Gospel Story Finder

The wagon lumbered along at a steady pace. Just two days before, the members of the Clawson family had left their comfortable home in Greenwood, New York. They were headed to Kirtland, Ohio, and then on to Missouri to be with the Saints who had gathered there. Twelve-year-old Ebenezer was driving the team of oxen at the front of the wagon, enjoying the lovely spring day. On such a day, it was more a privilege than a chore to be driving the wagon, his parents and six brothers and sisters walking alongside.
Ebenezer reflected on the events that led up to his family’s journey. His family had joined with the Latter-day Saints a year ago. Since then, they had experienced many troubles. Finally they had sold their home and land and bought supplies for the westward trek. It seemed as if all their problems were behind them now—they were going to Zion!
After traveling a considerable distance, the Clawson family arrived at the Genesee River.
“Eben, pull up here so that we can load the wagon onto the ferry,” Brother Moses Clawson directed his son.
“Yes, sir!” Ebenezer obediently eased the team toward the muddy bank of the river. The river was swollen with cold, brown water from the spring rains, and debris from recent flooding littered the whole area.
The oxen slogged through the mud steadily. All of a sudden, one of the oxen lost its footing and fearfully struggled to regain it. This startled the other ox, causing pandemonium. With the team confused and stumbling, the wagon started to slip. It turned sharply, throwing Ebenezer from the wagon. The oxen kept moving and bellowing, and with no one there to stop them, they pulled the heavy wagon over the boy’s head and body.
Sister Clawson handed the baby to fourteen-year-old Eunice and hurried to the side of her injured son.
“Whoa there! Whoa!” Brother Clawson rushed to gain control of the team and lead them to safety away from the river and away from Ebenezer. Accidents such as this were far too common, and they were almost always fatal.
Sister Clawson cleaned Ebenezer’s head wound and carefully bound it up. She offered a quick prayer, pleading for her son’s life. “Oh, Father, if thou wilt only spare my son …”
Soon Ebenezer regained consciousness. “Oh, my back!” he moaned.
“Quiet, my son. Your father is going to take you to find help.”
Brother Clawson carefully took Ebenezer in his arms and headed downriver. A half mile away, he found lodging for them in a hotel. “Please, sir, could you find us a doctor? My son is hurt very badly. He will surely die if nothing is done for him.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the hotel clerk replied.
While the clerk searched for the doctor, news spread that a “Mormon” boy lay near death at the hotel. People crowded in, as curious to see Mormons as they were to see Ebenezer.
After a time, the clerk returned. His face was grim. “I cannot locate the doctor,” he said. “Some say that he has gone to get new supplies in the next town and that he won’t be back until sundown.”
Brother Clawson knew Ebenezer didn’t have that much time.
People crowded around, murmuring and offering suggestions. “I say someone should bleed him,” an old man in the room shouted. “He’ll die for sure,” a woman whispered loudly to her neighbor. “I’ve seen enough wagon accidents like this, to be certain.”
Suddenly four well-dressed men entered the room.
“Brother Clawson, I am Elder Rufus Fischer. This is my companion Elder Moon, and these are two of our associates.”
Missionaries!
“We would like to administer to this boy and give him a blessing.”
“Certainly!” Brother Clawson let the elders take charge.
“Any of you who wishes may stay as we administer to this child,” said Elder Moon.
A few people left, but many curious onlookers stayed. Elder Fisher closed the door.
The missionaries anointed Ebenezer’s head with oil and laid their hands on his head. “Ebenezer Clawson, by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood which we bear, we anoint your head with oil that has been consecrated and set apart for the healing of the sick in the household of faith …”
After the blessing was finished, Elder Fisher said, “Brother Clawson, your son should be ready to travel in a few hours.” Then the missionaries left as quickly as they had come.
Ebenezer slept soundly for several hours, then awoke, his strength having returned. “Father, let us go on,” he said.
Brother Clawson and Ebenezer went back upriver to where the family was waiting. They all crossed the river without further trouble and traveled six more miles. Ebenezer drove the team part of the way. His head healed without ever swelling, and the only visible reminder of his ordeal was a scar.
Ebenezer’s faith in Jesus Christ, and that of his family and the missionaries who administered to him, brought forth a miracle that day. The Clawson family had obeyed Heavenly Father by traveling to Zion to be with the Saints, and He blessed them for their faithfulness.

The following news story, which was widely circulated in 1982, provides vivid evidence that, when faced with the unexpected, our actions are dependent on the principles we believe in.

Moments after Air Florida’s Flight 90 left the runway at Washington’s National Airport, it was clear that the Boeing 737 was not going to fly. As it shuddered and stalled, the co-pilot said, “We’re going down,” and the pilot answered grimly, “I know it.” With a deafening crash it slammed into the Fourteenth Street Bridge and plunged into the icy waters of the Potomac. Witnesses watched in horror as the fuselage, which had broken free of the tail section, rolled gently and sank beneath the surface, its rows of passengers still strapped into their seats. Only the tail remained afloat—with six people clinging to it.

One of them was Arland D. Williams, Jr., a balding, graying, middle-aged bank examiner and father of two, who was on his way to an investigation in Florida. Although divorced two years previously, he was soon to be remarried and was probably the one with the best chance, for while the others had broken limbs and collapsed lungs, he was relatively free of injury. All he had to do was hang on until help arrived.

At 4:20, nineteen minutes after the crash, the rotors of the U.S. Park Police helicopter were heard thwacking through the cold winter air. Bert Hamilton, who was treading water about ten feet from the floating tail, took the single lifeline dangling beneath the chopper and passed it under his arms. The others watched while the helicopter carried him a hundred yards to the Virginia shore and returned. This time Arland Williams caught the line. Instead of wrapping it around himself, however, he passed it to flight attendant Kelly Duncan. Soon she too was safe.

On its third trip back to the wreckage, the helicopter trailed two lifelines, for its crew knew that survival in the river was now only a matter of minutes. One of the lines was aimed at Williams. He caught it again and again passed it on, this time to Joe Stiley, the most severely injured survivor. Stiley slipped the line around his waist and grabbed Priscilla Tirado, who, having lost her husband and baby, was in complete hysteria. Patricia Felch took the second line, and the helicopter pulled away. Before it reached the shore, however, Priscilla Tirado lost her grip and fell back into the water, so the helicopter, on its next trip, had to return for her.

Arland Williams’ turn came at last. The chopper crew was eager to meet him and salute his selfless heroism. But, as they approached the wreckage, they saw that he was gone. It was 4:30. He had been in the paralyzing cold for twenty-nine minutes—a minute or so too long.

Rescue Officer Gene Windsor wept as he related the incident to his wife. “He could have gone on the first trip,” said the pilot, Donald Usher, “but he put everyone else ahead of himself. Everyone.” [News story quoted in Robert F. Bennett, Gaining Control (Salt Lake City: Franklin Quest Company, 1987), pp. 35–36]

In August of 2020, President Alan L. Fisher and Sister Elizabeth H. Fisher, the mission president and his companion, gathered all the missionaries in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission together in Barbados. President and Sister Fisher recalled, “We loved working with these sisters and having the opportunity of becoming very close to them during the pandemic. We believe the Lord wanted them to have this experience, learn these lessons, and have an opportunity to develop relationships with each other and their mission leaders in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. One of the tender mercies we experienced was sharing in the ordinance of the sacrament with them in their apartment. We prayed, sang, and shared scriptures from the Book of Mormon. This repeated connection together brought a bond of love and strength between us and between these sweet missionaries and the Lord. He lifted them and was a constant sustaining influence.”

Years ago, while working on a cattle ranch doing some work with a tractor, I happened to see what appeared to be a muskrat trap lying on the ground. I stopped the tractor and picked it up. The trap held firmly in its jaws the foot and leg of a great blue heron, held steadfastly by only one toe.

I picked up the trap with its attached leg and couple of the feathers and placed them on the fence. It appeared as if someone, intending to trap a muskrat for its fur, or some other reason, had carefully set the trap under the grass and reeds in an irrigation canal. Innocently, the great blue heron had landed in the same location to obtain his daily ration of fish or frogs. While prodding through the grass and lilies, it found itself as a victim, caught by one toe with no possibility of escape.

It was apparent that this poor creature had struggled for some time, finally pulling the trap loose from its tethered stake. It then had flown over several fences until the weight of the attached trap and fatigue brought it to the ground. It looked as though it had then been attacked, killed, and eaten by other animals. The only evidence of this struggle that remains is what you see in my hands and on the screen. It had no power to escape the natural consequences of mortal life and death.

In relating this event to our own lives, we realize that all mortal creatures are subject to death and the dissolution of the body. In considering captivity and death from a doctrinal perspective, please retain the image of the remains of this majestic bird in your mind to determine whether you will qualify for the blessings of salvation provided by our Savior Jesus Christ, through his merciful atonement.

My wife, Ruby, and I recently celebrated our sixty-fifth wedding anniversary. We were married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 4, 1930. The next morning we went up to see her mother on M Street in Salt Lake City to bid her good-bye. And as part of those tender moments, she fixed a little basket for us to put in the car. She said to me, “David, promise me that you’ll take good care of Ruby.” And I said, “I promise.” I remind Ruby periodically that someday I’m going to meet her mother, and I hope I will be able to look her straight in the eye and say, “I think maybe I’ve done it.”
Ruby and I were married the right way, sealed in the temple with its divine covenants and commitments that promote trustworthiness, faithfulness, devotion, and dedication. Now, after sixty-five wonderful years, we look back on our time together and realize that it gets better as time goes on.

When I was recently assigned to a conference in the Mission Viejo California Stake, I was touched by an account of their four-stake New Year’s Eve youth dance. Following the dance, a purse was found with no outside identification. I share with you part of what Sister Monica Sedgwick, the Young Women president in the Laguna Niguel stake, recorded: “We didn’t want to pry; this was someone’s personal stuff! So we gingerly opened it and grabbed the first thing that was on top—hopefully, it would identify her. It did, but in another way—it was a For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. Wow! This told us something about her. Then we reached in for the next item, a little notebook. Surely this would give us answers, but not the kind we were expecting. The first page was a list of favorite scriptures. There were five more pages of carefully written scriptures and personal notes.”
The sisters immediately wanted to meet this stalwart young woman. They returned to that purse to identify its owner. They pulled out some breath mints, soap, lotion, and a brush. I loved their comments: “Oh, good things come out of her mouth; she has clean and soft hands; and she takes care of herself.”
They eagerly awaited the next treasure. Out came a clever little homemade coin purse made from a cardboard juice carton, and there was some money in a zippered pocket. They exclaimed, “Ahh, she’s creative and prepared!” They felt like little children on Christmas morning. What they pulled out next surprised them even more: a recipe for Black Forest chocolate cake and a note to make the cake for a friend’s birthday. They almost screamed, “She’s a HOMEMAKER! Thoughtful and service minded.” Then, yes, finally some identification. The youth leaders said they felt greatly blessed “to observe the quiet example of a young lady living the gospel.”6

I have struggled with my testimony for a long time. I just moved to live with my aunt, and it has been really hard without my family. I was having an especially bad day and started to think about the Church. When I got the mail, the November 1998 issue of the New Era was there. My old home teacher had sent it. There was a story called “The Answer in Section 6.” As I read, I thought it sounded a lot like my situation. I felt like no one understood. I am reading the scriptures and praying almost daily to find if the Church is true. Even though I haven’t received an answer yet, I know God is looking out for me and that He loves me. I really needed something to help me that day, and I feel like Heavenly Father, in a way, sent the New Era.
Name WithheldArizona

I was just a young child when my father died of pneumonia. My fourteen-year-old brother died just a few days later from an unrelated illness. It was the early 1930s, the middle of the Great Depression in the United States. Jobs were scarce and so was money. My mother, a nurse, struggled to provide a living for the five remaining children. It wasn’t an easy life for any of us, and I often wondered how it would all work out.
But one thing happened during those tough times that I remember as well as if it had happened yesterday, something that made me look forward with courage and hope.
About a year after my father’s passing, his cousin came to visit our home. Israel Bennion came, not just on a social call, but as the stake patriarch. Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed like we were going to church, waited in turn to have this dignified man place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings.
I was only seven, not old enough to understand the significance of all that was going on. (Today, the Church advises you to wait until you’re older to get your patriarchal blessing.) But I felt a great reverence, the same sort of feeling I felt during fast and testimony meetings. I remembered his instructions, although they were brief, that my blessing should be a guide to me, something I could use to chart my course through life.
Although I was young, I was impressed by the statements Brother Bennion made as he gave me my blessing. He told me that the Spirit of the Lord would be with me as I was growing up, that the gospel would be in my heart, that I would love the work of the Lord, and that the Lord would bless me.
He spoke of the future, that I would someday be a judge in Israel, that I would have children, that I would have a strong body and a sound mind.
But most of all, he stirred something in me. He helped me to begin to realize how literally I was a son of God. The Lord knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, the Lord would help me.

I’ll never forget an experience I had at a mission conference in Australia a few years ago. One young man had such a special glow upon his face that my wife said to me, “I’ve never seen anyone sparkle with the truth as he does.”

When the meeting finished, before I could even leave the stand, this young man came up to me and said, “Elder Asay, may I speak with you?” I said to the young man, “Go down to the bishop’s office and wait; I’ll be there shortly.” He turned and walked down the aisle.

When I arrived at the office, he looked at me and said, “Elder Asay, you have forgotten me, haven’t you?” That made me feel terrible. I said, “Yes, I guess I have; please forgive me.”

Then he said, “Several years ago, I came to your office with my bishop and stake president. I came because I had done foolish things in high school; I had made myself unworthy of my priesthood, and I required some special cleanup and a special clearance before I could serve. In fact, you may recall that when I gave you a listing of my transgressions, you said, ‘I will never allow you to serve.’”

Then I remembered. He was the only one I had ever said those words to. But he cried, and his bishop cried, and his stake president cried, and they pleaded and they pleaded; and finally I weakened. I said, “Yes, you may, on two conditions: first, that you go and live every commandment strictly; you will cut no corners; and second, that you will seek to become the best missionary in your assigned mission.”

Well, after he had recalled all of that to my memory, he said, “Elder Asay, it thrilled me to know that you were coming. You see, next week I go home, and I just wanted to tell you that for two years now I haven’t stretched or bent or broken a single rule or commandment.” Then he added, “I may not be the best missionary in this mission, but I’m awfully close.”

I loved that. I embraced him and thanked him, and then after a tear or two, he turned to leave. As he stood there, he looked at me again and said, “Elder Asay, for the first time in many, many years I feel perfectly clean morally.” “You are,” I said. “You have been sanctified by your service. Now, please go home and stay clean.”

He has since been married in the temple; he is now a father, and is completing a professional degree.

The Scouts of the Millcreek Sixth Ward, Salt Lake Millcreek Stake, found a way to help one of their fellow Scouts and good friend earn his Eagle Award.
Kim Berry, 15, was diagnosed as having terminal bone cancer. When he realized the seriousness of his illness, he set three goals for himself: to get his patriarchal blessing, to read the Book of Mormon, and to finish the requirements for his Eagle Award.
Kim completed all his merit badges. But as his strength began to fail, he needed some assistance in completing his Eagle project. He turned to the members of his Scout troop. After receiving permission from the local council, Kim and his mother prepared a flyer announcing that his Eagle project would be gathering canned goods for the state food bank. His friends delivered the flyers door-to-door. Then all the boys in the troop, with the help of adult leaders in pickup trucks, collected the donated goods and delivered them to the food bank. The response was tremendous, and the troop gathered hundreds of pounds of food.
Craig Larson, Scoutmaster, said that the Scouts in the troop were very serious about helping Kim. They worked hard to get his project done quickly. They appreciated the chance to do something for their friend.
Kim received his Eagle Award one week before his death. He also completed his other two goals.

Youth and leaders witnessed an awesome spectacle in the morning sky of Arizona last February. Two high-powered, nine-foot-tall, fiberglass rockets launched into the sky with spectacular results.
Three months of design and construction culminated in a friendly competition between the young men and young women of the Pleasant Second Ward in Chandler, Arizona. Guided by Mia Maid Mara Egolf and her father—both members of the Arizona High Power Rocketry Association—the youth spent several Saturday mornings learning about rocket construction.
The youth each wrote down goals to help them arise and shine forth in the coming year. The young men put their goals in their red-and-gold “Sons of Helaman” rocket, and the young women put theirs in their purple-and-white “Integrity” rocket. Then both rockets were launched into the heavens.
As for the competition, there is some controversy over which rocket won. In a flight faithful to the name she bears, “Integrity” functioned flawlessly, and according to onboard readings reached an altitude of 11,619 feet before parachuting gracefully back to earth.
There’s a saying in model rocketry, Brother Egolf told the youth, “When things go according to plan, it’s cool. When things go bad, it’s way cool.” “Sons of Helaman” arced at just under 12,000 feet before a malfunction caused the rocket, traveling at nearly the speed of sound, to crash into the desert floor. At the impact crater the young men were able to salvage only two tail fins and a piece of the nosecone.

Another example of President Kimball’s discipleship occurred one Christmas Eve several years ago. He called and asked if I were busy. I quickly responded, “Not at all. What can I do for you, President Kimball?” He told me he needed a companion to go with him to the Primary Children’s Hospital to give a few blessings. It turned out that he had heard of several children from South America, as well as some American Indian children, who were in the hospital. We went from floor to floor giving blessings to all the Latins and Lamanites and many others too. I was deeply affected by the love of President Kimball and his tender friendship with each child. He was a friend to the sick—a friend to those far from home. He exemplified the tender, loving friendship that the Savior would give. It was easy to see how he could say, “The Savior is my best friend.”

Karli sat at her desk with a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She looked around her new classroom. It looked like many third-grade classrooms, with books on the shelves, a plant in the corner, and bright posters on the walls. It also had rows of desks filled with children. Karli didn’t know any of them.
Karli and her family had moved a few weeks earlier. Now, on her first day at her new school, Karli missed her old house, her old school, and her old friends.
A tear fell onto Karli’s math paper as she looked down at her shirt. Before Karli moved away, she and her best friend had picked matching T-shirts, painted hearts on them, and signed their names in pink and purple sparkle paints. Karli had decided to wear her shirt to school for good luck. Now she wished she hadn’t. It reminded her of all her friends going to school without her.
Karli hurried home after school and went straight to the room she shared with her sister. Moving boxes still cluttered its corners. They reminded her of a new school she didn’t like and a new house that didn’t feel like home.
Soon Karli’s mom came in and sat on the bed. “How was school today?” she asked.
Karli looked down at the floor. “Fine,” she whispered. Then tears started to well up in her eyes.
Mom wrapped her arms around Karli. “Tell me about it,” she said.
“I didn’t know anyone,” Karli sniffed. “I don’t have any friends here.”
“First days in a new school are hard, aren’t they?” Mom said. “But you know what? You do have friends here.”
“What friends do I have?” Karli asked. “I don’t know anyone.”
Mom smiled. “You have your sisters,” she said. “Dad and I were sealed in the temple as an eternal family, so you will always have your sisters, no matter where you go. Your sisters can be your best friends forever.”
Karli thought about that. She loved playing with her older sister, Andrea, and her younger sister, Laura. But Andrea was in fourth grade, and Laura still went to kindergarten, so Karli couldn’t see them during the day. She explained that to Mom.
“Mom, in our old neighborhood I had my sisters and my other friends too,” she said. “I liked that better.”
“Well, here you and your sisters will become better friends than before. You can help each other through this,” Mom said.
After dinner, Karli went to her room to do her homework. She didn’t know how to work a few of her math problems, so she asked Andrea for help. Andrea knew exactly how to solve them. Then together they unpacked another moving box before bedtime.
The next day in class, Karli answered all her math problems correctly. At recess, she sat on a swing by herself. She watched a group of girls talking and giggling as they played on the monkey bars. Then she saw a familiar person walking toward her. It was Andrea! Karli hopped off the swing and ran over to her sister.
“We have the same recess,” Andrea said. “So we can play together.”
As the weeks passed, Karli, Andrea, and Laura made friends with some girls in their neighborhood. Soon they made new friends in their classes too. By the end of the school year, Karli and Andrea played together at recess with a group of new friends.
But Karli still remembered what Mom had told her. No matter how many friends she made at school, or how many special shirts hung in her closet, her sisters would always be her best friends.

There’s a home for unwed mothers and abused children in the Fairfield California Stake, and the young women in the Vacaville Third Ward wanted to help out.
They took several activity nights to make stuffed bears. They also made sugar cookies to take to the home and let the children decorate. The main message they tried to convey was “You are a child of God,” and the smiles on the children’s faces told them they understood.

Now I wanted to know more. I went to see my bishop and asked him if I could serve a mission. He answered, “That is a great goal. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to begin coming to church first?”

Well, I did and some time later found myself alone on a steam engine train with wooden benches on my way to Wiesbaden, Germany to meet my companion after spending a few days in the mission home. I got off the train in this huge station and started looking for my companion. People were scurrying every which way and the crowd finally dispersed. I walked from one end to the other and all I heard were people speaking a language I didn’t know. After what seemed like a great deal of time, I spotted someone a distance away on a case playing a small accordion. What was that tune? It seemed so familiar - yes - it was “Come, Come Ye Saints.” I walked that direction and as I came closer he said, “Welcome to Germany, I am your companion, Elder Pope.” Was this the peak or was this a valley? Well, I had a terrific mission, learned the gospel, met some wonderful people (some whom we baptized) and made some lifelong friendships. After all these years we still have missionary reunions that fill the chapel. This must be the peak—as good as it gets.

Henry
Like Sister Eyring, I feel an eternal debt to my parents. That is particularly so of my mother. I was born when she just 21. Within nine years, she was the mother of four headstrong sons, who adored her but were a handful to manage. Then came a period of nine years of pregnancy miscarriages and grieving. When her youngest son, John, began the first grade, Mother filled her daytime hours with private ministering. She also wrote several children’s books, one of which won a state-wide award. But she put her writing aside with the births of two wonderful daughters. When I asked why, she solemnly replied, “More important things came along.”

Once when I was playing soccer goalie at school, I missed the ball. Someone yelled, “You’re such a bad goalie!” I didn’t feel very good after I heard that. I ran into one of the bathroom stalls and started crying. After I said a prayer, I felt much better and went back to playing soccer. I’m glad I can remember that special day when I felt the Holy Ghost help me for the first time.
Alli S., age 6, Lima, Peru

I had an experience from which I learned a very important lesson that I should have learned earlier. I relived this experience last week when we were in Japan and concluded that I would talk about it in conference.
During World War II, I was a pilot in the Air Force. After service in the Pacific Islands, I spent a year in Japan with the occupational forces. It was, of course, advisable to learn a few words of Japanese. We needed at least to be able to ask directions, ask for something to eat. I learned the common greetings and a few of the numbers and the salutations, and like many other members of the Church, I spent all my off-duty hours in missionary work among the Japanese people; and I learned from them those few words of what I thought was a very difficult language.
In July of 1946, the first baptisms took place in Osaka. Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato were baptized. And while they had been taught for the most part by others, I was privileged to baptize Sister Sato.
Though we were not unhappy in Japan, there was really only one thing on our minds, and that was home! I had been away for nearly four years. The war was over, and I wanted to go home.
When that day finally arrived, I supposed never to return to Japan, and I just closed that chapter.
The next years saw me busy getting an education, raising a family. I was not around Japanese people and had no occasion to use those few words that I had learned. They were left in the dim and very distant past, erased by 26 years of forgetting—gone, as I thought, forever. Then came an assignment to Japan.
The morning after my arrival in Tokyo, I was leaving the mission home with President Abo when a Japanese elder spoke to him in Japanese. President Abo said that the matter was urgent and apologized for the delay.
He went through some papers with the elder, discussing them in Japanese. Then he held up one of the letters and, pointing to a sentence, he said, “Korewa …”
And before he could complete the sentence, I had completed it in my mind. Korewa nan desuka. I knew what he was saying. I knew what he was asking the elder. Korewa nan desuka means “What is this?” After 26 years, having been back in Japan only overnight, a sentence had come back into my mind—Korewa nan desuka, “What is this?”
I had not used those words in 26 years. I had thought that I should never use them again. But they were not lost. I spent ten days in Japan and concluded my tour in Fukuoka. The morning I was to leave, we drove to the airport with Brother and Sister Watanabe. I was in the backseat with their children practicing my long-lost words of Japanese on them. They, in delight, were teaching me some new ones.
And then I recalled a little song that I had learned those 26 years before, and I sang it to those children:
Momotaro-san, Momotaro-san
Okoshi ni tsuketa kibi dango
Hitotsu watashi ni kudasan na
I think the way I sang that may make Jerold Ottley, conductor of the Tabernacle Choir, sitting nearby, restless, but … Sister Watanabe said, “I know that song.” And so we sang it together to the little children and then she told me the meaning of it, and as she did so, I remembered that also.
It is the story of a Japanese couple who were childless, and they had prayed for a son. One day, in the stone of a large peach, they found a little boy and they named him Momotaro. The song recounts his heroism in saving his people from a terrible enemy.
I had known that song for 26 years, but I didn’t know that I knew it. I had never sung the song to my own children. I had never told them the story of it. It had been smothered under 26 years of attention to other things.
I have thought that a most important experience and realized finally that nothing good is ever lost. Once I got back among the people who spoke the language, all that I possessed came back and it came back very quickly. And I found it easier then to add a few more words to my vocabulary.

Some who profess to be followers of Christ insist that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are not Christians. Indeed, there are those who make their living attacking our church and its doctrines. I wish all of them could have the experience I shared.
A friend who was making his first visit to Salt Lake City called on me in my office. He is a well-educated man and a devout and sincere Christian. Although we have not discussed this with each other, we both know that some leaders of his denomination have taught that members of our church are not Christians.
After a short discussion on a matter of common interest, I told my friend I had something I would like him to see. We walked over to Temple Square and into the North Visitors’ Center. We viewed the pictures of Bible and Book of Mormon Apostles and prophets. Then we turned our steps up the inclined walkway to the second level. Here Thorvaldsen’s great statue of the risen Christ dominates a setting suggestive of the immensity of space and the grandeur of the creations of God.
As we emerged and beheld this majestic likeness of the Christus, arms outstretched and hands showing the wounds of his Crucifixion, my friend drew a sharp breath. We stood quietly for a few minutes, enjoying a reverent communion of worshipful thoughts about our Savior. Then without further conversation, we made our way down to the street level. On the way we walked past the small diorama showing the Prophet Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove.
As we left Temple Square and took our leave of one another, my friend took me by the hand. “Thank you for showing me that,” he said. “Now I understand something about your faith that I have never understood before.” I hope that every person who has ever had doubts about whether we are Christians can achieve that same understanding.

My beloved brothers and sisters, for several years and with the deepest feelings I have thought about what I would like to talk to you about this morning. The prophet Mormon tells us that “by the power of [the Lord’s] word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). In recent weeks, I have reread the stories of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s brilliant novel Les Miserables and of Bob Merrick in the novel Magnificent Obsession by Lloyd C. Douglas. These two stories, though widely different in time, circumstances, and affluence, have touched my heart in many ways.
I have agonized as I have thought about the ordeal of Jean Valjean—the nineteen years in prison and the things done to him for the small transgression of stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. He suffered so many indignities, even after he was finally released from the physical prison.
Some of the same feelings flood my mind as I reflect upon the self-inflicted sufferings of Bob Merrick. The life of a prominent surgeon was lost and the sight of another because of Bob Merrick’s wayward activities, selfishness, ego, and disdain for others. He suffered in a prison of his own making.
Yes, I realize these masterfully crafted episodes are fictional, but they cause me to think about the various types of prisons Satan leads us into building for ourselves and others, or that others build for us.
Haven’t we all been delivered from various forms of captivity? How did you feel when the doors were opened to your personal prison? How was it to feel free? How wonderful it is to be liberated from any kind of a prison.
I remember how I felt forty-one years ago when I was taken from a train in Europe at 2:00 a.m. by two soldiers of a hostile nation and held against my will. I was verbally and physically abused. I felt I would never see my family or my country again. I assure you that while I was held captive, the blood coursed through my veins like adrenaline. Though the captivity lasted less than a day, it seemed like an eternity. And when I was put on another train and sent back to safety, my gratitude to the Lord knew no bounds. I was free! As I talked to the train conductor, I learned that hundreds had not been so lucky.
I then was led to think of Him who really delivers us from various types of prisons into forgiveness, a newness of life, of spirit, of change, and of opportunity, and how the souls of men find such relief, fulfillment, and safety when this occurs. I thought of the Son of God and His greatest freewill offering to each of us, given at the expense of His own life and under excruciating pain. I thought of how our Father in Heaven loves each one of us. And though we sometimes walk into prisons of our own making, He is there with keys to unlock the doors that bind us. I thought of those who help along the way, who share in turning those keys which deliver others, and who care so deeply sometimes that they rebuild the trust of others—like the two men of God in the novels helped to free Jean Valjean and Bob Merrick from their prisons into magnificent new freedoms promised by the Lord.
As difficult as a physical captivity or prison is, there are other captivities or prisons even more devastating. They are very subtle and take various forms in life, like (1) taking advantage of another; (2) bearing false witness to get gain; (3) knowing things to be true and not defending them; (4) stealing the morality of another; (5) destroying the innocence of a little child; (6) being captive to alcohol or drugs; or (7) financially digging a pit for another, causing hardship and destroying his ability to take care of his needs and so on. There are many prisons which come from our sins or the sins of others “according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Ne. 2:27), who leads us away.
Let me take an example to illustrate the point of these prisons. The prophet Job counseled us not to “dig a pit for your friend” (Job 6:27). I understand that could mean a business associate, a neighbor, a member of the Church. How could this happen?
Several years ago, a great young man had a thriving business. He had worked long, hard hours for many years to develop the skills, reputation, and expertise necessary to build his business and provide for the needs of his young family. He loved his work, and every morning he anxiously began each new project with creativity and opportunity. His was a great life, filled with much hope and many projects. Then one major project was completed and finalized. Rather large payments were anticipated, but a shrewd businessman found that oral approvals, given to my friend to make many necessary alterations in the project, could easily be broken and not honored. After all, there was no written record of the changes requested. It was just “good business” to get it as cheap as possible, even after commitments were made. And so verbal commitments were not honored. The money due, which was considerable, was not paid.
At this point we have several prisons that are in place: the prison of deceit of the “shrewd” businessman, and the prison of the deceived, who could not now honor his own commitments. To this day the one deceived, through further industry and much hardship, is still trying to get out of the prison created by another. And he has lost confidence in others, and he and his family have lost opportunities and his business because of another.
Did not the Savior teach through the prophet Moses, “If a man shall cause a field or vineyard to be eaten, and shall put in his beast, and shall feed in another man’s field; of the best of his own field, and of the best of his own vineyard, shall he make restitution”? (Ex. 22:5).
These types of prisons often cause the offended to lose faith, hope, and even the ability to care for their own, as was the case with my young friend. But these prisons should not happen. They often cause years of anguish. They cause those involved to wonder about justice and mercy. Sometimes these people find it impossible to resolve their own personal affairs honorably.
The lessons taught by the Savior differ widely from these actions. For He taught, in effect, Do unto others as ye would have them do unto you (see Matt. 7:12; 3 Ne. 14:12). He taught, “Behold it is my will that you shall pay all your debts” (D&C 104:78). Yes, even if it takes years, pay your debts.
No Christian should ever be a challenge to another Christian. Many widows, single mothers, and older couples are victimized by those who take advantage of them, who do not honor their commitments and then put them into a type of prison. Those affected find themselves pleading for someone to open their prison doors, often while babies cry for bare necessities.
When we seek to follow Christ, we take the oath of a Christian as a member of this Church; we covenant to never put another in any sort of prison, but rather to try to liberate those who are there. We become like one man who said that when he joined this Church it changed the way he thought, the way he talked, the way he believed, the way he dressed, the way he worked and honored his employer, the things he read, the movies he saw, the way he conducted his financial affairs in absolute honesty with everyone, and the way he served others. He truly believed in the liberating power of the gospel of Jesus Christ and became free because of it. As is stated in the book of John, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36).
Years ago an acquaintance of mine was captive for over twenty years to a serious alcohol problem, which bound him every day. He would leave work, buy his alcohol, drive into the countryside, and drink until he could barely find his way home. He truly was under the captive spirit of the devil and lived in hell. A faithful home teacher loved this brother, saw him often, taught him to pray for help, and prayed for him often. One day while he was driving his pickup truck into the countryside to begin his daily alcohol ritual, he felt a powerful influence to stop his truck, walk out into a field, fall to his knees, and plead for help from his Father in Heaven. Later, he tearfully testified that as he arose from his knees, the desire to drink alcohol had completely left him. He had been delivered from a twenty-year prison. God heard his prayer, felt the desire of his heart, and opened the prison doors that bound him.
Beloved friends, it is Jesus who has unlocked and will unlock the doors of our personal prisons. It is a glorious promise to all who are captive, for whatever reasons, upon the condition of repentance.
Certainly, a Latter-day Saint will demonstrate the freedom he has received by walking in all morality and all honesty, as taught by the Lord. For his word is his bond—sacred and honored. His life becomes the testament that it is all true—every principle and every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Savior and His prophets. By living these cardinal principles, we are truly free and we become the witnesses of His word.
One of the beautiful, profound statements of the man of God to Jean Valjean was: “My brother, you belong no more to evil, but to good. It is your soul I am buying for you, and I give it to God” (Victor Hugo, Les Miserables, volume 1, book 2, chapter 12). No more prisons for others, if you will, because of my actions.
Jesus came that man might have life and have it more abundantly. He walked the path, taught the way, opened the doors to truly liberate mankind, and said, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). The writer, Mr. Douglas, expressed it beautifully when he said to Bob Merrick, “When you find THE WAY, you will be bound—it will become an obsession—a magnificent obsession.”
We know it works, for listen to the words which record what happened to the Saints who truly followed the Savior for two hundred years following His appearance in America:
“And as many as did come unto them, and did truly repent of their sins, were baptized in the name of Jesus; and they did also receive the Holy Ghost.
“… And there were no contentions and disputations among them, and every man did deal justly one with another.
“And they had all things common among them; therefore there were not rich and poor, bond and free, but they were all made free. …
“And surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God” (4 Ne. 1:1–3, 16; emphasis added).
Yes, “by the power of his word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). May we live our lives so we will all be free with no prisons for ourselves or others, only a magnificent obsession filled with freedoms and blessings ahead, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.