Gospel Story Finder

I learned just how eager they were one spring day while driving to Salt Lake City to talk with a woman there. Suddenly, I felt that I could hear the sound of drums beating. I seemed to see an Indian woman, dressed in an oversize plaid shirt, a Navajo skirt, and a silver medallion belt. The seat beside me was empty, but I could sense her presence.
When I arrived in Salt Lake City, I felt prompted to ask the woman with whom I had the appointment whether she had any Indian ancestors. But Carolyn doesn’t look Indian; she’s blonde and blue-eyed, I thought to myself. She’ll think I’m crazy.
When I met Carolyn in her office, the prompting for me to ask was just as strong as it had been in the car. So I asked if she had Indian ancestors.
“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother was Cherokee and was adopted by the Navajo.” She told me about how her “Granny” had worked as a nurse for many years with the Navajo in Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Texas. Later, I asked Carolyn about the clothing her grandmother had worn, and she described to me the clothing I had seen the woman wearing.
I told Carolyn about the temple work we had done for the Choctaw. She was thrilled about the possibility of doing the same work for the Cherokee. The Cherokee were the second nation to walk the “Trail of Tears”; there is a record of the tribe in its entirety from 1835—before they had settled in Oklahoma. Carolyn is now doing extraction work on that record, preparing names for the temple.

As time passed and we both matured, we started to talk to each other about school, teachers, friends, and all the other things that concerned us. Tommy and I actually became friends. In high school, Tommy was a senior when I was a sophomore, and it was nice to receive advice from an experienced student. We were both in the marching band, and even though we had our own friends, Tommy was always willing to talk to me or help me in any way. He had developed a real sense of humor, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
I remember nights when we would be the only ones up, doing our homework, and Tommy would serve us both some ice cream. We would talk late into the night. Tommy was a wonderful example to me, and I was always learning something from him. He chose good friends, and I never saw him hesitate to choose the right. I especially respected him for how well he treated my parents. Whenever we came home from school, Tommy would go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and we would sit down and chat with Mama about the day. Somehow, the conversation always drifted to things deeper than school. I will always cherish those times.

Like every mayor, Lindsay Anderson had to deal with the headaches of bureaucracy, endless meetings, and special-interest groups. Unlike other mayors, Lindsay had to do it all after school let out for the day.
West Bountiful, Utah, the town Lindsay calls home, is also home to a unique program that puts the youth of the town in the driver’s seat of city government. In order to give the youth an experience in leadership, the city council appoints a youth mayor and city council. Although the town has another, adult mayor, the youth mayor and council are responsible for activities and programs for the youth of West Bountiful. They also give their input and ideas to the regular city council.
“We hold meetings about every other week, and we plan for upcoming holidays like dances for the youth and Easter egg hunts for the little kids.”
Lindsay and her council have also begun work on ideas to help youth at risk, brainstorming ideas to help teenagers stay involved in positive activities. One successful program that is already in place is the West Bountiful Fourth of July dance.
“It’s great because we get such a huge response to the dance,” says Lindsay. “It’s a place to come and have a good time and stay out of trouble.”
As youth mayor, and before that as a member of the youth city council, Lindsay has learned a lot about how to manage people without stifling their creativity.
“During meetings it was hard to get everyone quiet, but that was kind of neat because they were all talking about their ideas. I’m not a shy person, but I don’t like to dominate people, so I like to be receptive to their ideas. That’s fun.”
Lindsay finds her inspiration in the two individuals she admires most: her father and Jesus Christ.
“My dad is a role model for sure. I love him. Also I learned that Jesus had a whole group of people to bring together. He taught by example and love. Like him, I hope that if I’m doing the right thing, people will follow in my footsteps.”
After a year in office, Lindsay has stepped down from her position, making way for a new youth mayor. As a Latter-day Saint, Lindsay believes in “obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law” (A of F 1:12). With a year of government experience under her belt, Lindsay may someday not only uphold the law; she may have a hand in making it.

There is one last but very important point I need to emphasize with an experience. While living in San Diego, I visited the home of one of my fellow teachers. He and I went out to his garage and I was surprised to see the large amount of food storage he had. His had only a family of three, yet he had tons of food stored. I mentioned that to him. He pointed through the open door of the garage and said, See my neighbor over there? He helps me with my plumbing problems and see my neighbor down there? He helps me with my mechanical problems. They don't know what I know, so they don't store, but I'm not going to let them go hungry.

We must have his attitude. We are not building Zion just for us, but for all the honorable and good people of the earth, so they can have a place of refuge. They do not know the palm trees of fire are coming, We do and we need to build a place from them and their babies. And consider the thanks they will heap upon you because in a time of terrible immorality and impurity, you had the courage not only to keep your selves pure, but to promote the purity everywhere.

Upon my graduation from BYU–Hawaii in June of 1984, I enlisted into the U.S. Army and I advanced in the ranks from a private to an officer in the United States Army and the Hawaii Army National Guard. I became a leader among men from all over the United States of America. In 1985, I married my eternal companion Laura Lei Johnson. After my service in the U.S. Military, in 1988 I became an accountant/administrative assistant for the BYU–Hawaii Physical Plant Department, under Judd Whetten and later a Purchaser for the Presiding Bishopric for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints under Robert Owan. In March of 1990, I accepted an invitation to a new agent class for the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Quantico, Virginia. I graduated from the new agent’s class and was assigned to the Sacramento, California, Field Office in June of 1990. By this time I had been married for five years with two young sons, Kalani and Kulia, and took my family on a new career and adventure from Kahuku Hawaii to Sacramento, California. Our new Bishop in Sacramento was so happy to have our family in the Northgate Ward. My wife and I were quickly called to lead the Young Men and Young Women programs in our Ward. In 1993 and 1995 my family was blessed with new additions: a son Maka and a daughter Kawai. In 1994, I was called to serve as the Bishop in the Arcade Ward, in the Sacramento California North Stake. This leadership calling was very challenging, but once again my educational and work experience at BYU–Hawaii had helped me develop the leadership skills and abilities I needed to serve in this calling “...things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea, more.”[2]

“That was a very busy time for both of us, but I remember how one day we were out fishing not far from here. I knew that Nate and his wife were having some troubles then, though I didn’t understand all the circumstances and everything. Eventually we started talking about it. I told him that I thought he was risking a lot for this religion, with his marriage and all. He nodded, said he knew that. So then I asked him straight out why he was doing it. He was really quiet for a minute, and then he said, ‘Jack, do you remember those nights out on the trail when we slept under the stars?’
“We used to stay awake for hours talking about God and life and what we were supposed to be doing with our time. We put a lot of thought into it, but never got very far. Anyway, Nate told me, ‘I finally found answers for those questions we always wondered about.’ Sometimes Nate had told me that he was afraid of being alone. He was afraid that one day his friends and family would all be gone, and he’d be alone. But now he said that he knew that God knew and loved him. He said that God would help him in his hard times, that he was helping him right then.
“I remember being amazed at the excitement and passion he spoke with. He was a changed man, and there was something in his voice that gave me hope.”
Jack paused. A placid thoughtfulness had settled over his face. “Now, I didn’t understand everything he told me right then, and it was actually a long time before I did, but by the time he finished speaking I had this beautiful, peaceful feeling that made me want to believe everything he’d said. I never doubted Nate after that.” Jack looked at the engine, then handed Tim the wrench. “I think we’re done.”

Take Lucy Mack Smith for example. Two decades before Joseph’s vision, Lucy made a personal covenant with God to “seek the religion that would enable [her] to serve him right.” She wrote that, “For days and months and years” she “continued asking God…to reveal…the hidden treasures of his will.” She continued this search for 20 years. [10] Historian Rachel Cope points out that Lucy then “says, basically, little did I realize that it would be through my son that it would eventually come.” Cope then points out a lesson in this for each of us: “Twenty years of praying? Twenty years. And then we tell the stories as if everything’s instantaneous and then feel like we’re falling short because nothing is instantaneous for us.” [11]

When I was attending Brigham Young University, I learned what it truly means to be a queen. I was given a unique opportunity, along with a small group of other students, to meet the prophet, President David O. McKay. I was told to wear my best dress and to be ready to travel early the next morning to Huntsville, Utah, to the home of the prophet. I will never forget the experience I had. As soon as we entered the home, I felt the spirit which filled that home. We were seated in the prophet’s living room, surrounding him. President McKay had on a white suit, and seated next to him was his wife. He asked for each of us to come forward and tell him about ourselves. As I went forward, he held out his hand and held mine, and as I told him about my life and my family, he looked deeply into my eyes.

After we had finished, he leaned back in his chair and reached for his wife’s hand and said, “Now, young women, I would like you to meet my queen.” There seated next to him was his wife, Emma Ray McKay. Although she did not wear a crown of sparkling diamonds, nor was she seated on a throne, I knew she was a true queen. Her white hair was her crown, and her pure eyes sparkled like jewels. As President and Sister McKay spoke of their family and their life together, their intertwined hands spoke volumes about their love. Joy radiated from their faces. Hers was a beauty that cannot be purchased. It came from years of seeking the best gifts, becoming well educated, seeking knowledge by study and also by faith. It came from years of hard work, of faithfully enduring trials with optimism, trust, strength, and courage. It came from her unwavering devotion and fidelity to her husband, her family, and the Lord.

On that fall day in Huntsville, Utah, I was reminded of my divine identity, and I learned about what I now call “deep beauty”—the kind of beauty that shines from the inside out. It is the kind of beauty that cannot be painted on, surgically created, or purchased. It is the kind of beauty that doesn’t wash off. It is spiritual attractiveness. Deep beauty springs from virtue. It is the beauty of being chaste and morally clean. It is the kind of beauty that you see in the eyes of virtuous women like your mother and grandmother. It is a beauty that is earned through faith, repentance, and honoring covenants.

We have been taught that “the gift of the Holy Ghost … quickens all the intellectual faculties, increases, enlarges, expands and purifies all the natural passions and affections. … It inspires virtue, kindness, goodness, tenderness, gentleness and charity. It develops beauty of person, form and features.” Now, that is a great beauty secret! That is the beauty I observed in the home of a prophet. That day I learned that the beauty I saw in Sister McKay was the only beauty that really matters and the only kind of beauty that lasts.

Darren Wong, an elder from Winnipeg, Manitoba, didn’t expect to be able to use his musical talents much on his mission to Hong Kong. But to his surprise, Darren’s talent for playing the piano turned out to be an excellent way to help share the gospel.

In addition to playing the piano for baptisms, firesides, and other activities that missionaries often attend with investigators, Elder Wong was invited to play at a concert given in the Hong Kong Cultural Center. His performance at that concert, as well as other Church-sponsored functions, allowed him to make contacts and share the gospel with people who might otherwise not have listened.

Daniel’s eyes lit up as he tore the last of the wrapping paper off the box. He lifted off the lid, then shouted, “Yippee! They’re just what I wanted!”
Inside the box were a pair of shiny, new cowboy boots. They were black and had a white design stitched on them. Daniel had wanted cowboy boots for a long time.
“Try them on,” his five-year-old brother, Steven, said.
“Yes! Yes! Try them on!” echoed Daniel’s three-year-old sister, Sara. Carefully he lifted the right boot out of the box. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the smooth black leather.
“I hope you like them,” Mom said. “Dad thought that they would be just right for you.”
Daniel nodded happily. “Wow!” he exclaimed as he admired them. He gently pulled the boot onto his right foot, lifted the other boot out of the box, and pulled it onto his left foot. He wiggled his toes inside the boots. Then he stood up, stomped his feet, and jumped twice. They fit perfectly!
“It looks like they’re just the right size,” Dad said.
“Thanks, Mom and Dad! They’re just what I wanted!” Daniel leaned forward on his feet, then rocked back. He balanced on one foot, then the other.
“I think he likes them,” Dad whispered to Mom.
“Just be careful with them,” Mom cautioned. “If you get them in the water or get them muddy or scuffed up, they won’t look new anymore.”
“I’ll take real good care of my boots!” Daniel promised as he bent over and ran his hand along the shiny black toe.
He did take good care of his cowboy boots. He always jumped over any water on the sidewalk. He never skipped through any mud puddles, and he always walked very carefully so that he wouldn’t make scuff marks on them. Every night when he took them off, he shined them with a soft cloth, then placed them side by side next to his bed. The cowboy boots stayed black, shiny, and new-looking.
Early one morning, as Daniel was finishing his breakfast, his mother asked him if he would go to the post office and mail a letter for her.
“Sure, Mom.”
“Be sure you wear a jacket, Daniel. It looks like the wind is picking up.”
After he put on his jacket and hat, he took the letter from his mother and started out for the post office.
The sky was overcast, it was windy, and it looked like it might rain. But Daniel was so happy to be wearing his new boots, that he didn’t notice. He skipped down the sidewalk and soon reached the post office. He mailed Mom’s letter and started home. The wind was blowing hard, so he zipped up his jacket and adjusted his hat so that it would not blow off. Then he started to jog. He passed Mr. Campbell’s bakery and Mrs. Goodson’s little sewing shop. He hurried past the Tuckers’ house and the Andersons’. By then, the wind was so strong that leaves and bits of paper were flying through the air, and dust was getting in his eyes.
Suddenly he stopped. He saw something very strange—a large white object flying by him! He blinked the dust out of his eyes and looked again. The flying white object was a man’s shirt! It fluttered, twisted, and flopped, then came to a stop right in a huge mud puddle!
“Catch that shirt!” A breathless voice exclaimed behind him. “I’ve been chasing it for five minutes! Oh, look at it now!”
Daniel turned around just as Mrs. Tucker caught up to him.
“I hung my laundry out on the clothesline this morning,” she said, panting from her run. “The breeze was quite nice, and I thought that it would dry my clothes quickly.” She took a deep breath. “But it suddenly got so windy! Now look at the shirt!” she moaned. “My husband needed to wear it tonight. Oh, now what am I going to do?” She threw her hands up in the air.
“I’ll get it for you, Mrs. Tucker,” Daniel quickly volunteered.
Mrs. Tucker’s face brightened. “Could you do that?” She looked hopeful. “I have to get the rest of my laundry off the clothesline before anything else blows away! Thank you so much!” Mrs. Tucker was already hurrying home.
Daniel stepped cautiously toward the huge mud puddle. It was starting to rain, and he didn’t want any mud splashing on his boots. The shirt had landed in the middle of the muddy water. He bent down and tried to reach it, but his arms weren’t long enough. He stood up and looked around for a long stick that he could pull the shirt out with. There were no long sticks anywhere, but he saw a short one a few feet away. He picked it up. It might work, he thought.
He squatted and reached out over the puddle as far as he could, but the stick wasn’t quite long enough. He inched closer to the water and stretched the stick out a little farther. But it was just too short. The shirt was still out of reach. He tried again, stretching the tiniest bit farther. …
Suddenly Daniel lost his balance. He tried to keep himself from falling, but he couldn’t stop himself and fell face first into the muddy water!
He stood up, grabbed the shirt, and jumped out of the dirty puddle. He was soaked! Mud and water dripped from his head and arms. His hat was crooked and it had dirty water dripping from the brim. As he wiped a dirty sleeve across his face, he looked down at his feet. His wonderful boots were wet and covered with a thick layer of mud! Daniel couldn’t even see the white stitching on the sides. He began stomping his feet on the sidewalk to shake the mud off of his boots, but not much came off. He wiped his jacket sleeve across the toe of each boot. It came away muddy, and it didn’t help much.
Upset, Daniel tucked the dirty white shirt under his arm and walked slowly to Mrs. Tucker’s house. It was still raining a little, but he didn’t even notice. All he could think about was his boots. No longer were they black, shiny, and new-looking. Now they’re ruined! he thought.
Daniel returned the shirt to a very grateful Mrs. Tucker. She thanked him and gave him a homemade chocolate chip cookie. He took a little bite as he walked home. But even though chocolate chip cookies were his favorite, he could barely taste it. All he could think about was his boots.
He felt so miserable that he didn’t see the little girl standing under a tree. He did hear her crying, though. It was Katie. She played with his sister, Sara. “What’s wrong, Katie?” he asked.
“My kitten climbed this tree when it started to get windy, and I can’t get her down.”
“I’ll help you.” Katie pointed to the top of the tree where a frightened kitten was clinging to a branch, and Daniel started to climb the tree. The wet branches grabbed at his jacket and scraped his legs and hands as he climbed toward the kitten. Finally he reached her. He gently lifted her off the branch, tucked her into the front of his jacket, and climbed down the tree.
Katie was very happy to have her pet safe and sound. She thanked Daniel and ran off cradling the kitten in her arms.
Daniel felt good. He was glad that he had helped Katie. But as he looked down to zip his jacket, he saw his boots—they were not only wet and muddy, they were also scratched and scuffed! Daniel sighed sadly. He was sure that his parents wouldn’t be very happy when they saw his boots.
He was going up the lane to his house, when he saw Dad trying to herd the new lambs back into their pen. “Do you need some help, Dad?” Dad gave him a long look. He noticed Daniel’s dirty face and muddy, wet clothes. He saw the scratched cowboy boots. “It looks like you’ve had a busy afternoon.”
Daniel glumly nodded.
“Well, I could sure use some help getting these lambs back into their pen. There’s a hole in the fence, and they found it!”
Daniel climbed over the fence into the lamb pen. Then he took the lambs when his father handed them over the fence. Soon all the lambs were back where they belonged. Then he helped his father fasten new wire across the hole in the fence so that the lambs couldn’t get out again.
“Thanks for the help, Son. Let’s go back to the house. It looks like it’s going to rain really hard in a few minutes!”
Daniel climbed up the fence and swung his leg over. He heard a ripping sound. He looked at his right foot in dismay. A loose wire had torn three inches on the side of his right boot. His eyes filled with tears.
Dad helped him down from the fence. “I think I can fix that with some heavy thread,” he said as he examined the tear.
Daniel just nodded slowly. His cowboy boots were really ruined now, even though he had tried hard to take care of them.
Later, in the warm kitchen, Daniel sat at the table with a cup of hot chocolate. It tasted good, but it didn’t do much to warm his spirits.
Mom put down the dish towel she had been using and sat by him. “Do you want to tell me what happened to your boots?” she asked gently.
Daniel told her about getting the shirt out of the mud puddle for Mrs. Tucker, about rescuing Katie’s kitten, and about helping Dad put the lambs back into their pen. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I really tried hard to take care of my boots.”
“I’ve noticed how well you take care of your boots,” she told him. “I’ve seen how gently you polish them and how carefully you take them off and put them away. It makes me very happy to know that you are so responsible.” She reached over and took his hand. “I’m also very pleased that you helped Mrs. Tucker, Katie, and Daddy today. Your boots may not be as shiny as they used to be, but it was only because you were serving others. That’s what our Savior wants us to do.
“You were always happy to wear your new boots because you had taken care of them. They may not look as new or as clean as they used to now, but every time you wear them, you will remember why.” She reached over and hugged him. “You know, Daniel, helping others is more important than clean, shiny boots.”
Daniel thought about that and felt happier.
“Let’s go clean your boots,” Mom said. “Then Daddy can sew up the tear. Of course,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “they won’t be as bright or shiny as they used to be, but we’ll know the reason why, won’t we?”
“Yes—my boots are muddy because I was helping people, like Jesus wants me to!”

Now you see it; now you don’t. David’s paycheck disappears into his mission fund so fast you’d think it was one of the coins he can make appear or disappear at will. A master of the sleight of hand, David turned his magic hobby into mission dollars when he started working at a magic store and later performing as “Magician Monte” at local restaurants and birthday parties on weekends. Now that he’s attending a local community college, he has a job as a bank teller and only does his magic show on the side.
“Your mission starts way before your mission,” David says, as he looks sage-like over the top of his glasses. He’s been preparing since he was 12, when he decided he wanted to go on a mission. Sacrifice and discipline are what David credits with his successful mission-savings plan. He started putting away half his paycheck when he was 14. At 17, he almost has all his mission money saved.
He’s been preparing in other ways, too, like staying fit, studying the scriptures, and learning how to talk to people about the gospel. “Saving money is very important because it gets one thing out of the picture so you can focus on the spiritual things,” David explains. He also tries to magnify his callings and set an example. “I think it’s very important as a priest to set an example for the teachers and the deacons.”
David’s dad set the example for him. He loves to hear his dad’s mission stories and enjoys setting an example for others. But “even if they weren’t in my life,” he says, “I’m sure I’d want to go on a mission because it’s a commandment.” He also makes sure he fulfills another commandment by faithfully paying his tithing.

While firefighters were battling roaring forest fires in the West recently, two grandmothers—Altha Clark, from Texas, and Hazel Stills, from Florida—kindled countless spiritual flames by creating new “interest of people who [had] investigated the Church for years, but who needed a firm, loving nudge to accept baptism,” and with caring fellowshipping, reached out to the less-active members.

“They don’t take no for an answer,” the second counselor in the Altamont Utah Stake presidency said, “and they [teach] without offending anyone.” They combine the Spirit with hard work.

A rancher said the two sisters “have kept us so busy I don’t have time to get my hay in. We … keep them [booked with people] to teach. In this stake, the full-time missionaries teach very few discussions without a stake missionary or fellowshipper going along.”

The two grandmothers travel about one hundred miles a day on unpaved country roads, and the dust and ruts don’t slow them down.

While visiting a member’s home, these remarkable missionaries asked if she knew someone they could teach.

The sister replied, “my husband.”

Directed by the Spirit how to approach this husband, they taught him the gospel and rejoiced with his wife at his baptism.

Fourteen families have now become active and will go to the temple this year because of the efforts of these full-time grandmother missionaries coordinating with the stake missionaries and properly following a plan in fellowshipping new members. A change has come about in the whole stake that has influenced the less active as well as nonmembers. (See Church News, 10 Sept. 1988, pp. 8, 9, 12.)

Claire Hadlock: “My parents went through a pretty bad divorce when I was younger, and it really tested my faith because I didn’t know how to deal with it. It really brought me closer to Christ and helped me understand the Atonement a lot better. I think when you are younger, you kind of think of the Atonement as ‘Oh, I make a mistake and I repent.’ Through this experience I realized that Christ overcame everything, and He overcame all of our pain and all of our suffering. The Lord gave me so much peace throughout this experience. And if I hadn’t gone through it, I don’t think I would have the amount of faith that I do now in my Heavenly Father and in my Savior.”

His friends tell a story about something that happened during that time. Jake said, “He lost his leg in a basketball game.”
Steven Hultgren and Stephen Anderson started smiling and began to fill in the details. “Spence used to wear these long socks when we were on the freshman basketball team. We started playing teams from other high schools. No one on the other teams knew he had a prosthetic leg. When Spence was going up for a shot, some kid stepped on his foot right when Spence jumped. He jumped right out of his leg. You should have seen the expression on the other kid’s face. The ref was so surprised he didn’t even blow his whistle.”
Spence continued the story: “Everyone was staring at me. I slipped it back on, and since the referee hadn’t blown his whistle, I took off running down the court. Everyone on my team was rolling with laughter. I was laughing. The kid who was guarding me stepped back, and his eyes were huge. He didn’t know what to think.”
After that, Spence became much less self-conscious. The next time he was fitted for a new leg, his doctor offered him a green one. As Spence explained, “The doctor said that I’ve got something special. I’m like nobody else and I might as well show it off. I don’t think I’ll ever have a skin-colored leg again. Now I like the other colors. I have stickers and everything else on it.”

I have spoken several times of the sacred moment in which eight worthy elders of the Church who played on our basketball team in 1992. This was one of the greatest teams in our history that went to the Final four in the National Tournament. But I will remember them as faithful, worthy elders of the Church. One of their team members, Barry Hardy, an African American and not a member of the Church, who had world class jumping ability that later took him into the professional ranks, was injured in a game. Some thought it was a season ending injury, perhaps a career ending injury. I was present with Coach Wagner and others and watched as eight worthy priesthood holders, fellow basketball players put their hands on Barry Hardy's head and blessed him that he would play again with them. It was an electrifying moment. There was almost instant improvement to the injury. Two weeks later Barry was back in his top form. Nothing is more indelible in my memory than the circle of worthy priesthood holders in love and harmony blessing a fallen companion of another race and another religion.

A very different experience occurred in a later game in which I was totally committed. At one point I ran with real intent into a contact; immediately I felt some pain in my face. Having been taught by my father that I should never let the opposition know if I was hurt, I continued to play out the game. That night, while trying to eat, I found that I couldn’t bite. The next morning, I went to the hospital, where an X-ray confirmed that my jaw was broken. My mouth was wired shut for the next six weeks.
Lessons were learned from this parable of the fat lip and the broken jaw. Despite my memories of unsatisfied cravings for solid food during the six weeks when I could ingest only liquids, I feel no regrets about my broken jaw because it resulted from my giving my all. But I do have regrets about the fat lip because it symbolized my holding back.

“The Lord my shepherd is …” Music swirled around Jane Elizabeth Manning, but she couldn’t focus on the words. She was looking at her hands, deep in thought.
She had joined the Presbyterian church a year ago. But she still felt like something was missing. “I’m searching for something more,” she thought. But what could that be?
After the church meeting ended, Jane drifted outside with the rest of the congregation. The leaves were beginning to turn red and gold. Sunlight glinted off the nearby Norwalk River.
“A traveling missionary has come to town,” a man was saying. “He’s a Mormon, and he says God is speaking to prophets again.”
Jane stopped to listen. Could this be what she was searching for?
“Prophets?” another man scoffed. “Like from the Bible? Who would go listen to such a message?”
“I would!” Jane blurted out. A few people turned to stare at her, including the pastor. Jane felt her cheeks grow warm.
The pastor frowned. “I don’t think you should go hear him. It’s foolishness, that’s what. Do you understand?” When she said nothing, he nodded and moved to speak with someone else. Jane watched him leave and then hurried home.
Home wasn’t where Mamma and her brothers and sisters lived. It was at the Fitches’ farm. She had gone to live there as a servant when she was just six years old. Every day she worked hard, helping Mrs. Fitch with the washing, ironing, and cooking. She usually got up before the sun. She built the fire, kneaded bread, and churned the butter. Whenever she could, she went to visit her own family.
A few days later, Jane was still thinking about the missionary while she was hanging up Mr. Fitch’s shirts to dry. The clothes flapped in the brisk breeze.
The pastor had told her not to go, and yet …she needed to. She needed to see if this Mormon could help her find the truth she was searching for. By the time she finished hanging the clothes, she had made up her mind. She would go to the meeting, no matter what anyone else said.
On Sunday, Jane woke at dawn, put on her nicest dress, and walked alone to the meeting hall. She quietly slipped onto a wooden bench at the back of the hall. Jane smiled when she saw how many people were there. It seemed she was not the only one looking for something more!
The room quieted when Elder Wandell stood. The next hour passed quickly as he spoke about the Book of Mormon and a prophet named Joseph. He said people could be baptized by immersion, just as Christ was. And he talked about the Saints gathering to a faraway city called Nauvoo. By the end of the meeting, Jane’s heart felt so full she could hardly breathe.
That night, Jane visited her family.
“And what did you think of the missionary’s message?” her mother asked when Jane explained how she had spent her Sunday.
“I am fully convinced he presented the true gospel,” Jane said. “I must embrace it. I am going to be baptized next Sunday.”
“Baptized? You’re joining another church?” her brother, Isaac, asked, pulling up a chair.
“Yes! It’s what I’ve been searching for. It’s true.”
Isaac could tell she was serious. “So what happens next?” he asked quietly. “What will you do after you’re baptized?”
“I’ll gather with the Saints,” Jane said. “I’m going to Nauvoo.”
Jane was baptized the next Sunday. Soon afterward, she left Connecticut and began the long journey to Nauvoo.
It was hard. Jane had little money, and the trip was long and difficult. But she kept going because she believed God had answered her prayer.
When she finally arrived in Nauvoo, Jane was welcomed by the Saints. She felt at home among them and knew she had found the truth she had been searching for.

Some time ago, a young man came to my office. He was about 18 years of age and had some problems. There were no serious moral problems, but he was mixed up in his thinking and worried. He requested a blessing.
I said to him, “Have you ever asked your father to give you a blessing? Your father is a member of the Church, I assume?”
He said, “Yes, he is an elder, a rather inactive elder.”
When I asked, “Do you love your father?” he replied, “Yes, President Benson, he is a good man. I love him. He doesn’t attend to his priesthood duties as he should. He doesn’t go to church regularly. I don’t know that he is a tithe payer, but he is a good man, a good provider, a kind man.”
I said, “How would you like to talk to him at an opportune time and ask him if he would be willing to give you a father’s blessing?”
“Oh,” he said, “I think that would frighten him.”
I then said, “Are you willing to try it? I will be praying for you.”
He said, “All right, on that basis, I will.”
A few days later he came back. He said, “Brother Benson, that’s the sweetest thing that has happened in our family.” He could hardly control his feelings as he told me what had happened. He said, “When the opportunity was right, I mentioned it to Father, and he replied, ‘Son, do you really want me to give you a blessing?’ I told him, ‘Yes, Dad, I would like you to.’”
Then this young man said, “Brother Benson, he gave me one of the most beautiful blessings you could ever ask for. Mother sat there crying all during the blessing. When he got through there was a bond of appreciation and gratitude and love between us that we have never had in our home.”

Luz felt happy. The school year was ending, and so many exciting things were happening. Soon she would graduate from sixth grade. Next year, she’d be in secondary school!
It surprised her how much she had grown up. She was taller, and she wasn’t a little kid anymore. Those changes were exciting, but she also felt a little nervous.
She decided to talk about it with her parents.
“This is a wonderful time in your life, Luz,” Papá said. “It’s a time for you to learn, do your best, and reach goals that will help you become the person God knows you can be.”
“But life comes just one day at a time,” Mamá said. “You’ll grow and become that person with each small, good choice you make.”
That helped Luz feel better. She was glad that she didn’t have to grow up all at once.
One day at school, Luz’s friends told her they were going to have a graduation party. They were super excited. There would be dinner, music, lights, and even a dance!
But as Luz listened to her friends talk about the party, she started to feel uncomfortable. It didn’t sound like the kind of party where she’d be able to feel the Holy Ghost.
“You’re going to come, right, Luz?” one of her friends asked.
“You have to come!” another friend said. “I’ll tell my parents to talk to your parents. Then they’ll let you come.”
“Maybe.” Luz’s stomach was doing flip-flops. “I … I’ll let you know.”
Luz spent the rest of the weekend thinking about the party. She thought about it while she practiced the piano. She thought about it while she played with her baby brother. No matter what she did, it was on her mind.
Part of her just wanted to go to the party. But she still felt uneasy. The nervous feeling in her stomach wouldn’t go away.
“Are you OK, hija?” Mamá asked on Sunday afternoon. She combed her fingers through Luz’s long, dark hair.
“Well …,” Luz said.
“Are you still thinking about the party?”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Luz. “I want to go. But I know I won’t have a good feeling there.”
Mamá smiled. “I know you’ll make a good choice,” she said. “Think about it, make your choice, and tell Heavenly Father what you’ve decided. He’ll help you know if it’s right. You’ll feel it in your heart.”
Luz nodded. She took a deep breath and went to her room to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” Luz whispered. “My friends invited me to a party, but I don’t feel good about it. I’m going to tell them that I can’t come. Is this the right thing to do?”
A wave of warmth came over Luz. She didn’t feel confused anymore. She felt like she was full of light! She knew she was making the right choice.
When Luz walked out of her room, she gave Mamá a big hug.
“I decided not to go,” Luz told her.
“I’m proud of you,” said Mamá.
Papá gave Luz a hug too. “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s have our own graduation party. We can have ice cream and celebrate as a family!”
Luz smiled. She loved ice cream! And she loved knowing that she could do the right thing, even when it was hard. With every small, good choice she made, she could grow up to be the person God knew she could become.

For weeks, Nauvoo had been buzzing with activity. Wagons clattered along frozen streets. People rushed to and fro carrying packages and carting barrels of food. Joseph Taylor knew he would not see this scene much longer. Soon, the Saints would be leaving their homes on the bank of the Mississippi River to travel west.
“Joseph, I need you to load the wagon,” his mother called from the kitchen.
Joseph had been avoiding this for days. He didn’t mind helping, but he knew that once the wagon was loaded, they’d have to leave.
A scratchy burlap sack tickled his face as he lifted it into the wagon’s shallow bed. His family had hardly even started packing, yet the wagon was almost full.
“Where are we putting everything else?” Joseph asked his mother as he picked up another sack in the kitchen.
“We’re only taking the necessities, Joseph,” his mother said. “I thought you understood that. There just isn’t enough room for everything.”
Joseph’s eyes started to fill with tears. It was bad enough leaving his comfortable home, but now they had to leave all of their favorite things too.
Joseph ran upstairs and into the toy room. It was his favorite part of the house. He had spent hours here imagining grand adventures while riding his wooden rocking horse that his father had carved for him. Joseph ran his hand over the horse and felt its golden mane of real horsehair. He realized that he would have to say good-bye to it forever.
On a frosty morning, Joseph’s family tied the canvas covering over their wagon and shut the door of their home for the last time. After inching their way through the snow, they boarded a ferry and pushed off to cross the icy river. Joseph watched as Nauvoo—and his beloved toy horse—slipped farther into the distance.
That night when the Saints set up camp, Joseph wrapped up in a quilt and warmed his hands over a fire. But nothing could help the cold ache in his heart.
Joseph’s father placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” he said.
Joseph felt foolish. Everyone had left important things behind. “I miss my horse,” he said, starting to cry. “I love him so much, and I’ll never see him again.”
Joseph’s father pulled him close. “I understand,” he said. “You shouldn’t feel ashamed for missing something you love.”
When Joseph awoke the next morning, his father, who was an Apostle, had left to help some other families in need. Joseph gathered wood and fed the animals. He filled pots with ice from the creek so his mother could cook supper.
As the sun dipped below the horizon that evening, Joseph saw his father coming into camp. He looked exhausted. Ever since he had been injured at Carthage, he had needed to use a cane to help him walk. Today he was limping more than usual. His face was red from the cold, and there was snow on his jacket.
“But it hasn’t snowed all day,” Joseph thought. “Where has Father been?”
Then he saw it. Tied to his father’s horse was Joseph’s rocking horse. His father had ridden all the way back to Nauvoo, across the icy Mississippi River, and risked being caught by the angry mobs just to retrieve Joseph’s beloved horse.
“I think he’ll like going on this adventure to the West, don’t you?” his father asked as Joseph raced into his outstretched arms.