help, and the amount we needed was large. We had been praying about what to do. Out of the blue, I was commissioned to do a large art project for the college we attended. It would pay exactly what we needed. This experience was a direct blessing of paying tithing. But it was also something more. The Lord blessed me with the opportunity to work for that money. He gave me a way to earn it myself, and He honored my agency. I could have turned down the offer. I had a full-time job and a major Church calling, but I made the time and completed the project. We paid our own way to move.

Photograph courtesy of Ian Jonsson/Lodi News Sentinel
The final whistle sounded, and Kyle* left the mat feeling discouraged about losing the match. Team captain Colin Anderson from California, USA, put his arm around Kyle and offered him a ride to get burgers with the rest of the team.
They sat in the restaurant parking lot while Colin listened to the freshman pour out his frustrations. Kyle had done well in middle school, but he was struggling with the switch to high school competition. Colin hadn’t been very good as a freshman either, but he had kept trying. So he turned to his teammate and encouraged him: “Look, you’re just a freshman. You have time. You’ll do fine.”
Encouraging his teammates was something Colin tried to do as often as he could. But it certainly wasn’t the norm when he was coming up in the program.
By the time Colin reached his senior year and was made a cocaptain of his high school wrestling team, he’d worked hard and learned a lot. He’d begun “at the bottom of the food chain,” kept his head down, and tried to improve. At that time the team was run like a boot camp, using fierce competiveness and hazing to try to toughen the wrestlers and build camaraderie. But when it was his turn to lead, Colin knew that wasn’t right. “I didn’t feel I could do what had been done in the past.”
Colin’s mother often drove him to wrestling meets, and on the long drives they talked about his wrestling and the team. These conversations helped shape the idea of how Colin would lead if given the chance. “I decided to lead in the Lord’s way, as I’d learned in priesthood.” When he was made a captain, he used encouragement, love, and persuasion to help his team members improve.
Things didn’t turn around all at once. The coaches considered it a building year because the team was so young, with Colin and his cocaptain as the only seniors. The “building year” was evident early in the season, when a rivalry meet was a disaster. Afterward, Colin told his team, “I’m not angry at our loss. You don’t have to win everything; you just have to give it your best.”
From then on, the team worked together toward the same goal, and everything changed. They started building success. As he worked with and instructed others, Colin’s own wrestling improved. “The greatest way to learn is to teach,” he said. At the end of the season, the team won their league and sent seven wrestlers to postseason tournaments.
Looking back, Colin will always remember two things about his wrestling career. First, being a leader is really about service. “I didn’t make state but it was a good year anyway, because my focus was on helping others; that helped me improve too.”
Second, Colin learned that you can have a greater effect on others than you might ever suspect. “You have a great ability to shape how others see their experiences and to influence their perspective. Independent of the team and my own success, I will always remember Kyle and talking to him in the parking lot.” True leadership really can have a lasting effect.

Illustration by Greg Stevenson
Shortly after I was hired as the assistant director of a large library, my team and I began an ambitious project to digitize 37,000 books. One day my supervisor called me into his office.
“Edouard,” he said, “I’ve been invited to present our book digitization project in the United States and to solicit some new acquisitions. I’ve been asked to bring a trusted co-worker with me. I have confidence in you but not in your church. If you renounce your faith, you can come with me.”
Before I could say anything, he told me to think about it and then dismissed me.
That evening, I shared with my wife what had happened. She encouraged me to have faith. The next day, I told my supervisor that I would keep my faith. He was angry and said he’d just travel alone.
A year later, I had an opportunity to travel to France to receive training in library funding, acquisitions, and management. I just needed my supervisor’s approval. He said he would approve only if I denounced my faith. I again declined. He then tore up the document and threw it in my face. Some time later my supervisor approached me again.
“I am about to leave on another trip,” he said. “You can come with me, but the condition remains the same. I will never travel with a member of your church.”
“I will not reject my faith,” I said. He left without saying a word. Soon he began to talk about me to my colleagues.
“I have offered him opportunities,” he’d say. “But he has exhausted them all because of his blind faith. He is a fool.”
From then on, I became the object of mockery and contempt at work. I felt beaten down. One evening, preoccupied with this problem, I opened the Bible and read, “If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell” (Matthew 5:29).
If the Lord says we should get rid of something in order to save ourselves, why was I hanging on to a job that had become a danger to my spiritual well-being? The next day, I handed in my resignation.
Today, I rejoice in this choice. With courage and faith in Jesus Christ, I faced humiliation at work and temporary unemployment. My new job now provides opportunities unavailable to me before. The Lord has blessed me, and I thank Him for His kindness and His love toward me.

“The first thing I do whenever I’m transferred is check for the location of the local chapel,” said Joseph Clancy, 19, in the U.S. Army and stationed at Ford Ord, California. “I walked to every chapel on the base here looking for the Mormon chaplain, and when my feet got sore, I let my fingers do the walking and checked the phone book. The local ward directed me to Chaplain Cooper, and he had a member pick me up for church.
“I’ve also learned that trying to fit in with the gang that runs around is not my style. I’ve concentrated on being a missionary wherever I go, and I’ve just converted a friend in the barracks. I like being in the military. I guess I’m old-fashioned because I feel that patriotism and honor and duty to your country are important.”

My teacher was out of the room, helping other students. Some of the rest of us who didn’t need to use the computers were messing around—walking around, reading, goofing off. I was at my desk, quietly drawing a comic page I had been working on.
Jason* came over and said, “Will you draw this for me?” He pointed to a picture in our social studies book that he wanted to use for an assignment.
When I asked why, he replied, “I can’t draw very well, so can you draw this for me? The teacher won’t know it was you, I swear.”
I thought, What should I do? He knows I’m a good artist, but this just doesn’t seem honest.
“Ehhhh, no,” I said.
“Why not? Please, man,” he begged.
“Because this isn’t right. I don’t want to,” I told him.
“OK, if you can tell me five reasons why it’s not right, I won’t bug you anymore.”
“Look,” I said, “why can’t you do it? Just do your best. It isn’t like he’s going to give you a bad grade for a not-so-good picture. Just try.”
“But …” he started, then trailed off and walked away from my desk.
It was really hard to make that choice. I thought that if I didn’t draw the picture, he wouldn’t like me and I couldn’t be his friend. But now he’s just like normal. I’m glad I made the right choice.
Austin Lee Ballard, age 11Rexburg, Idaho

After working on their disabilities merit badge and deciding to involve Jeffery more in their activities, they met with Jeffery’s parents to find out what he was capable of doing. The boys in the quorum decided to invite him to participate in their basketball game. Since Jeffery couldn’t participate in the actual game the boys were playing, they took turns removing themselves from the game in order to step to the sidelines to toss the ball to him. Brother Bellon notes, “Having Jeffery become a more active part of the quorum helps us realize that he is really no different than any one of us. Building a relationship with him has allowed all of us to be more compassionate toward him and toward each other.”

The enthusiastic young people of the Cleveland First Ward, Huntington Utah Stake treated the senior citizens in their ward to a Red Carpet Honor Night. The Young Men, dressed in suits and ties, first delivered an invitation to each home. Then on the night of the activity, they served as chauffeurs and escorts; they drove to each home, rolled out the red carpet, and escorted their guests to the meetinghouse. There they seated the elderly members of their ward and served them a delicious meal prepared by the Young Women.
After dinner, the senior ward members were seated in a semicircle at the front of the auditorium. They were each given an opportunity to tell how they arrived in the community, what life was like when they were growing up, and how they met their companions. They also answered questions from the audience, offered several good words of advice to the youth, and thanked them for a wonderful evening.

I was a few months into my mission in the Illinois Chicago South Mission and still serving in my first area. The sisters’ area next to us had recently been closed, so we had responsibility for all of the Spanish-speaking investigators from that area. Among them was a woman named Rebecca.
The first time we met Rebecca, I was impressed by her faith. She lived in the basement of a house, so we had to knock on her windows for her to come open the door for us. The previous missionaries had begun to teach her after she requested a Finding Faith in Christ video. If she had not called for a video, the missionaries may never have found her.
I could tell from what she told us that Rebecca had a hard life. She had once been a very happy person, but now she was separated from her son and other family. Although she was in humble circumstances, I felt the Lord’s love for her.
As we taught her, I could tell she was feeling the Spirit. Our visits would lift her mood considerably. Unfortunately, she lived far away, and it was hard to visit her as often as we would have liked.
One Friday when we had zone conference, we planned to go out to that part of our area afterwards since we were already halfway there. We asked Rebecca if she would be home, but she said she would be working. We decided we would still visit other investigators we had in the area.
We ended up with some extra time there, and we weren’t sure what to do. Then my companion said, “I think we should go see if Rebecca is home.” This suggestion didn’t make sense to me since Rebecca told us she would not be home. It was then I heard a voice telling me, “Go back and visit her.” I felt as if my body was literally being pulled in the direction of Rebecca’s house. It was the strongest impression I have ever felt.
I told my companion to turn the car around, and we went to Rebecca’s house. We knocked on the windows twice, and no one answered. I was so disappointed because I knew there had to be a reason the Lord sent us. I suggested we knock one more time. We waited, and then just as we were about to leave, Rebecca answered the door.
She was home because she had just been fired from her job, and she really needed someone to talk to. She had been praying that we would come. She told us we were her angels. We were able to talk to her and make her feel better by teaching her more about the gospel.
I’m so glad Heavenly Father cares for each of His children and listened to Rebecca’s prayer, and I’m glad we could follow the prompting to go visit her, so we could be that answer. Our Heavenly Father knows all the things that are going on in each of our lives, and when we rely on Him and ask in faith, He will help us with the things we need.

Years ago as a young elder, I was called with others to a hospital in Salt Lake City to provide blessings for sick children. Upon entering, we noted a Christmas tree with its bright and friendly lights and saw carefully wrapped packages beneath its outstretched limbs. We then went through corridors where small boys and girls—some with plaster casts upon an arm or leg, others with ailments that perhaps could not be cured so readily—greeted us with smiling faces.
A young, desperately ill small boy called out to me, “What is your name?”
I told him my name, and he inquired, “Will you give me a blessing?”
The blessing was provided, and as we turned to leave his bedside, he said, “Thank you very much.”
We walked a few steps, and then I heard him call, “Oh, Brother Monson, merry Christmas to you.” Then a great smile flashed across his countenance.
That boy had the spirit of Christmas. The spirit of Christmas is something I hope all of us would have in our hearts and lives—not only at this particular season but also throughout the year.

Another memory taught me more about the value and importance of fulfilling a mission.

A few years ago, while serving as president of the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, I had a delightful visit with one of the missionaries who came into my office. He was obviously older than the average young elder. He was about twenty-five years of age. He told me of his conversion.

When he was sixteen, he was baptized into the Church in Europe along with his mother. His father did not object to his wife’s and son’s joining the Church, even though he was not interested. He was a banker and wanted his son to prepare himself for a profession in the same area.

The young man loved studying the scriptures, but occasionally had some difficulty when his father would interrupt him when he was studying his seminary course and say, “Don’t waste your time studying those things. Study your regular school courses so that you can be accepted at the university.”

The elder said, “One night later on, when I was about eighteen, I had a dream. I dreamed that I had been called on a mission to Japan. I felt so good about it. I really wanted to go. The next day, when I told my parents about my dream, my dad strongly objected. He said, “Oh, no! Don’t waste two years of your life on a mission. You need to get on with your university studies.”

Since he was too young to leave for a mission at that time anyway, he did go on with his university studies. He chose to come to Brigham Young University. He majored in finance and banking for his undergraduate degree and stayed to complete a master’s degree in business administration.

He was hired by an international banking firm in Germany and was doing very well as a promising junior executive, but the idea of filling a mission would not leave his mind, and so he went to visit with his bishop and stake president. When he told his stake president of the vivid dream he had years before about going on a mission to Japan, his stake president chuckled and said, “Well, I don’t think you will be going to Japan. Missionaries from here generally are called to some other country on the continent, and a few go over to the British Isles.”

When he received his call and his father heard of it, he came and tried to change his son’s mind because he thought that a two-year interruption would be a disaster for his son’s professional career. One of the bank executives came down from Frankfurt and tried to discourage him from leaving, saying something like, “My boy, do you know how much this will cost you in salary and opportunity loss? You ought to sit down and figure it out.”

The elder said that he did that, and he had determined that the mission would cost him a very large amount of money—more than 150,000 dollars. Then tears came to his eyes, and he said, “But President, if it were to cost several times that amount, I would still be here, because I know that serving a mission is what the Lord wants me to do.”

That elder was one of the few I remember who left the Missionary Training Center speaking what Japanese he had learned with a German accent. He was called to Japan. He served a successful mission, and I am confident that when he finished he found many international businesses that would like to hire a junior executive who can speak English, German, and Japanese—the major languages of the economic free world. Even if he didn’t earn an extra cent, he still knew that he had done what the Lord wanted him to do.

For Cho Young Hyun, who serves as bishop of the Poong Hyang Ward in Kwangju, the determination to live gospel principles has even become an advantage in the competitive business world.
After completing his university studies, Bishop Cho became a candidate for a prestigious chemical engineering position with one of South Korea’s largest oil companies. As part of the hiring process, he interviewed with all of the company’s directors. “They sat in front of me and fired off questions,” he explains.
One of the questions asked was how he felt about family responsibilities in comparison to company responsibilities. “I think they were anticipating that I would assure them my first priority was with the company,” Bishop Cho says. “But I answered, without hesitation, that no success could compensate for failure in the home. My answer surprised them and moved them. And I was able to share the words of a prophet.”
Bishop Cho got the job. But after only five months, he received an offer to teach in the Church Educational System. Despite the fact that his salary would be cut by two-thirds, he accepted the offer and now teaches in Kwangju, a community in southwestern Korea near where he grew up.
“From the time I was young, I wanted to be a teacher,” says Bishop Cho as he reflects on the direction his life has taken. “But teaching math or science or history didn’t interest me. I wanted to teach people things that could change their lives. And now I am.”

As a boy I dreamed of someday going to the islands of the Pacific. These places came to life for me in books and stories, and through the travels of others.

I doubt very much—no, you never dreamed of coming to the island where I lived as a boy. It was a small farm near a tiny town in Tennessee—surrounded by an enormous ocean of dense, hardwood-covered hills—deep forests on steep inclines that went on forever.

"Out of the way" and "insignificant" were understatements in describing it! It was so isolated that the sound of a passing car or truck motor on the road some distance from our farm house qualified as excitement.

I was one year old and my mom was 23 when my dad died; I never knew him. Seven years later, out of the need for a family circle, we continued to live with my grandparents.

As you might expect, my mother was a great influence in my life. She was a doer—a petite and beautiful woman with drive. She owned a restaurant, had traveled some, and always paid her own way in life. She read to me, laughed with me, and she took me to the Presbyterian Church every Sunday morning. We didn't miss.

Life had become a comfortable routine; you know, secure. I had my own bedroom. I had a horse to travel the farm's acres and sometimes trot into town. And I had a faithful dog that shared my every adventure. Granddad sometimes even let me drive his new, red Farmall tractor. What more could an 8-year-old boy ask for?

. . . Well, there was one thing I wanted in the worse way: I wanted to know something that I had long thought about. Mom didn't have the details and neither did my grandparents. Brother Davis, the minister at the Presbyterian Church couldn't really explain it; and even seemed annoyed—more like frustrated—at my persistence in asking.

So I thought I would turn to someone who did know. I clearly remember offering a prayer on my knees one summer night—a secret prayer—that was different from the rote prayer I had repeated every night since I could remember. The prayer was simply to know how I could see my father some day. It was a simple, but sincere prayer and I continued to ask and think about it. I knew that God was there; I just didn't know if he ever heard me.

I had also been thinking a lot about what it would be like to have a dad. It didn't seem complicated, and I determined that it was awfully important to a boy who had never had one.

Now I share this because exactly a year later, my mom sat me down, looked into my eyes and explained that she was soon to be married; that I was going to have a dad. She couldn't mask her excitement.

Frankly, I was shocked—in awe! I didn't know how to react. How could just thinking about having a dad actually produce that kind of results? Maybe God had considered it to be a prayer, I thought!

Living on my little island ended abruptly. In what seemed like minutes, my instant family was speeding on its way to Detroit, Michigan, 700 miles north, where my new dad worked in Ford Motor Company management.

As the last familiar farms and landmarks flashed past the car windows and then disappeared, so did my huge ocean vanish a few hours later. I felt a kind hopelessness; something akin to mild terror.

I knew things were never to be the same again. The journey that was beginning was filled with uncertainties I couldn't begin to articulate. It was time to add some more requests to my long-standing prayer about knowing my father someday, and then really hope that God would hear it.

The cultural shock was instant. I did not blend in. School confirmed that American English was not spoken in Michigan. It sounded like English, only spoken with lightening speed. After a couple of days in class, I resolved to speak it faster than anyone in the state. I think I came close!

Needless to say, my world had been turned up-side-down, but eventually it became righted. Dad loved baseball and spent years trying to teach me the art of pitching. Mom placed a premium on education. And home became a haven.

And, yes, every Sunday morning Mom and I went to church. Dad was always asked to come, but declined.

One Sunday morning, however, when I was seventeen, mom gathered the magnitude of her southern communications skills and almost pleaded for Dad to go to church with us: "It would mean so much to me, Joseph, if you would come," she said.

Dad opened the phone book, made a call, put on a suit and tie, and unceremoniously announced, "Let's go."

The building was rather plain, but stately. One cornerstone pronounced: A.D. 1928. The other read, Glory to God. A stone panel above the door read, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

We couldn't leave the building that day after the meeting until we shook hands with everyone there; some people twice. It seemed to be a tradition. Some guys with whom I ran track in high school offered slaps on the back, and the man who directed the meeting walked us out to our car.

It turned out that dad was a member of the Church since he was a boy in Tennessee; had left the farm as a teenager to survive the after-effects of the Great Depression, and had become inactive.

After mom and I were baptized, we went to church as a family and it brought her immeasurable happiness. Dad never missed again—ever.

The missionary lessons answered the very questions I had longed and hoped would be answered: who God really was, and, how I might someday see my real father. I consider finding that information, and the gospel, a miracle.

Having a dad come into my life, a great dad, was a wonderful bonus; the catalyst in my finding the gospel.

The most practical principle to me in finding the restored Church was that prayers are answered. That knowledge became increasingly profound while serving a mission, while at BYU, in the process of finding my sweetheart, also in being a father and grand father, during long years of a career, and while serving in the Church. That principle has never been more apparent than now while being with you on this unique campus.

I do not fully understand why the prayer of a little boy who was not a member of the Church, in a place known relatively to a few, was answered. I just know that it was and my entire life was changed. Every day I marvel. And I am still grasping to capture words to thank my Heavenly Father.

As we pushed across the Arctic, the directing and protecting powers of the Spirit were always present. We had prayed regularly throughout the trip; I had set a pattern and hoped Bob would follow, and he did. For the first week, his prayers were choppy and short. But as we moved further into the wilderness, an emotion began to build. He began to talk to the Lord. He would say please, and when I heard him say it, I knew he was on the way back. As we got into some more difficult situations, he really opened up. Sometimes we would pray a dozen or more times a day. The feeling kept growing that we were not really two alone, but three together—myself, my son, and the Lord.

Late one afternoon we were approaching the mouth of a river at the end of Starvation Lake. As we pulled ashore, the canoe bumped a boulder. We noticed a huge mound of fur nearby. I thought it was a dead animal until it moved and Bob said, “It’s a grizzly. And it isn’t dead, it’s asleep.” We were less than 100 feet from it at that point. Suddenly, it stood up. I thought it would run away, as most bears do. But it was irritated. The hair on its neck raised up, it started swaying its head back and forth, its jaws started moving—you could hear the teeth clacking—and its ears were laid back. I grabbed the camera and Bob grabbed the gun, but we soon decided it wasn’t smart to stay close, and we backed into deeper water. Somehow we had to get by that grizzly.
We pulled into a small draw about 200 feet away and checked on the bear. It had lain back down. So we took the food packs up and came back for the canoe. When we checked on the bear again, it was gone. It couldn’t go the opposite direction from us because of cliffs. It couldn’t go to the right, because of the lake. So we knew it was either going parallel uphill or coming straight for us. It knew where we were, but we didn’t know where it was. Bears will sometimes move up your trail and intercept you, and we were both scared. We knew it might come boiling over the hill any minute. Bob said, “Dad, can we pray, please?” After a prayer and with great caution, we started up the draw, me with the canoe over my head and Bob with the gun.
We broke the ridge about 100 feet from our packs, and it was waiting there for us. If it tasted the food in the packs, we would have to kill it to keep it from destroying the entire supply, and we didn’t want to do that. As a last desperate effort, and with prayer in my heart, I raised the canoe and shouted at the top of my lungs.
The bear swung its huge head around and saw a pair of legs, a body, and a 17-foot aluminum head growling at it. It was startled so badly it took off at a dead run. It took us about four hours to shake the hollow feeling we had after that close encounter, but we both knew the prayer had helped us through.
When we arrived at Point Lake, it was covered with ice floes. Shifting ice floes in a bad wind would crush a small canoe like an egg shell. We made camp, and I asked Bob to pray that night. He exhibited a faith rarely seen. He said, simply, “Father, stop the wind.”
The next day when we got up, it was perfectly still. The lake was smooth as a mirror. But we had 20 miles to cross. Even the slightest breeze once we were on the lake and we would be destroyed. For 20 miles we pushed through the floes. Twice the canoe froze in the ice as we got hemmed in, and we had to jump and pry and push to work our way free. Finally, after 7 1/2 hours, we broke into open waters. No sooner had we cleared the ice floes than the wind began to blow again. It had been a daily companion except for those 7 1/2 hours. We prayed again, this time a prayer of thanks.
It was about that time Bob began talking again about going on his mission. We hadn’t mentioned it much, but then one day he said, “Well, I guess when we get home I’ll start getting ready for my mission.” From then on, he talked about a mission more and more. One night, about 1:00 A.M., after a long, hard day, he rolled over in his sleeping bag and said, “Dad, tell me about eternal life.” We talked for about two hours. Then, with his last effort, he said, “That’s for me,” and fell asleep. For me that made the whole trip worthwhile.
We also had several other experiences that taught us to appreciate the harmony and beauty of nature and the power of its forces and creatures.
One day, after we had reached the Coppermine, we were paddling on the river during a blizzard. It was the end of July and the snow was flying! The current was powerful, but the headwind was so strong we were struggling for progress. Bob said, “Dad, look at the shore.” I did. We were standing still. And when we stopped paddling, the wind blew us upstream! So we stopped and pulled over and gathered what wood we could for a fire to warm our hands.
We were resting there when we saw a herd of caribou coming directly toward us. They looked spooked, but I was sure they’d follow their established trail. They did and swam across the river. Right behind them was a pack of wolves. As the herd came out of the water, there were two old cows lagging behind. A second set of wolves, waiting on the far shore, renewed the pursuit, and soon dragged down a victim. Had we not stopped to warm our hands, we would have missed this spectacle of life and death.
That wasn’t our only experience with wind or with wolves. Headwinds plagued us through much of the early trip. Sometimes they were so strong you could lean into them without falling over; sometimes they literally lifted you off your feet. It’s quite a challenge carrying a canoe over your head in winds like that! Another time winds were so strong we couldn’t even pitch our tent. We just waited them out for two days and slept on the ground.
Another day, Bob had stopped to fish. When he looked up, a large wolf, about 30 feet away across the creek, was staring at him. It followed us for several days. I’m pretty sure he was a dominant wolf that had been driven out of his pack. He still carried his tail curled way up above the top of his back, a sign in the society of the pack that he’s a leader. We finally lost him when we crossed a large lake.
We also drifted up to a large bull moose in the river one time. He was upwind from us and didn’t notice us. I’m sure his antlers were 60 inches wide. We got several good pictures of him before we scared him and he ran away, but those photos were among the two rolls of film that were later destroyed in processing, along with photos of the grizzly bear and the caribou and wolves.
Another time we were hung up on a boulder in a bad set of rapids, and it seemed as though we might stay there forever. But after a prayer and a quick maneuvering of the boat, we broke free.
Once we reached the river, we were determined to make up our lost time. We didn’t mind moving, because when we’d stop we’d start to chill. Even at night we slept cold. The ground was ice, and the wind was cold. We had canned heat, but just enough to warm our food. And so we paddled and rushed on. Our worst day on the river we made three miles. Our best day we made 50, and we went over the falls and swamped at the last set of rapids out of eight we covered that day. The map showed eight sets of rapids, and we decided, because of our haste, to run them without studying them first, a foolish thing to do.
We slowly made up time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had run every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we portaged around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.
To any father who is trying to help his son decide to go on a mission, I would say that the most important thing is to know your son. Not everyone needs to go on a trip down the Coppermine. The same kind of building experiences can take place at home, working in the garage together, playing a game of tennis, maybe just going for a walk where the two of you can be alone. I wouldn’t have gone on the Coppermine if I hadn’t felt inspired to do so.
And to you young men who know you should be going on a mission, I would remind you that for every person there will be wilderness areas, Gethsemanes, Sacred Groves, if you will—places where we learn to rely on the Lord completely and call on him in fervent prayer. Don’t try to tempt the Lord by placing yourself in a dangerous situation, but be prepared to follow the promptings of his Spirit, wherever they may lead you.

My name is Flaming Star. I sit often near the tepee of my grandfather Red Deer. Many summers have marked his face with wisdom and honor, and he teaches me all he knows. In the way of my people I am but a young man. In summers to come I will be a brave. Grandfather teaches me to be honorable so that my people will think much of me.
Together we have seen the four-legged ones. We have watched the winged ones drift on the wind and have sat by the stream where fish dance in the water. We have watched green and growing things turn brown upon our Mother Earth, then return again to give food and shelter. Grandfather teaches me to treat all creatures kindly, for they are my brothers.
One dawn, as the morning star shone where the sun would soon shine, I watched alone, for the sun gives wisdom to all. When my watching was ended I felt wiser. I took my bow and arrows, my spear and snare, and, while the ponies still slept, I walked the path to the stream. The winged ones sang in my ears, and the green trees swayed in the breeze to welcome me. Nothing seemed afraid.
Setting a snare for rabbits by the path, I continued my walk. The stream sparkled and sang and its taste was cool and good. I sat quietly on a rock and looked into the water. Below, the fish swam. As Grandfather had taught me, I lifted my spear and took aim. The spear sank deeply, and on the end was a small fish. In the way of my people, I kissed the fish for all to see, then put him back into the water. The other fish were no longer afraid. Many times my spear sank deeply and the bank of the stream became covered with my fish.
As the sun climbed high in the sky, I tied all the fish together with the grass that never breaks. Then, across the stream, a deer walked softly. It held its head high and looked to all the corners of the world. I sat very still and it did not see me. Slowly, the deer walked to the water and lowered its head to drink.
My heart was that of a brave. I slid an arrow into my bow and took careful aim. Slowly, I pulled the string until the arrow tip touched the bow. My fingers sent the arrow to the heart of the deer.
“YUHOO!” I shouted. Then my legs carried me across the stream in gladness.
The sun was moving westward as I began tying the deer to a branch of a tree. When I had finished, I returned for my fish and walked the path to the village. On the way, I looked in the snare. A rabbit had been caught. My people will think much of me now, I thought.
Grandfather saw me coming. He raised his arm.
“YUHOO!” I called. “I have killed much meat this day.”
Grandfather looked at my fish. He looked at my rabbit.
“There is more,” I said. “By the stream I have killed a deer.”
Grandfather and I took a pony to the stream. Carefully we tied the deer upon the pony’s back. I smiled proudly. When we came to a rock, we stopped to rest.
“Come, Flaming Star,” Grandfather said. “Sit with me awhile.”
The pony pawed the ground as I sat beside my grandfather.
“You have gotten much meat this day. You are a good hunter. But two suns ago the braves brought a bison to the village. The meat still dries on the racks,” Grandfather said quietly.
“Yes, Grandfather,” I nodded.
“The four-leggeds you have killed—the deer and the rabbit—and the fish you have speared are enough for two tepees. Have you the knowledge to wisely use your animal brothers that you have killed?”
“Use them, Grandfather! What do you mean?”
“If you had no use for them, why did you kill them? When the bison leave this grazing land, we will hunt other meat that the Great Spirit sends to us. But we do not kill our animal brothers if there is no need, Flaming Star. We treat all things kindly. Would you trample a tree if the path were clear?” Grandfather asked solemnly.
“No, Grandfather.”
“Then likewise, a brave does not kill unless there is a need in the village.”
“I did not think wisely,” I replied.
“You have learned skills—the snare, the bow and arrow, and the spear—but skills are honorable only when used with judgment.”
“I will remember.” I stared at the ground where many feet had left their mark. “But my meat, Grandfather; what can I do to bring honor to my kill?”
“Think on that, Flaming Star, for all wisdom cannot be told.”
I walked the path beside my grandfather. The pony bobbed his head and snorted, and the deer rode its back. No word was said. As the smoke from our fires drifted through the trees, I spoke at last. “Grandfather,” I said quietly, “I know what to do with my kill.”
“Yes, Flaming Star?” he encouraged.
“I will give meat to Gray Sparrow, who is blind and has no relatives.”
“That is a good thing,” Grandfather responded, nodding his head.
“I will also give some to Rolling Stream, whose brave has gone to live with the Great Spirit.”
“That is what honorable braves do,” Grandfather said and nodded again.
“I will give meat also to all the old and feeble ones without sons,” I said. “Will that bring honor to my kill?” I asked as we neared the village.
Grandfather put his hand on my shoulder, and we walked into the village. I felt joy that he touched me. He went with me as I gave my meat to Gray Sparrow and Rolling Stream and to all the old and feeble ones. They thanked me and said I was a good hunter.
There is much my grandfather taught me. I watch his face, in which much wisdom is written. I learn that wisdom is not gained in one day of watching the morning star or from simply killing or from skills alone.
Some wisdom comes in quiet times when one is alone. So I sit alone many days and watch the morning star. I sit silently and watch the green and growing things. I watch the deer and rabbits playing. I watch the quiet fish swimming. I watch the people of my village working and living peacefully. I learn many things. From Red Deer, my grandfather, I have learned much kindness.
And when I want my people to think much of me, I remember him.

Kim has consistently worn modest clothing. The other day I asked for her opinion on what she considers to be a modest skirt, a modest blouse, and a modest swimsuit. Instead of coming up with exact measurements for hemlines and necklines, we discussed the principles surrounding modesty and the challenge of finding modest clothing that looks attractive. We had fun brainstorming ways to creatively lengthen a skirt. Finally Kim said, “If I’m not comfortable when I first put something on, it usually means it’s immodest and I won’t be comfortable wearing it. I’ve learned to never buy it. I just put it back on the rack.”

I had planned my entire life to serve a full-time mission. But when I went to college at Brigham Young University (Utah, USA), I started to get nervous. How could I know whether I was really supposed to serve a mission? I spent the year before my 21st birthday begging Heavenly Father to tell me if I should serve. Then one of my religion professors said something that changed my life: “The Lord can’t drive a parked car.” I decided to act.
I turned in my papers, received my call, bought missionary clothing, and drove home from Utah to North Carolina—all while preparing for my mission with earnest prayer, study, and fasting.
After I went home to North Carolina, a young man I had met at school flew out to visit me, and we talked seriously about our relationship.
My prayers became earnest and pleading again, but I continued to feel that the Lord trusted me to make my own decision. I felt the weight of responsibility but also the sweet assurance that as long as I chose in faith, the Lord would support my decision.
Ten days before I was to leave, my friend proposed. I postponed my mission to give myself time to think. When I decided to get engaged, the Spirit confirmed to my fiancé and me that it was right.
Although I didn’t serve a full-time mission, preparing for one changed my life. Drawing close to the Lord helped me become the person He needed me to be for my mission as a wife and mother.
Cassie Randall