Gospel Story Finder

Last year Liberty Walther served as student body president at Sacajawea Junior High. Her friend Mary Tripp served as vice-president. At the same time, Mary served as Mia Maid class president, while Liberty served as one of her counselors. It was an interesting situation which taught them both to lead, serve, follow, and support.

Both girls are members of the Federal Way First Ward, Federal Way Washington Stake. They are also on the swim team, honor roll, and in the school choir. Mary is the ward organist, while Liberty is active in helping with an alcohol and drug prevention program. They’ve got a unique friendship that’s strengthened by the service they give.

I would like to share with you the following story. Nine years ago this spring, my son Ben came to me and said, “Dad, we are going to hold our family reunion this summer at Flaming Gorge recreation area” (a distance of 220 miles east of Salt Lake City). “Why don’t you, myself, and any of the boys in our family that would like to leave a few days early, ride our bikes to Flaming Gorge, and meet the rest of the family there?”
I said, “That sounds great, but we only have one motorcycle!”
Ben said, “No, Dad, you misunderstand. I mean pedal bicycles.” I thought he was kidding. He said, “I will outline and prepare a training schedule for us. We’ll get up early Saturday mornings and for three hours we’ll go out and ride over the courses I will outline, so that when the time comes we will be prepared to go.”
I said, “Okay,” not really knowing what I was in for. I didn’t own a bicycle and knew I would have to use my daughter’s old, heavy, ten-speed bicycle with what seemed like bent wheels and a seat that was terribly hard. I also knew that getting up early on Saturday mornings was not one of my favorite things. But knowing that some of my sons wanted me to go with them, I said, “Okay.”
As the time for training and preparation came, I found all kinds of excuses not to go on the training rides. However, one Saturday I rode with them to the top of Parleys Canyon and back. It was hard, but I thought I would be okay. Little did I know!
The time for the trip came. I joined my boys the second day of the trip, as I had meetings the first day. The journey that second day took us from Heber City to Roosevelt (approximately one hundred miles).
As we checked into the motel that evening, I called my wife at home and told her I had never hurt so bad in my life. Every muscle, bone, and fiber in my body hurt from my head to my feet. I implored her, “When you come tomorrow with the rest of the family, please bring all the ointment and lotion you can find.”
She said, “Honey, you sound terrible.”
I told her, “I look and feel worse than I sound.”
The next day I hated to see the dawn come, knowing what it would be like to sit on that hard seat and pedal all day once again to reach our destination—especially the stretch from Vernal to Flaming Gorge, which would include approximately thirty-six-plus miles with grades up to 9 percent and ninety-degree-plus temperatures. Needless to say, for me the whole trip was a very trying and arduous task. But for my sons, who spent a lot of time waiting at the top of the hills for their slow, unprepared dad, it was exciting, fun, and rewarding.
That evening as we arrived at our destination, I came to an easy, yet profound recognition of how poorly prepared I was for what should have been a great experience with my sons, but was not because I did not take the time to properly prepare. I resolved that night that I would never again be that unprepared. I went home and bought bicycles for myself and my two youngest sons, and started training and preparing so that by the time the next summer came, my sons and I could ride our bikes to Lake Powell, a distance of three hundred miles, which we did. The next year we cycled to St. George, and every year thereafter, we rode our bikes to Lake Powell until our mission call to Scotland two years ago.

This past summer my wife and I had two of our young grandsons staying with us while their parents participated in a pioneer trek activity in their stake. Our daughter wanted to be sure that the boys practiced the piano while away from home. She knew that a few days with the grandparents makes it a little easier to forget about practicing. One afternoon I decided to sit with my 13-year-old grandson, Andrew, and listen to him play.
This boy is full of energy and loves the outdoors. He could easily spend all of his time hunting and fishing. While he was practicing the piano, I could tell that he would rather be fishing on a nearby river. I listened as he pounded out each chord of a familiar song. Every note he played had the same emphasis and meter, making it difficult to clearly identify the melody. I sat beside him on the bench and explained the importance of applying just a little more pressure on the melody keys and a little less on those notes that accompany the melody. We talked about the piano being more than just a mechanical miracle. It can be an extension of his own voice and feelings and become a wonderful instrument of communication. Just as a person talks and moves smoothly from one word to another, so should the melody flow as we move from one note to another.
We laughed together as he tried again and again. His dimpled-cheek smile increased as the familiar melody began to emerge from what was previously a wild set of sounds. The message became clear: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.” I asked Andrew if he could feel the difference in the message. He responded, “Yes, Grandpa, I can feel it!”

It’s nice having one whole coach to yourself, especially if he’s your dad. It provides services you couldn’t expect from ordinary coaches. For example, Dene was really shaken when he had a kick blocked in one game. Brother Garner took him back out on the field after the game, while the stands were still emptying, and had him kick ball after ball from the same spot. He hit 48 before he missed one. Brother Garner then explained that it wasn’t his fault if a kick was blocked occasionally, and Dene went away with his confidence restored.

But Brother Garner didn’t leave it at that. He did something positive to help overcome the problem. He built a ten-foot-high barrier for Dene to kick over. As a result, Dene has learned to chip PATs or short field goals so high that Goliath would have a hard time blocking them.

“We would leave for school in the morning when it was dark, and we would leave to come home when it was dark. Often it would be forty degrees below zero, and when we arrived at school, the room would be too cold for us to sit at our desks. For a half hour or so we would just march around the room in order to keep us warm.

My name is Wilmer Amaya. I am 13 years old, and I was born in Spain. I lived there for eight years, and I remember we didn’t go to church a lot. I wasn’t baptized in the church, but I really wanted to be. One day I asked my parents why we weren’t going to church anymore and why I wasn’t baptized.
As I explained to them my desire to be baptized, it touched their hearts, and we started going to church again. It felt good. Because my mom was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in her family, she was such an example and an inspiration to me.

Recently I returned home from a mission presidents’ seminar. We held meetings all day, and then I caught an airplane back to Salt Lake City. By the time I arrived home I had been up about 17 hours. I changed into my sleep wear and climbed in bed. My wife and I talked for a few moments; then the telephone rang.
A boyhood friend, one I had known since my early school days, was calling me. “Brother Vaughn,” he said in a trembling voice, “my daughter is back in the hospital. She has had several major seizures. She has stopped breathing twice. She is on oxygen but seems to be failing fast.”
I asked if she had been administered to.
“No, we were hoping you could come and bless her.”
The physical body was tired. I felt I had earned the rest. I also knew my wife was glad to have me home for a while and the flesh wavered. However, the spirit knew precisely what was to be done. I said, “Joe, I will be there in about 30 minutes.” We live about a half an hour from the University of Utah Hospital, in Salt Lake City.
I turned to my wife and asked her if she would like to go with me. This noble woman said yes. We both got up, dressed, and drove to the hospital.
I embraced this sweet friend that I had known for more than 46 years. We found a little room, and along with family members we joined in a prayer of great faith.
Then Joe and I went to the intensive care room and gave his daughter a blessing. We pleaded with the Lord and had a sweet, peaceful assurance come over us that she was in his care. At the time, I wondered whether or not she would live through the blessing.
My sweet wife waited in the car. We drove home, and we were not tired or exhausted any more. We were deeply grateful to be worthy enough to be called upon. At the time of the writing of this article, Joe’s daughter is alive. She is a miracle.

The Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon—Oliver Cowdery, David Whitmer, and Martin Harris—were given the responsibility of nominating the first members of the Twelve in this dispensation. When they were selected, they were convened in a meeting held in Kirtland on February 27, 1835. Oliver Cowdery served as clerk in that meeting and wrote this in the minutes:
“President Smith proposed the following question: What importance is there attached to the calling of the Twelve Apostles, different from the other callings or officers of the Church?
“After the question was discussed, … President Joseph Smith, Jun. gave the following decision:
“They are the Twelve Apostles, who are called to the office of the Traveling High Council, who are to preside over the churches of the Saints, among the Gentiles, where there is no presidency established; and they are to travel and preach among the Gentiles, until the Lord shall command them to go to the Jews. They are to hold the keys of this ministry, to unlock the door of the Kingdom of heaven unto all nations, and to preach the Gospel to every creature. This is the power, authority, and virtue in their apostleship.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1938, p. 74.)

Boden K., age 10, Nevada, USA
My family went to the temple to do the temple work for my grandpa who died. We waited outside while my dad was baptized for him. After my dad came out of the temple, I could feel my grandpa was happy.

Luke looked forward to Christmas all year. He liked singing Christmas carols at church, going to the ward Christmas party, and decorating cookies to give to neighbors.
But this year Luke was having a hard time feeling merry. His dad had lost his job, so his parents couldn’t afford some of their usual family traditions. Dad didn’t put out all their decorations. Mom didn’t bake as many holiday treats. And the Christmas tree was really small this year.
During family home evening, Luke’s parents told him and his younger brothers, Cory and Ethan, that they had enough saved to buy them one Christmas present each. Luke knew he should be grateful, but mostly he was disappointed. This Christmas just wouldn’t feel the same.
Luke couldn’t figure out why, but Cory and Ethan were actually excited. They started guessing what their gifts might be.
“A baseball!”
“A video game!”
“A dog!”
Luke didn’t make any guesses. And when Ethan said, “An elephant!” Luke was the only one who didn’t laugh.
Mom noticed Luke’s frown. “Why don’t we play a game to help us get into the Christmas spirit?” she said.
His brothers cheered. Luke sighed. He was too old for silly games.
Mom took the baby Jesus from their nativity set. “Close your eyes,” she said.
Ethan and Cory covered their eyes and giggled. Luke put his face in a pillow.
A moment later Mom said they could open their eyes. “I hid the baby Jesus somewhere in the room,” she said. “Dad and I will help you find Him by saying you’re warm when you’re close to Him or cold when you’re far away.”
Cory and Ethan jumped up and began searching.
“Cory, you’re cold,” Mom said. “Ethan, you’re colder. Ice cold. Brrr, you’re freezing! Luke, your brothers need your help!”
Luke slowly stood up to help search.
“Luke’s cold, but he’s getting warmer,” Dad said. “Warmer. Hot. Hotter. He’s on fire!”
Luke found the baby Jesus figure tucked behind a book on the shelf. Cory and Ethan ran over to look. “Me next! Me next!” they shouted.
“OK,” Dad said. “But first, let’s talk about what we learned.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“Well,” Mom said, “the more we look for Jesus in our lives and do things to get nearer to Him, the warmer we feel inside and the happier we are.”
Dad nodded. “The things we do to grow closer to Jesus make us happy forever. That’s the real Christmas spirit.”
Warmth spread through Luke’s chest. He looked down at the little baby Jesus figure in his hand. Christmas wasn’t about presents or decorations or cookies. It was about celebrating the birth of the Savior of the world. As Luke thought about Jesus, the warmth inside him seemed to get bigger and bigger. And the smile on Luke’s face got bigger too.
“Let’s play again!” Cory said.
“Mom, can I hide baby Jesus this time?” Luke asked. “I’m in the Christmas spirit now.”

It’s November, but in Nevada it’s still hot. Hot enough that most teenage boys would rather be inside than sweating out a Saturday morning service project.
Why are these young men braving the burning desert sun? It’s not for the free can of soda pop. What began as a project to fill a Duty to God requirement, became a lesson in the joy of service.
For one of their activities, the young men in the Desert Breeze Ward, Las Vegas Nevada Lakes Stake, came to the aid of recent convert, Kyoko Fuller, an 82-year-old widow who speaks mostly Japanese.
The young men cut dried-out fronds from three neglected palm trees behind her house, stripped away the overgrown bark, and hauled off the piles of dead growth.
“How much I pay?” she asked when the young men told her they’d clean up her yard and take care of the palm trees. “Oh no,” she said when they told her it was free. “I pay how much?” They didn’t take any money, but they enjoyed the drinks she offered after they had worked under the desert sun for two hours.
“This was fun,” says Matt Erickson, a teacher. “Kyoko’s great, and it was fun to help her out. The work was kind of hard, but it went fast.”

Set specific, measurable goals that will help you develop this attribute. Give yourself a time frame to work on your goal. Then evaluate your progress. For example, if you’re trying to be more charitable, you might set a goal to say positive things about your brother or sister three times each day for a week. At the end of the week, you would evaluate how you did with your goal and make adjustments that will help you continue to improve.

Missionaries had been sent to the land of Spain, however, 116 years before. At a special conference held in Great Salt Lake City on August 28, 1852, Elders Edward Stevenson and Nathan T. Porter were called to the Gibraltar Mission, the place of Elder Stevenson’s birth.
Gibraltar is a rocky peninsula that juts out into the Alboran Sea on the southern coast of Spain, where it forms part of a gateway to the larger Mediterranean Sea. Ruled by the Moors until the 1400s, when it was conquered by Spain, Gibraltar was later occupied by the British in 1704, and in 1830 it became a crown colony of the British Empire. After a half year’s journey from Salt Lake, Elders Stevenson and Porter arrived there aboard the steamship Iberia.
A short time later it was necessary for Elder Porter to return to England, but Elder Stevenson stayed on to tell all the people he could about the gospel. While most of the inhabitants of Gibraltar were of Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and Maltese descent, the British were in control and they had strict rules about holding public meetings.
One day Elder Stevenson was arrested for preaching, and marched off to jail. However, when it was later discovered that he was teaching the guards and had almost converted the man who was in charge of him, he was released. Later he baptized two more people into the Church, and on January 23, 1854, a branch of the Church was organized with ten members in this British outpost with a Spanish heritage.
By July of the same year there were eighteen members in the little branch, in spite of the fact that six members had left to serve with the British army in Asia. Of the eighteen members, the priesthood was represented by one seventy, one elder, one priest, and one teacher.

As the children in sacrament meeting happily sang the Primary song “Love Is Spoken Here,” everyone smiled with approval. A courageous mother raising five children listened attentively to the second verse: “Mine is a home where [every] hour is blessed by the strength of priesthood [power].” Sadly she thought, “My children have never known such a home.”
My message to this faithful woman and to all is that we can live every hour “blessed by the strength of priesthood power,” whatever our circumstance.

What did he lack in his days when he believed that God would save all men? He lacked the knowledge of how. His wife related his final dream before the organization of the Church. A messenger came to him and said, “I … have always found you strictly honest in all your dealings. Your measures are always heaped … [T]here is but one thing which you lack in order to secure your salvation.”10 And Joseph, Sr., passionately sought this information in the dream. The messenger agreed to write it down. But suddenly the dream closed. And that was just before the Prophet received his visions, as Lucy Smith related the sequence. As we have seen, Joseph Smith, Sr., looked back to this period to say that “the Lord has often visited me in visions and in dreams.” He had intimations of the coming restoration of the gospel.

I remember being told many times as a teen that if I would study the music classics, I would come to like them more than I did. And it was true. I even now enjoy them, many years after studying them. By the same token I would say to parents and young people that you will surely come to like modern music more if you study it. An appreciation of its authors, their styles, and their messages can add much to your enjoyment of it. But more important, it will also allow you to make intelligent decisions as to what is good and what is not in modern music.

Squinting at the bright winter sky, I was sure we were going to have a mild, sunny Christmas. This was somewhat of a disappointment, as I had come to love the snowy Christmases of Colorado. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an icy snowball splatting against my neck.
“Ha ha! Gotcha!” screamed my little brother as he scurried away from me.
It was the day before Christmas. At 13, I was old enough to be left in charge of the house while our parents went into town 10 miles away to pick up previously purchased Christmas gifts. So that we wouldn’t prematurely discover our presents, Mom and Dad had cleverly arranged to leave them at the stores until Christmas Eve.
Trying to make the time go faster on what always seemed like the longest day of the year, my three younger brothers and I were playing in the three-day-old, crusted snow. We had started out making a snowman, but before long we were in a wild snowball fight.
“Ha ha ha. Gotcha back!” I yelled as I tackled my brother and the two of us fell, laughing, into a snowbank.
Although our family had moved to Denver more than six years before, it was still surprising to me how quickly the Colorado weather could change. Before our snowball fight had ended, the sky became overcast and, minutes after that, snow began to pelt the ground in furious streaks of gray.
Remembering that my parents had left me in charge, I gathered my brothers into the house. We spent the rest of the afternoon peering out at the driving snow, so thick now that the houses across the street were only dim shadows. The blanket of snow reached two feet, but still the heavy flakes continued to fall. I tried to sound confident as I told my brothers that our parents must be on their way home.
As evening drew near, one little brother playfully jumped off the front porch into the new snow. Were we ever surprised when all three feet of him disappeared into the snowy white! He reappeared looking like Frosty the Snowman.
Now it was early evening, and I was beginning to feel as grim as the quickly blackening sky. No parents. No phone call. Four frightened children alone in a storm on Christmas Eve.
Finally the phone rang. My heart beat rapidly as I answered, “Hello?”
It was my mother. My spirits rose but quickly sank again when she told me what had happened. Mom and Dad were completing their errands when the blizzard had struck, coming on so suddenly and with such force that driving became impossible. Drivers left their cars in the roads and walked to whatever shelter they could find.
After trying to get home all afternoon, our parents finally gave up, left the Christmas gifts in the car, and forged through the waist-deep snow toward the house of some friends. Mom was calling from their house.
I could feel her sadness and worry as she told me they wouldn’t be able to make it home for Christmas. “Listen, honey, you’ve got to take care of your brothers and do whatever you can to make it a happy Christmas. We don’t know when we’ll be able to get back home.”
Although I was relieved my parents were safe, my heart was heavy as I hung up the phone. “Some Christmas!” I said to myself. How could I possibly make it happy?
My younger brothers still believed in Santa. What was I supposed to tell them? There would be no Santa, no presents, and worst of all, no parents.
I could hardly look at my brothers’ dismayed faces when I told them we’d be all alone for Christmas. But when my youngest brother started to cry, I made up my mind that somehow Christmas was still going to happen.
“Hey, guys, this’ll be great,” I exclaimed with hope. “We can stay up as late as we want and do something fun and different tonight.” The boys’ moods began to brighten. We decided to gather our sleeping bags together and spend the night underneath the Christmas tree.
Pajama-clad, we gathered in the family room, cozied up in sleeping bags, gulped hot chocolate, and read the entire Christmas story from Luke. “Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10).
There were no presents, no Christmas Eve parties, no Santa, not even parents, but something magical happened that night. We felt the peace and comfort of the Holy Spirit, which testified of Jesus Christ, who had come into this world to become our Savior. We felt this joy, this warmth, this feeling of love for our Savior and for each other—and that was all we needed. Looking back, it was one of the happiest Christmas Eves I can remember, that night when four children discovered the true joy of Christmas.
In the morning we awoke to weather that all but betrayed the storm of the previous day. All we could see was the warm light of the sun dancing off a frozen sea of snow. It was the loveliest Christmas morning I had ever seen.
As I sat enjoying the incredible scene, I was surprised to see two large objects racing toward our house. “It’s Santa’s sleigh!” exclaimed my youngest brother, amazed to see anything traversing this kind of snow. But the two snowmobiles which soon pulled up in our front yard brought something far better than Santa and his sleigh could possibly have brought us.
We ran to the door to greet two very relieved and joyous parents. Mom and Dad gathered us in their arms and explained that our neighbors, hearing of our plight, had given up their Christmas morning to make the long trip on their snowmobiles to bring our family together for Christmas. Mom and Dad were teary-eyed as they told us how happy they were to be safely home with us.
Later, as we sat down to Christmas dinner, I marveled at how we could be so joyful when there were no presents to open and no parties to enjoy.
But as I looked around the table at the jubilant faces of my family, I realized that, even as a child, you don’t need presents, parties, or Santa to feel joy at Christmas. The remarkable joy of Christmas comes from gifts money cannot buy—the companionship of loved ones, feelings of the Spirit, and, most importantly, the gift of the Son of God.

Getting ready to go to church with everyone in the family wearing two shoes that matched was a major accomplishment at my house. But somehow it seemed worse when I needed to be somewhere on time.
“What’s the matter with you?” I shouted at my younger sister as my father finally started the car and sped out of the driveway toward the church. “Can’t you keep track of your shoes for even one Sunday?” My mom and dad looked at each other with faint smiles as I continued: “I can’t believe this family. Nobody thinks about anybody but themselves! Nobody understands how I feel around here! I’ll be late for sure now!”
When we got to the church, my family quickly piled out, and I hurriedly moved over behind the wheel, anxious to leave as quickly as possible. Mom started telling me to drive carefully and not get home too late because it might storm. Dad was trying to tell me the fastest way to get to the other ward.
“All right,” I said to both parents talking at the same time. “Good-bye!”
“How am I supposed to give a spiritual talk when I’m feeling like this?” I thought as the wheels of the car screeched out of the church parking lot, and I sped toward another meetinghouse.
The meeting had already begun when I got there, and I had to walk to the front of the chapel alone. The bishop looked relieved when I finally sat down. The meeting sped by, and soon I heard my name announced as the next speaker. My heart suddenly began to beat frantically as I walked toward the pulpit. My shaky voice hardly seemed my own as I looked up momentarily at the strange faces in the congregation and began my talk.
“I’m going to talk about bridges,” I said quietly. “We need to build bridges to others if we want to come close together.” I cleared my voice twice and continued, “All the everyday things we do with each other can build bridges if we let them. Just eating and laughing or talking or working or going through the same hard times can be ways of building bridges if we communicate that we care and share our feelings.”
My nervousness made me glance at my paper much more often than I had at home when I had practiced my talk.
“We can build bridges by realizing that we are all basically alike. We all have many of the same fears and problems and desires and hopes.”
My words seemed insincere and forced. My mother had suggested my topic and supplied me with the material for my talk. I was glad to sit down when my talk was over.
After the meeting was over, I quickly jumped in the car and headed toward the mountains near my home. I just wanted to be alone for a while. My family had arranged for a ride home from their meeting, so I wouldn’t be missed for a while. It was always so noisy, and I never felt like I had the privacy I needed at home. The hills seemed an excellent escape for now.
That night the setting sun cast an orange tint over the white softness of snow capping the mountains. Slowly snowflakes began to dance off the windshield and whirl around the car as I headed up the small mountain road. The orange haze of the sun turned to blues and purples as I drove on. In the peaceful winter evening, I felt alone and yet not lonely. Night shadows drifted across the road, and slowly a few stars began to glimmer in the velvet blue sky. I drove on, oblivious of the increasing frenzy of the snowfall.
Soon the snow began to drift high against the sides of the small mountain road. Still I drove farther and farther into the mountains, unwilling to release the peace of the moment.
I began to notice that the storm had become a blizzard outside the car, and the road was beginning to become impassable. I decided I would turn around and start toward home the first chance I got. At a wide spot in the road, I turned the car for home.
The car began to skid out of control, and it rolled slowly over an embankment and hit against a tree. The sudden jolt brought me quickly back to the reality of the situation.
“What a dumb thing to do!” I shouted at myself as I tried to open the door and see how badly I was struck. The snow was almost covering the wheels of the car, and the incline back up to the road looked pretty steep. I started to dig the snow away from the tires and later crawled back, shaking, into the car.
I tried to start the motor again. The wheels spun with a futile sound. I gunned the motor, trying to get the car to move at least a little. But no matter how hard I pushed the gas pedal, there was only the same spinning sound of the wheels, and I could feel the car settling deeper into a hole.
I crawled out of the car again and anxiously worked at the snow around the tires. The wind was mercilessly blowing snow against me. I hadn’t bothered to wear a coat. I hadn’t told anybody where I was going. My high-heeled shoes and white lace dress hardly seemed fitting now. I crawled back into the car and tried the motor again and again. Finally the motor refused to turn over at all. The dead thud as I turned the key made me shiver.
“Well, I can’t stay here all night,” I said to myself.
I crawled out of the car and climbed back onto the road. The stupidity of my situation embarrassed me. I knew better than to start up a lonely mountain road at night with a storm brewing. It hadn’t seemed dangerous until now.
I folded my arms tightly around myself and began to shake as I looked down the long stretch of road. The wind and snow billowed and howled around me as I started to walk down the lonely dark road.
“How stupid can you be!” I began to shout out loud.
The strong storm wind was at my back, pushing me down the steep incline of the road and causing me to continually slip on the icy road. The heels of my shoes wobbled and made even upright walking hard in the wind.
“Just look at the mess you’re in, and it’s all your fault! There’s no one else to blame!” I continued to shout.
The wind continued to blow me down the hill. My dress was completely wet now, and it stung against my skin as the wind whipped it against me.
Farther down the road, I noticed a large piece of wood protruding through the snow. I wrapped my arms around the wooden pole and felt along its side. It seemed to be a large wooden rail of some sort. I thought it was probably part of the bridge that I could remember driving over on my way up the canyon. I held onto the bridge railing and slowly pulled myself forward. As I neared the end of the bridge and the last of its support, I saw a light glimmering in the distance.
“Hey!” I shouted. “I’m over here! Please help me!”
The light came closer and closer, and soon I saw an old man, clad warmly in winter clothes, peering at me as I hung onto the bridge for support. He put his arm around me and helped me walk farther down the road. He was silent as he edged me toward his home, hidden from view off the main road.
Once we were inside, the warmth from an open fire surrounded me. An old woman walked toward me from the kitchen when the old man called.
“Emma, come here. Got somebody in trouble.”
The old woman placed her warm wrinkled hands on my shaking shoulders.
“You just come right in here,” she said as she guided me to her bedroom and shut the door. “You can take off those wet things and wrap up in this and sit by the fire if you like,” she continued as she handed me a handworked quilt. “I’ll go get you something warm to drink.”
“Thank you,” I answered as she left the room.
The old woman smiled warmly and nodded as she shut the door. Later, after my wet clothes were hung up to dry and my cold body was full of hot chocolate, I wrapped up in the warm quilt by the fire. My companions had been strangely quiet, not asking any questions, only offering me anything I needed. I was glad of it. The old man and woman sat together on the love seat in front of the fire, silent and restful.
“I guess you’re wondering who I am and what in the world I’m doing up here in the middle of a storm. I guess you must think I’m pretty foolish. I should have had more sense, but well …”
“Oh, hush now. You don’t have to make any apologies to us,” the old woman interrupted. “We’re just glad we found you. It’s a long way back down this mountain you know.”
“What were you doing on the road at the end of that bridge?” I asked as I turned to the old man.
“Well, Emma and I were just going to bed when we thought we heard a voice in the wind. Sounded like somebody shouting. It was awfully faint, but we both thought we heard it. I took the light and went out on the bridge to see if I could see anybody. That’s where people have had trouble before. Emma and I built part of that bridge ourselves years and years ago. Seems people were always driving off or falling over the side into the river when it got dark or when it stormed. Emma and I built the railing on the bridge with old railroad ties, and nobody’s fallen over the side since then.”
“That shouting you heard,” I interrupted, “that was probably me shouting at myself for being so stupid. I hope you didn’t hear everything I said.”
“Just heard you on the bridge asking for help,” the old man answered. “There’s been quite a few others like yourself up here in the same predicament. All seem embarrassed like yourself too,” he continued.
“Well, I better call home before my family gets too worried about me,” I said as he finished.
“Phone’s back in the kitchen,” the old woman said as she stood up and guided me to the rear of the small house. “Most people who get stuck up here don’t have anybody to call. They just stay the night, and then Ben takes them down to town when the road is opened. One fellow though, he had a family worrying about him like you. He was one of my favorites.”
“Well, I guess I ought to be glad to have a big family that worries about me, but there’s so many of us, they probably haven’t even missed me yet,” I said.
The old woman smiled.
“Dad,” I said as the phone connection was made, “is that you? Looks like I need your help.”
The old woman slipped from the room as I finished telling dad where I was and how to get there. Dad seemed strangely brief and hung up before I could start apologizing. I walked back into the warm living room by the fire and started planning a good comeback for the inevitable lecture I would get from dad on the way home.
“Your father will be here before long,” the woman said as she headed for the bedroom. “You better put on some of my dry clothes to go home in. I’ll put your wet things in a bag for you.”
It seemed only minutes before dad came clanging up the road to the cottage in our neighbor’s four-wheel-drive truck with chains on the tires. He quickly knocked at the door and began hurrying me out of the house before I could say anything.
“Thank you,” I said as I hurried out the door. “I’ll be back to see you soon when the weather’s better. I promise I will.”
“Well, that’s why I gave you my clothes to wear home,” the old woman said. “It’ll give you a good excuse to come back and visit us. Most people need an excuse,” the woman said as she looked at my dad.
“Be careful of the turn at the bridge, John,” the old man shouted at my dad as we started to get into the truck.
“How does he know your name?” I asked dad. Dad interrupted me as he answered, “Oh, I will Ben. I nearly skidded into the river on the way in here. You’d think I’d know better by now. If it hadn’t been for the railing on the bridge that stopped the car, I would have had to spend another night up here.”
I crawled into the truck and sat confused, as far away from the driver’s seat as possible. Dad hopped into the truck and started slowly down the road.
“Dad,” I asked again, “do you people know each other? Have you been up here too? You mean, you did the same thing? Dad?”
My dad brought his broad arm over the back of the seat and coaxed me to slide over next to him. He smiled as I looked up into his face, and then he put his warm arm around my shoulders.

News Flash! Two of the best high school basketball players in Canada are both named Gallup—they’re brother and sister, members of the Airdrie Ward in Alberta, and their names are Brad and Kari.
Brad, 18, and Kari, 17, have won just about every honor their province and country have to offer. Kari was practicing with the women’s national team when she was 14, and Brad had scholarship offers from universities all over Canada and the U.S. So much attention has given them plenty of chances to talk about the gospel. They’re both usually elected team captains, and the other players often follow their example. They also attribute a portion of their success to following the Word of Wisdom.
Another portion of their success they attribute to their father, Allen, who is a high school basketball coach. He started taking them to practice when they were very young, and they never stopped going.
They also never stopped going to church. Early-morning seminary is an important part of their day, and other Church meetings are big, never-miss parts of their week. If they’re not at church they’re at basketball practice or studying. There isn’t time for much else. But that doesn’t matter to them. “When you want to be a winner, it means disciplining yourself,” says Kari. They both know that applies to life as well as basketball.

Once when I received my pay at work, I cashed the check and headed home to pay some bills and to help my wife, who was expecting our first child. I got on the bus and put my money in my wallet. Then I hid the wallet in a pouch that was part of my shoulder bag, where it would be safer. I was quite surprised when I got home, looked for my wallet, and wasn’t able to find it. I was very worried. It was my whole two-week salary, and losing it would cause us many problems.
I looked diligently for my wallet, and when I couldn’t find it I decided to go back to the bus that had brought me home. I couldn’t find it there either.
After some time I went home, feeling very frustrated. I went into my room and knelt down. With a sincere heart and in tears, I lifted my prayer up to God and asked Him to help me. I told Him I paid a full tithing and now I needed a blessing. I know that the Lord doesn’t always answer our prayers in the way we desire, but on this occasion He did bless me in a wonderful way.
Later that night the bishop knocked on our door and asked me if I had a social security card. I told him I did, but it had been lost with my wallet that very day. He showed me a wallet and asked if it was mine. I saw that it was and that all of my money was still there. The bishop explained that a friend, who was not a member of the Church, had found it outside her house. When she saw the temple recommend in it, she took it to him. He told me this was nothing less than a miracle and it had happened because I faithfully paid tithing.