Gospel Story Finder

I have just been ordained as a teacher and go to early-morning seminary. A few of us from our youth program attend the same high school. Every day we meet up after seminary and bike to school together. We encourage each other every day to make good choices. When school is over, we all bike home together. I enjoy being around other youth who share my beliefs and hope to one day serve a mission. I know that if I continue to spend time with others who share my beliefs and standards, I will realize this goal. I have a testimony that if you choose your friends wisely, they will encourage you to choose the right.
Darhys S., New Zealand

Years ago the seagulls in St. Augustine, Florida, USA, were starving. For generations the gulls had learned to depend on the shrimp fleets to feed them scraps from their nets. The shrimpers eventually moved from the area. The seagulls had not learned how to fish for themselves; nor did they teach their young how to fish. Consequently, the big, beautiful birds were dying even while there was plenty of fish all around them in the water.2

A student, Dixie Kolditz, reinforced this lesson for me when she refused to back down during a very aggressive interview. A filmmaker had asked to interview BYU students about their beliefs in the gospel of Jesus Christ. The producer and his crew were charming, and I was looking forward to the interviews with the three students selected. Dixie, a young convert from South Africa, was to be their final interviewee.

As the camera started rolling, however, the reporter’s charm quickly turned to hostility. Our two returned missionaries did just fine, fending off every question with solid answers. But Dixie had just come into the Church; she had no such experience with this manner of questioning. And I felt responsible for her vulnerability.

“Dixie,” I said, “you don’t have to do this. In fact, you shouldn’t do this.”

“No,” she said. “I should.”

With that she proved to be a powerful interviewee, basing her comments on the 13 Articles of Faith—principles she had not only memorized but understood on a deep and personal level.

My sister Nancy is on a mission, and she says I, Erin Christensen, should start writing a journal, so here it is.
Today President Schultz spoke in church. He’s our stake president. Mom and Dad got really excited about his talk. It was about the rewards of being member missionaries. More says we’ll talk about it in family home evening tomorrow.
We had a busy weekend. Dad talked with Mrs. Thompson Saturday morning, and she said she couldn’t wait till Tuesday. So the missionaries came that night and the next night, and tonight too. And she asked to be baptized! Heavenly Father answered our prayers, even though it wasn’t the way I expected. The Browns are still our friends, and maybe someday they’ll want to learn about the Church and get baptized too. I hope so. Meanwhile, I’ve already written to tell Nancy the good news about Mrs. Thompson. I guess I know a little about how she feels being a missionary. It feels GREAT!
I felt sad all day because the Browns don’t want to listen to the missionaries. Then this afternoon the most amazing thing happened! I went to Mrs. Thompson’s house to rake leaves again. While I was raking, she came out with some milk and cookies for me, and we sat down on the porch. We started talking about families. She thinks our family is pretty special. I told her that Mom and Dad were married in the Washington Temple and that that means we’ll be together forever. She got tears in her eyes and asked me if there was a way she could learn more about being married forever. I said, “Sure—just come over to our house next Tuesday, and the missionaries will teach you.” And she’s going to come!
Dad invited the Browns to hear the missionary discussions next week. They said no. I was sure that they’d come—they’d be great Latter-day Saints! Now what do we do?
The Browns came over for family home evening again tonight. Mom gave a great lesson about loving our neighbors. I made the treats—graham crackers with chocolate frosting!
More and Dad and I fasted today, even though it wasn’t fast Sunday. Dad says that if we fast, we’ll be able to get closer to Heavenly Father and He’ll help us in our missionary work. I hope so—Barbi still couldn’t come to Primary.
Activity day was called “Peace Among All Nations Day,” and Barbi got to carry the Italian flag to represent Europe. I think she had fun. I sure did!
More and Dad took Mr. and Mrs. Brown to the ward dinner party tonight. It was just for adults, so Barbi and I stayed home and made posters for our clubhouse.
Barbi is going to go with me to the activity day!
We pray about our missionary work lots of times every day. I know that we need Heavenly Father’s help if we are going to be good missionaries. Barbi and I built a clubhouse in the backyard after school. She said she’d like to come to the activity day on Saturday, but she needs to ask her parents.
We checked out a video from the ward library and watched it at family home evening. It’s called “Our Heavenly Father’s Plan.” I’m pretty sure that my sister shows it to her new investigators. (Those are people who want to know more about the Church.) I’m learning a lot about being a missionary!
I invited Barbi to go to Primary with me today. She couldn’t go because she was going to visit her grandma. Maybe next week. We’re having a Primary activity day on Saturday. I’m going to invite Barbi.
I wrote a letter to Nancy today. She’ll be happy about our missionary work. I wonder how she gets people to teach on her mission.
Tonight was great! More and Dad showed them the slides, and we ate lots of popcorn. I think the Browns had a good time. After they left, we had a family prayer. I felt really good about our missionary work. I think we’re going to have someone ready to listen to the missionaries. Maybe it’ll be the Browns!
Dad and I raked leaves for Mrs. Thompson across the street. She’s old and can’t do it for herself. Dad says that doing things for other people is part of missionary work. I think it made her happy. Her husband died last summer, so she needs help with some things, I guess she’s lonely too.
Dad invited the Browns to look at the slides from our camping trip to Maine last summer and have popcorn with us on Friday. They live next door, and Barbi Brown is my best friend. It would be great if they got baptized!
When I said my prayers this morning, I said a special prayer for our missionary work. I hope I can get one of my friends to join the Church. We need more girls in my Primary class!
Wow—we’ve decided to work as a family to have someone ready to hear the missionary discussions. The meetings will be right here at our house. Dad says that we don’t even have to know who that person is right now. We just need to pray, have faith, and do everything we can to help as many people as we can to know about the Church. If we do, Heavenly Father will help us.

I am 16 years old and am encountering some dangerous temptations. If I had not heard President Hinckley’s talk, I might not have known how to react to one of these.
One day at school, a friend called a group of us to come over and see something. When we went to see what she had, we discovered it was a drug, marijuana. I became pale with fear. My friend asked me to try it. Without thinking, I yelled, “You are crazy. You shouldn’t have this. Let’s go!”
My friend did not listen to me, and I began to pray silently for the power to touch the hearts of each of my friends in the group. I grabbed the package and threw it away. At first my friends were angry, but I could not contain my relief and happiness. I used the opportunity to explain that marijuana is wrong.
As we talked, I remembered what President Hinckley said about drugs, and I was able to pass on those words to my friends. I know the Spirit of the Lord was whispering to me the words I had in my heart.
Daniela Brocca, age 16,Jardim da Saúde Ward, S•o Paulo Brazil Parque Bristol Stake

I was having doubts about what I should study at the university. Most people spoke badly about the course that I wanted to take, so I prayed to the Lord to see if He agreed with my decision.
My answer came the following day while I was reading a general conference talk in the Liahona. I felt as though Heavenly Father was telling me He couldn’t choose for me—this was a decision that I would have to make alone. I knew that no matter what I chose, I would have to work hard to be successful.
I know that my prayer was answered. The confirmation of the Holy Ghost helped me make a decision. I’ve learned to give my best efforts and know that Heavenly Father will help me.

I have a friend who prays every day to meet someone who is prepared to receive the gospel. He carries with him a copy of the Book of Mormon. The night before a short trip recently, he decided not to take a copy with him but instead to carry what is called a pass-along card. But in the morning, a spiritual impression came: “Take a Book of Mormon with you.” He put one in his bag.
A woman he knew sat next to him on the plane, and he wondered, “Is this the one?” She rode with him again on the return trip. Now he thought, “How should I bring the gospel up?”
Instead, she said to him, “You pay tithing to your Church, don’t you?” He said that he did. She said that she was supposed to pay tithing to her church but she didn’t. And then she said, “What is this about the Book of Mormon?” He explained that it was scripture, another witness of Jesus Christ, translated by the Prophet Joseph Smith. She seemed interested. So he reached down into his bag and said: “I was impressed to bring this book with me. I think it is for you.”
She began to read it. As they parted, she said, “You and I are going to have to have more conversations about this.” What my friend could not know, but God did, was that she was looking for a church. God knew she had watched my friend and wondered what about his church made him so happy. God knew she would ask about the Book of Mormon, and He knew she would be willing to be taught by the missionaries. She was prepared. So was my friend. And so can you and I be.

I would like to share with you how I saw this in my own life.
[S3 UP] This is a picture of our family. It was taken the day our youngest son Samuel was sealed to us. He is now 6. He came into our lives in an extraordinary way. His birth parents were students here. Like each of you, they are talented, intelligent, dedicated and have testimonies of the gospel. [S3 DOWN]
They were not married. When they became aware they were expecting a baby—who would not have the opportunity to be sealed to his parents—they were courageous and had the faith to go to their bishop and apply the Atonement. Because of their willingness to let God prevail, not only were their lives transformed, but our family was as well.
An ocean away, Elder Walker and I were raising our four children in Arizona. We were happy with our lives. We experienced our own set of challenges and setbacks, but we were doing our best to follow Christ and teach our children to love the Savior. There came a time when both Jake and I had a clear and powerful impression that our family was not complete. Despite my physical inability to have another child, this thought kept returning. We prayed that a way would be made possible and that we would recognize the chance to expand our family when it arose. We exercised faith and waited on the Lord for many years before our prayers were answered. When Sam’s biological parents selected us to be their baby’s adoptive parents, I immediately felt a rush of the Spirit confirming that this was the child meant to complete our family.
To experience the transformative power of the Savior in our lives, hope must be evident. This involves fully surrendering ourselves to Him and placing our faith in His love and mercy. Obeying His commandments allows the Holy Ghost to guide us and bring peace and comfort into our lives. Despite the contrasting circumstances that connected Elder Walker and me with Sam’s birth parents, we all shared the aspiration to allow God to shape our lives. By exercising and embracing the Atonement, something beautiful emerged from even the most challenging and painful situation.
Along with having hope, we need to embrace the Atonement. Its healing power can cleanse and restore, allowing us to start anew. The difficult experiences we go through can be the source of our most profound blessings. They offer us opportunities to mature, acquire knowledge, and enhance our character—drawing us nearer to God and to our divine nature.4 Both of Sam’s birth parents have been sealed in the temple to kind and loving spouses and have children. They have both completed their educations and are now alumni of this great university. And Sam is sealed to an eternal family and gets to partake of the blessings of that covenant.

A funny clown and a floppy bird danced around the room, shaking hands with laughing four-year-olds. Five other girls dressed in funny costumes were passing out crayons and uncolored pictures of witches and ghosts. It was Halloween night, and suddenly things looked a lot brighter to the children (who ranged in age from three to seven) than they had earlier that evening. They were all patients at the Houston Southwest Memorial Hospital in Texas and because of sickness or injury were unable to join their friends in trick-or-treating. Not wanting the children to feel left out, the Braeburn Ward Laurels in the Houston Texas Stake had decided to take Halloween to the hospital.

The evening’s activities included telling a story about a pumpkin, singing “pumpkin carols,” acting out a ghost story while the children helped with the sound effects, and coloring Halloween pictures. The hospital supplied the young women with a room so all the children (and their parents) could participate at once. After lots of laughter and smiles, the evening of sharing came to a close. As the Laurels bade their newfound friends good-bye, they agreed that this was one Halloween they would always remember.

Some years ago I was appointed chairman of the board of a music school in the city of Hanau, Germany. As part of my duties, I attended an exhibit of musical instruments. Although I am not a musician, I strolled through the thousands of instruments and tried to ask an intelligent question or two.
As I wandered around the main floor, I noted that each exhibit had a soundproof enclosure, supposedly so that those trying out trumpets, cornets, French horns, organs, drums, or tubas would not disturb those trying out violins, clarinets, pianos, flutes, oboes, or saxophones. Actually, “not quite soundproof” would be a more accurate description of those enclosures. A terrible noise filled the air, as if musicians from several orchestras were all tuning their instruments at once.
Then I saw a sign reading “Orchestral Instruments” with an arrow pointing upstairs. I’m saved, I thought, even though the sign was a bit unclear—the instruments on the main floor were orchestral instruments. But I headed up the stairs anyway, hoping to find a little peace and quiet.
Instead I found myself in another large room filled with even more musical instruments—most of them used for performing rock music. The air was filled with much louder and shriller noises than those I was trying to escape. I quickly scanned the room for the closest exit.
But suddenly I stopped. For just a fraction of a second, I thought I heard a beautiful melody among all those discordant sounds. Was it possible? Or was it an illusion?
Then I heard the melody again. What an unmistakably beautiful sound! It was definitely a strain of violin music—almost lost in the ocean of noise. I looked around to see where it was coming from. I noticed that two others had heard it as well and were also seeking it out.
Eventually, we found what we were looking for. In the smallest booth in the hall, a man was softly playing a beautiful violin while his wife stood nearby. He told us that he was a Swedish violin maker and that he was trying to market his product the best he could amid the electric guitars and synthesizers.
“I was deceived,” he told us sadly. “I rented this spot because it was supposed to be the site of the orchestral exhibits.” Then he turned again to his violin, and we listened entranced as he played a familiar masterpiece. We no longer heard the discord around us—just the beautiful notes of that violin.
Some time later, while standing in an overcrowded room with too many intermingling voices, I was once again forced to choose what I would listen to among many discordant sounds. This time I didn’t hear beautiful music, but I was struck with the thought that often in life we are surrounded by many voices, some of which advocate false ideas, such as “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” (2 Ne. 28:7). Still other voices are loud and raucous, brazenly tempting us to try something new—such as a new morality that simply turns out to be the old immorality.
But even among these loud, conflicting messages, if we choose to listen carefully, we can hear the soft sound of a heavenly voice. And we can know that the still, small voice of the Spirit is just as real as the beautiful melody of a well-played violin.

I recall one afternoon where I was functioning on less than three hours of sleep because I had been up the night before with my new baby Mitzi who was sick. I was trying to dig out of a pile of laundry approaching the height of the Tower of Babel, when our two-year-old, Jacob, ran into our kitchen table and split his head wide open, right above his eye. I instantly knew we had to get to the hospital for stitches. I tried to reach Matt who was up on campus, but it was pre-cell phone days, and no one could find him. Since we had gone through roughly this same exercise six months prior to that with Jake, I knew it was going to be a very traumatic experience…for mother and son! Last time it had taken the strength of his father to help the hospital staff keep Jacob still so the doctor could perform the procedure. Now I wondered, how on earth could I pull this off alone? But I had no choice. I left my sick little baby Mitzi with a neighbor, and headed for the hospital with Jake.

As we pulled up, I asked him to fold his arms because we needed to say a prayer. What a touching sight it was for me to then look back in the rearview mirror and see Jake, open wound and all, fold his chubby little arms and shut his eyes super tight. (By the way, just so I don’t get in trouble, I will add that those chubby little arms are now the rock-solid “guns” of an outside linebacker!) In any case, at that moment I pled fervently with the Lord to bless Jake and help both of us get through this experience.

We then went inside, checked in, and were sent to the dreaded waiting room. For two agonizing hours I sat there. As time wore on, so did my worries. I worried about my baby Mitzi being sick and hungry and needing her mother. I worried about my little Jakey having to be strapped in a restraining jacket to control the terror he would feel about getting stitches right around his eye. I wondered if Matt would get any of the messages I’d left with people on campus. I started to envision medical bills we could not afford, and weeks of constant attention to ensure proper healing. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Holding back my emotions I approached the receptionist to make sure we hadn’t been forgotten. Taped to her computer was a tattered little bookmark. In big, bold letters, it simply read, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” The instant I read this passage from Philippians 4:13,[1] a sense of calm washed over me. I knew that heaven could get me through this, or any other experience, I was asked to face. And I knew this message was a direct answer to the prayer Jake and I said just a few hours earlier. Moments later and much to my relief, Matt walked through the door with baby Mitzi in his arms.

We made it through that day…and we’ve made it through every day since. And while Matt’s arrival came as an answer to prayer, I learned that afternoon that even had I been asked to face that moment, or any other such moment, alone, I could have done that, too. Brothers and sisters, what Paul said to the Philippians is also true of you: you can do all things through Christ Who will strengthen you.

Although he always believed, Enoch was always eager to learn and know more about the gospel. It was at age 14, when his mother gave him a Bible, that he read the New Testament for himself that Jesus became real for him. The joy of the personal relationship he now felt with his Saviour filled him with a desire to share that joy. So as a teenager he took advantage of opportunities to go on visits with the full-time missionaries. This allowed him to continue building his own relationship with God while helping others develop one for themselves.

Sarah Thompson was hurrying to gather the laundry so she could get everything finished before her husband, Ted, got home from work. She opened Melissa’s bedroom door and hurried toward her closet to retrieve the multitude of shirts, blue jeans, and socks for the washer. When she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Why, Melissa, I thought you were outside playing with the rest of the children. What’s the matter, dear?”
Melissa had obviously been crying, and it took a while for her to choke out the words: “I—I don’t want to get baptized on Saturday.”
Sister Thompson quickly joined her daughter on the bed and took her in her arms. “Melissa, dear, it’s all right. But you’ve been talking about your baptism for months, and you could hardly wait for your eighth birthday. Why have you changed your mind?”
“I’m scared.”
Sister Thomspon smiled. “Melissa, you’ve been to baptisms before. What is there to be afraid of? Besides, your friends Ann and Sarah will be baptized on Saturday too. Won’t they help to give you courage?”
“But they’re different from me,” Melissa said in a soft, unsteady voice. “They’ll have their dads there to baptize them.”
Sister Thompson knew that Melissa’s nonmember father couldn’t baptize their daughter, but she had thought that Melissa was pleased that their home teacher had promised to do it. “I thought you liked Brother Adamson, dear,” she said. “He’s such a special man.”
“I love Brother Adamson,” Melissa sobbed, “but it’s not the same. He’s not Dad.”
“Sweetheart …” Sister Thompson tried to comfort her daughter. She loved her husband very much, but at the same time her own heart was breaking. She thought of all the times she had wanted to share special spiritual experiences with her husband but had been unable to. Now it was hurting their child. Maybe she had made the wrong decision when she had listened to the missionaries and had decided to be baptized. Yet she had received a strong testimony, and she had been sure that Ted would soon realize how true and good the gospel was. But that had been three years ago, and he still showed no sign of ever wanting to become a member of the Church.
“Melissa,” Sister Thompson began again gently, “do you enjoy going to Primary?”
“Oh, yes! I love the stories, and my teacher, Sister Westover, is so nice.” Melissa had stopped crying.
“Do you believe those stories?” Sister Thompson continued.
“Yes, of course I do,” Melissa answered confidently. “I know that the Church is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“How can you show that you know it is true?” her mother urged.
Melissa realized what her mother was trying to tell her, and she knew that she would be baptized on Saturday. But without her dad to share it with—it just seemed kind of scary. Melissa smiled at her mother and said, “Maybe Dad will come to see me get baptized on Saturday. I’m going to ask him just as soon as he gets home.” Melissa went outside to wait for her dad.
Sister Thompson remained sitting on the bed, deep in thought. Ted hasn’t attended a Church meeting yet. He has gone with us to several church socials, but nothing about the gospel has really interested him. She hoped that Melissa wasn’t in for another disappointment.
Melissa saw their car turn into the driveway, and she ran across the lawn to meet her father. Ted Thompson got out of his car, took his daughter in his arms, and gave her a big hug. “What’s my little one so excited about today?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, Daddy! I’m getting baptized on Saturday, don’t you remember?”
Mr. Thompson suddenly grew serious, “Yes, your mother told me about it.”
Melissa hurried on, not noticing her father’s concerned look. “Dad will you come and see me—will you, please? Everybody else’s father will be there. You’ll come, won’t you?” Melissa pleaded.
Mr. Thompson was caught off guard, and he didn’t know what to say. Finally he mumbled, “We’ll see. We’ll see. It’s still a long time until Saturday.”
Melissa was disappointed, but she decided that a “we’ll see” was better than a “no.” She gave her dad a final squeeze and ran next door to play with her friends.
Saturday was a beautiful, clear day, and Melissa thought that it was a perfect day for her baptism. She hadn’t talked to her father about coming with her since that day in the front yard. But he hadn’t said anything, so she assumed he would be there.
That afternoon Melissa took a long, hot bath, and her mother helped her get dressed in her prettiest Sunday dress. Hanging in the hallway waiting to be put into the car was the lovely white baptismal dress Sister Thompson had made for Melissa. When they were ready to go, Sister Thompson said, “We’d better hurry, dear, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll get Dad,” Melissa replied. But when she entered the living room, Melissa saw that her father was still in his work clothes, reading the newspaper. “Dad, aren’t you ready for the baptism? We’ll be late!”
Mr. Thompson looked at his daughter’s anxious face and said, “Melissa, dear, I can’t go to your baptism. I’d feel out of place. I just don’t belong there. Please don’t be angry with me.”
Melissa was out of the room and running for the car before he had even finished. Sister Thompson saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes, and for the second time that week she wondered if she had made a mistake in joining the Church.
There was great excitement in the girls’ dressing room as Ann, Sarah, and Melissa changed clothes for their baptism.
“I’m so excited!” Sarah exclaimed. “Dad gave me my very own Book of Mormon. It has a leather cover, and it has my name on it and everything!”
“That’s really neat,” said Ann. “My whole family’s going over to my grandma and grandpa’s after the baptism. Grandma promised to help me start on my Book of Remembrance.”
Sarah and Ann noticed that Melissa was very quiet. “What are you going to do afterward, Melissa?” Sarah asked.
“Well, I’m not sure.” Melissa knew that they would just be going home, but she added, “Mom and Dad are probably going to surprise me.”
Melissa slipped her white dress off its hanger, and as she began to pull it over her head, she noticed a piece of paper pinned inside. She unpinned it and saw that it was in her father’s handwriting! “My dear Melissa,” she read, “I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you today. I want you to know that I am very proud of you. You have made a very important decision in your life. I only hope that I can have enough courage to make that same decision some day. Please remember that I love you very much. Daddy.”
Melissa wiped the tears from her eyes as she finished dressing. When Brother Adamson helped her down the steps of the baptismal font, Melissa had the most radiant smile that her mother had ever seen. Sister Thompson knew then that she hadn’t made a mistake three years before when she, too, had entered that same baptismal font.

Perhaps another story from the Provo mission field would help. Early in our time as mission leaders, we experienced a tragic and heartbreaking experience. The mission field has proven to be an extremely safe place for our young disciples. However, in rare circumstances, occasionally missionaries experience tragedy. While exercising one morning, one of our missionaries suffered an aneurysm. He was rushed to the hospital, where he passed away. This was extremely difficult and heartrending for all involved.

Knowing that this would be challenging for our missionaries, Sister McCune and I spent a few days meeting with and ministering to missionaries, as well as making arrangements with our deceased missionary’s family. It was, frankly, a miraculous and sacred time. However, this all occurred during the week before transfers, when important revelation was necessary regarding where missionaries should be assigned. Usually this process takes days or more, and I found that it took a lot of effort. To compound the challenge that particular week, the Missionary Department had made critical changes to the transfer software and had communicated that all transfer changes had to be input early on Friday. As it turned out, this left me with about 90 minutes to complete all transfer decisions.

With miraculous and direct revelation from our Heavenly Father, transfers were completed in about an hour, with no subsequent revisions. This gave me tremendous confidence in the process—so much so that I approached the next transfer with great confidence, feeling that I had now found the “secret” to receiving transfer revelation for our missionaries. Of course this subsequent transfer ended up being one of the more difficult times in my mission experience. I was reminded with a great lesson of the work and effort required to receive revelation.

In the 1830s, missionaries baptized Mary Grimshaw and her family into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Grimshaws immigrated to the United States and made their home in Nauvoo.
Mary was given the assignment of helping Emma Smith, the wife of the Prophet Joseph Smith, with her laundry each week. Mary and Emma worked side by side in the Smiths’ kitchen.
“I’m so glad that you have agreed to help me,” Emma said as she lifted a large tub of water onto the black coal stove.
“I’m glad that I’m able to help,” Mary answered while she put dresses and shirts into the water to simmer and soak.
The kitchen air soon became hot and moist, and it smelled of strong lye soap. Mary wiped the perspiration from her forehead. She dipped a wooden spoon into the water and pulled out a shirt. Kneeling beside another tub of sudsy water, she scrubbed the shirt up and down the washboard. When the shirt was scrubbed clean, Mary handed it to Emma.
Emma rinsed it first in one tub of cool, clear water, then in another tub of clear water. The last tub had a few drops of bluing added to the water to make the shirts whiter.
After each article of clothing was washed and rinsed, it was pulled through a hand-turned wringer, which looked like two rolling pins hooked together with a crank on one end to turn them. The ringer was attached to another tub. As the clothes went through the ringer, the squeezed out water ran into the tub to be reused. The clothes were then hung neatly on the clothesline to dry.
“Thank you for your help,” Emma said.
“Oh, it was fun. I enjoy having an excuse to come to your home,” Mary told her.
Mary did enjoy helping on laundry day at the Prophet Joseph Smith’s home. For five years Mary faithfully returned each week.
Then one sad day the Prophet Joseph Smith was shot and killed. Wanting to go and comfort Emma in some way, Mary said to no one in particular, “Sister Emma needs me more today than ever.”
As she walked to the Smiths’ house, she smoothed the braids that hung from both sides of her head, straightened the apron tied around her waist, and forced on her best smile.
She thought of how different the day felt. The very air was filled with sadness and uncertainty. She wondered about her future and the future of the Church. Stepping onto the porch, she knocked on the wooden door.
Emma looked pale and lonely, and her eyes were red and swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary heard herself say. “Do you still want my help today?”
“Yes,” Emma replied. “I was hoping that you would come. Please go into the kitchen and get started.”
As Mary began to sort the clothes, she jumped back unexpectedly. On top of the pile of clothes lay a man’s shirt. The left side was stained with blood, and there was a small hole singed by gunpowder. The sight of it made Mary feel weak. She fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably.
At the close of the day, Mary wrote in her diary, “Today I washed the shirt the Prophet Joseph Smith was shot in.”
Mary’s faith in the gospel grew. She sustained Brigham Young as the new prophet. Later she crossed the plains with the other pioneers and made her home in Smithfield, Utah.

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

First, from my own family, I mention a touching experience that has always been an inspiration to me.
My maternal great-grandparents Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie lived in Clackmannan, Scotland. Their families were engaged in coal mining. They were at peace with the world, surrounded by relatives and friends, and were housed in fairly comfortable quarters in a land they loved. Then they listened to the message of the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and, to the depths of their very souls, were converted. They heard the call to gather to Zion and knew they must answer that call.
Sometime around 1848, they sold their possessions and prepared for the hazardous voyage across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. With five small children, they boarded a sailing vessel, all their worldly possessions in one tiny trunk. They traveled 3,000 miles (4,800 km) across the waters—eight long, weary weeks on a treacherous sea, watching and waiting, with poor food, poor water, and no help beyond the length and breadth of that small ship.
In the midst of this soul-trying situation, one of their young sons became ill. There were no doctors, no stores at which they might purchase medicine to ease his suffering. They watched, they prayed, they waited, and they wept as day by day his condition deteriorated. When his eyes were at last closed in death, their hearts were torn asunder. To add to their grief, the laws of the sea must be obeyed. Wrapped in a canvas weighed down with iron, the little body was consigned to a watery grave. As they sailed away, only those parents knew the crushing blow dealt to wounded hearts.4 However, with a faith born of their deep conviction of the truth and their love of the Lord, Gibson and Cecelia held on. They were comforted by the words of the Lord: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”5
How grateful I am for ancestors who had the faith to leave hearth and home and to journey to Zion, who made sacrifices I can scarcely imagine. I thank my Heavenly Father for the example of faith, of courage, and of determination Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie provide for me and for all their posterity.

Eegik Tuchiak felt the chill of the icy Alaskan wind through his parka as the snowmobile sped across the coastal plain. Even scrunching close behind his father in the seat ahead did not cut the cold very much.
Eegik was both happy and worried. This was the first time his father had taken him to count the musk-oxen. Other times he had been too young to be around the skittish animals. Am I old enough now if something happens? he wondered.
“Hold tight!” he heard his father, Ukak, call. “We will near the herd soon.”
The grind of the motor and the whistling wind were the only sounds to be heard along the Nunivak Island snow hills, polished hard by the constant wind. The crusty white surface gave a dusky light to the short winter days.
“There they are!” Father shouted.
Gradually the engine slowed and the snowmobile slid to a stop. “We will keep the motor running, son,” Ukak said, picking up his rifle. “It will freeze if we don’t.”
Eegik hopped off the machine and peered before him. Ahead, a small musk-ox herd was bunched up against a low sea cliff. Already they were forming their defensive line heads out, backsides together in a rough circle. With heads lowered and rows of horns facing the danger, the animals scuffed the ground nervously. Long brown fur swayed in the wind.
“They look like fur rugs,” Eegik remarked.
“Yes,” his father answered, “and the giviut [wool] makes warm sweaters. But,” he added, “they are good fighters, too, when there is no way out. See the horns curling down from the tops of their heads like stiff wigs? We will get closer. The oomingmuk [bearded] ones hide their young behind them.”
Eegik felt a deep pride in his father, who had been schooled by the government. Now he was hired by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to keep an eye on the growing musk-ox herd, one of the hardiest animals in the world. Today he had to check on the population of the herd and count them.
Slowly and quietly the two left the machine and crawled over the snow, watching the herd skitter at the movement. One bull lowered and shook his head, taking short stamping steps forward and backward. Sensing his restlessness, the other animals jostled together and tightened the ring. Eegik could see one small head push forward, a young one anxious to do battle if necessary.
“They run swiftly,” Ukak whispered. “We must not frighten them.”
The two inched forward, sliding over the ice several yards apart, until they were within city yards of the herd. The lead bull, confused and frightened, danced excitedly in his position.
Suddenly, the bull gave a snort and charged forward with the speed of a much lighter animal. Ukak leaped up his rifle flying and tried to dodge as the animal attacked. But the musk-ox was more sure on his feet and swerved to the side, throwing Eegik’s father to the ice.
Without thinking, Eegik shouted his surprise and fell on his stomach. At the outburst, the frightened musk-oxen broke their ring, skittered excitedly, and clattered off in a wild rush.
His heart pounding, Eegik scrambled to his feet and hurried to his father, who lay sprawled on the ice.
“Father!” he cried, pushing at his parka. “Father, are you all right?”
Ukak opened his eyes and tried to rise. A shudder went through him. “My wrist … ,” he said, painfully. “I think it’s broken. Are the oomingmuk gone?”
Eegik nodded. “Can you walk, Father?” he asked.
“We should make my arm straight,” Ukak said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“But there are no sticks,” Eegik answered.
His thoughts racing, Eegik looked around, trying to find something straight and hard. But the barren arctic desert covered now by the ice held no useful object.
Then Eegik spotted the gun a few feet away. “The rifle, Father!” he cried. “We can use the rifle.”
“My son,” Ukak said, nodding, “it is a good idea.”
With his mittened hands, Eegik lifted the gun and emptied the chamber of bullets. Gently, he slid the barrel up his father’s sleeve to the elbow and wrapped the injured arm with the leather ties from his parka.
“There!” he finally said, leaning back to look at his handiwork. “That will help until we get home.”
Ukak smiled. “It is feeling better already,” he said.
With Eegik helping, the two made their way to the waiting snowmobile.
“You will have to drive,” Ukak said, holding the rifle butt with his good hand.
“I can,” the boy replied.
Eegik helped his father onto the seat, eased in front, and started off with the machine.
The journey back was slow, Eegik being careful to keep the ride as smooth as possible. Within an hour, they entered Mekoryuk and drove to their home.
At the sound of their approach, Eegik’s mother opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw that Eegik was in the driver’s seat.
“The oomingmuk did not like our visit,” Father answered, cradling his arm as he eased himself from the machine. “I might still be there, but for Eegik. I’m glad I took our son along.”
Eegik lifted his chin. He had wondered if he were old enough to help his father check on the skittish musk-oxen. Now he knew that he was.

Rebeccah Davis, 15, has also learned keeping your word is one of the most important parts of a job. She is working after school, baby-sitting. Her commitment to her employer has meant no school sports, fewer get-togethers with friends, and less time for herself.
“The lady I work for counts on me. Since I agreed to do it I need to be dedicated,” says Rebeccah. And because of that dedication, she’s noticed improvements in herself.
“At first I was one of those baby-sitters who sat and watched TV and let the kids do whatever they wanted. But then I started to care for the kids, and I have become a more responsible person. I play with them, take care of them.”

“Mom, will you make me a hard-boiled egg to take to the park?” Nathan asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Pull out the pan, please.”
Nathan took a pan out of the cupboard and carefully filled it with water. Mom helped him carry it to the stove, gently placed an egg in the water, and turned on the flame. Nathan loved hard-boiled eggs. Mom set the timer and then hurried to gather the other things they needed for the park.
“Please put your shoes on,” Mom told Nathan and Aria.
Nathan helped his little sister tie her laces. “We’re going to the park!” he told her. He held her hand and led her to the car. Mom helped them get their seat belts on, and they were on their way.
At the park, Aria liked following the ducks. Nathan threw sticks into the stream on one side of the bridge and watched the water carry them out the other side.
“Can I have my egg now?” Nathan asked.
Mom’s face froze with fear. “Oh no!” she said. “Your egg!” She jumped up from the bench and picked up Aria. “Nathan, I need you to run really fast. We left the egg on the stove and it could start a fire! We need to get home right away.”
Mom started running back toward the car. Nathan ran as fast as he could. As he ran, he thought about something he learned in Primary: “I can pray anywhere. I can pray anytime.”
“Well, I guess I can pray even when I’m running,” Nathan thought. He kept running, and inside his head he thought, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless our house to be safe. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As soon as Nathan finished his prayer, he felt a warm feeling in his heart. He knew that it was the Holy Ghost letting him know everything would be all right.
“Mom!” Nathan said.
“What?” Mom slowed down a little.
“I just said a prayer in my heart and I felt a really warm feeling. I think our house is going to be OK.”
Mom stopped running and smiled. “Nathan, I am so glad you told me about your prayer. I feel much better now because the Holy Ghost always tells the truth.” Mom took Nathan’s hand and they walked to the car.
When they got home, the pan still had bubbling water in it. “It is a running-prayer miracle,” Mom said.
Nathan smiled. His heart felt warm and full. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. “Mom, can I have my egg now? I think it’s probably done.”
Mom and Nathan laughed.