Gospel Story Finder

In England, Elder Woodruff learned that a large group of people called the United Brethren had gathered to worship and to ask God for more knowledge of truth.
Elder Woodruff: John, this is inspired! The Lord sent me to Hereford to teach these people.
Elder Woodruff’s success with the United Brethren was even more astounding than his boyhood success with fishing. In two days he baptized six hundred people!
Constable: I have been ordered to arrest you, Elder Woodruff, for preaching to the people.
Elder Woodruff: But I have a license to preach the gospel, sir. If you will sit in this chair until the meeting is over, we will talk about this misunderstanding and get it settled.
By the end of the meeting, there was nothing left to settle.
Constable: I, too, wish to be baptized, Elder Woodruff.
Four ministers: So do we.

Brother Bradshaw was old. At least that’s what the other kids said. But he didn’t seem old to Mikey. He remembered that for many years Brother Bradshaw had gone over to the church early each Sunday to sweep away the leaves from the walkways so that people wouldn’t slip. Now, since Brother Bradshaw had been in a wheelchair, Mikey had gone to his home each Sunday morning to push him to church. They became friends as they spent time together.
One morning, Mikey’s mom told him that Brother Bradshaw had passed away. Tears came to his eyes. “How could he?” he thought. “We were just talking last Sunday!”
The next few days were difficult for Mikey. He knew Brother Bradshaw was 91 years old, but he had never thought about him dying. He missed him so much. But as he saw Brother Bradshaw’s family arriving from out of town for the funeral, he knew that they missed him too. He knew how much Brother Bradshaw had loved his family, and he wanted to let them know that Brother Bradshaw was special to him too.
Mikey sat down and wrote them a note. He told them about how much he enjoyed knowing Brother Bradshaw and that he was his best friend. Then he delivered it to the Bradshaw house. But Mikey still felt like he should do something more. He thought and thought. What could he do that would be special for Brother Bradshaw?
Finally it came to him. Just before the funeral he went over to the Bradshaw home again and delivered another note. This one read:
“I swept off the church sidewalks this morning. It’s the last thing I can do for Brother Bradshaw, my good friend, here on earth. I can’t wait to see him again when I go to heaven. I am so thankful to Brother Bradshaw for sweeping off the sidewalks for me every Sunday. It was hard for me, and I know it was hard for him, and I never said thank you to him. My mom said he knows I am thankful, but that’s the first thing I am going to tell him when I see him in heaven.
Love,
Mikey”
As Brother Bradshaw’s daughter-in-law read the note her eyes began to glisten. “Oh, Mikey!” was all she could say, and she gave him a big hug. Mikey knew that Brother Bradshaw would like his gift.

The second truth reemphasized in my missionary life is that the Lord communicates in a miraculous way his purposes to achieve. A new elder in Italy by the name of Gary D. Shaw, in following the promptings of the Spirit, discovered this reality. Elder Shaw had been in the mission field only two weeks when his senior companion became ill. The elders, as a consequence, had to remain in their apartment all day. Elder Shaw was moved by the Spirit and had a great desire to talk to someone about the gospel, so he picked up the phone book in which more than three million names were listed. He chose three. There was no response to the first call. To the second, a woman answered and informed Elder Shaw that she wasn’t at all interested, and to make matters worse, declared that she couldn’t understand his poor Italian and atrocious mode of speech. On the third try, a man answered. Elder Shaw introduced himself and received a warm response. The man said his name was Mabiglia and that he would gladly receive the elders. This he did. The appointment, made so miraculously, turned into a spiritually uplifting and inspiring occasion. After the first lesson, Mr. Mabiglia said, “How wonderful! I’ve worked for two years in a bank located on the street where the missionaries have done street-board tracting. Again and again I have practically brushed them as I passed them on the street, but I was too shy to respond to them. Now, in this miraculous way, I have met you.” At this point we should change the “Mister” to “Brother,” for after receiving the lessons, the man contacted by telephone was baptized, and Brother Mabiglia is now serving in the presidency of the Naples Branch.

In July 1939 the Gestapo arrested four missionaries; they lived on bread and water for 40 days until President Toronto was able to negotiate their release. On 24 August, Church headquarters directed the few remaining missionaries to evacuate. President Toronto sent his family first, then stayed behind a few days to arrange the departure of the missionaries and conclude other mission affairs. He set apart 21-year-old Josef Roubícek to preside in his absence. In Denmark Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, assured Sister Toronto that the war would not start until her husband and the missionaries were all safely evacuated. President Toronto found passage on the last train to leave before war engulfed Europe.

When I was called to serve as the Mia Maid adviser in the Young Women organization, I doubted that I could fill the calling. I didn’t think the girls would like me or learn anything from me, especially when I realized how different things are for them than they were when I was their age.
That feeling changed a few weeks into my calling when I attended a Young Woman event. At the event a mother expressed how grateful she was for the Young Women program because it strengthened her daughter against temptation. Her words helped me understand just how important my role really is.
I realized that my calling was about more than teaching lessons on Sundays and helping plan activities. It was a calling to help these young women prepare for the future—to go to the temple, serve in the Church, and be good mothers. I needed to help them prepare for life.

"While I was still living in Arizona, we would get to see movies in elementary school. There were a lot of cowboy, cavalry, and Indian films shown. Indians would invariably sweep around the bend and wipe out a whole wagon train. They were savages. Then the cavalry would dash after the Indians, and that whole theater of Indian kids would shout and cheer for the cavalry. No kid wants to identify with the bad guy, and yet we never saw a film where Indians were any good. I was always a cowboy when we played cowboys and Indians. Cowboys rode white horses, carried shiny guns, and always won. Indians weren’t smart enough to win," Tracey said.

Yet deep inside himself Tracey knew he could win. His parents had taught him that winning depends on the individual. They had taught him that if you want to win, you can win. "Feeling inferior is terrible, and I felt it quite often during junior high school," he said.

By the time he got into high school, however, Tracey knew he was breaking out of his inferiority feelings. He ran cross-country for the track team, and he was elected student body vice-president.

"By then I felt great," he said. "I remembered the teachings of my own parents. I knew I had a Father in heaven who loved me and that in his eyes I was just as good as anyone else. I knew I would be judged on my own abilities and what I was able to do with them.

"Now, through the medium of film, I can help other Indians gain a realization of these same true principles."

I would like to tell you about an experience that happened to my companion and I while we were reading the Church magazines. We had just come home for lunch and placed some rice on the stove to cook. Then we each grabbed a Church magazine and started reading. We became so involved in the reading that we forgot about lunch. It was still on the stove, burning itself black. The funny part about it was that my companion was sitting about three feet away from the stove in a smoke-filled room that smelled of burnt rice, yet he didn’t realize anything was burning for a long while. (The rice was burnt so badly that we considered throwing the pot away instead of cleaning it.)
This little incident showed us how much we can enjoy the reading of Church magazines. They are filled with choice spiritual articles that help us to grow. We would like to take this opportunity to let you know how much the New Era means to us.
Elders Mit and GoisisiAustralia Brisbane Mission

This is an age-progression picture of the boys, done by a family friend. They were only three years apart in age, almost to the date, Tyler being born on February 18, 1988, and Trevor being born on February 17, 1991. They were very close and would play together all the time.

When Tyler died, we could not get Trevor to sleep in his bed for three years. We would keep him with us or one of his sisters until he fell asleep, then put him to bed, only to find him on the landing at the top of the stairs just outside of his bedroom.

Trevor was a good boy, the kind, I feel, that most parents would want to claim as their child and be proud of. He was involved in orchestra and sang with a singing group in school called the Bel Cantos. He was a straight-A student and loved the gospel. There were many times on a Sunday that we would wonder where he was, as the rest of us were watching a TV program, and he would be off reading the Ensign, still dressed in his Sunday clothes.

Five days after his 18th birthday was a Sunday. He had just had his priesthood interview with the bishop and been found worthy to be made an elder. Now it was just waiting until stake conference came to ordain and sustain him with the rest of his friends that were becoming elders at the same time. He passed away the very next day on the way to school. The roads had been terribly icy that morning, and he lost control on the road. He slid into a telephone pole. Again, I get the call that no parent wants to hear once, let alone twice.

At first, I felt, "Okay, we've done this before; we can do it again." I felt his presence with me every day, having many more spiritual experiences with this trial, but something seemed to be changing this time. After about three months, I found myself getting angrier and angrier with the Lord. How could He take another son? I found myself slipping into depression, but even more than that, I was having anxiety so bad that I couldn't even fall into a deep sleep. It seemed like everything that I had ever been through was haunting me now. There was fear and panic, literally 24/7. This went on for about three months, to the point that now I was becoming suicidal. My husband was begging me to get on some anxiety pills, for fear of what was going to happen to me. I took time to pray about this decision and was told this was not the way the Lord wanted me to handle this. I was to learn my source of strength was to come through Him.

About this time, my husband had given me a book titled The Infinite Atonement, by Tad Callister. I didn't get into it right away; in fact, it took me about another month to pick it up and start reading it. But once I did, it had such a profound impact on my life. For the first time ever, I realized the Atonement was so much more than a process used for repentance. I realized that the Atonement was literally part of Jesus Christ Himself, with all the enabling powers of His grace that He gives to us in our weaknesses, if we will but submit to Him.

Through much prayer and learning, the anxiety and depression were lifted. I learned different coping skills through obedience to the Lord, and my conversion deepened again. I am learning that the Holy Spirit can teach in any given circumstance if we will open our hearts to listen and ponder, especially in the toughest of times, when we feel we are being pushed far beyond our capacity to stretch.

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.

He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”

This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”

Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

A couple of years ago, as Sister Dickson and I arrived at the Missionary Training Center to speak with the missionaries, the MTC president asked if I would tie my tie for the missionaries to help them understand that they could handle the challenges that come with missionary service. I considered his request and adjusted my talk to cover some of what has been mentioned in this article. As I was about to conclude, I invited four missionaries in the front to come forward for a little race at tie-tying. One asked if they should just use their left hand, but I suggested they would need them both. As you can imagine, the missionaries were quite excited when I won.

This article, however, really has little to do with being the fastest tie-tier, the best quarterback, cheerleader, or hamburger-eating champion. It simply has to do with knowing who we are, that we truly matter to our Heavenly Father and that He loves us and wants us back. At the same time, He wants us to be clean and to learn and to grow from our experiences.

Over the years I have handled many challenges in my life, as you will in yours. During the time between those interesting adventures, life has been restful and easy, but any true personal growth has always come when I was working my way through one of life’s challenges. As challenges come, we must look at them as stepping-stones in our development rather than barriers to stop our progress. Come they will, and we must simply win and move on.

I miss Laura. I hate when friends move away.
Me too. This feels worse than all the times we had to move away.
You can still call her! Or write letters.
I guess so.
It’s sad when friends go. But we can be thankful for how their friendship has blessed us.
Remember when Laura gave us these friendship bracelets for our birthday?
Yeah! And she wrote us those nice notes too.
She sounds like a good friend.
She is! She’s always kind, like Jesus. I want to be a good friend too.
Hey, maybe we can send Laura friendship bracelets in the mail.
Let’s give some to Lucas and Julia too!

As I have reflected on my friends and my life experience, I have concluded that there was not just one special friend that made a difference. Rather, my life has been lifted and sustained by relatively large numbers of people. As I mention one particular friend, I would wish for no one to be confused that he was any more my “best friend” than were all my other “best friends.” He was just one of the guys in my ward and school “gang” (when that was a positive term!). Whatever else we did, or whatever else our other divergent activities, we were always good friends.
Jim was more than a year older than I and a year ahead in school. One of the things I appreciated about him is that age or school grade didn’t seem to make any difference to him. Jim was not necessarily always the best behaved until his later teens. He did, however, constantly have a good heart.
Jim is a talented musician and his natural aptitudes declared themselves quite early. He was a skilled saxophonist who did things seemingly much easier than did I, who also tried to play, but in a very ordinary way. Even when we were young boys, Jim was always patient with my musical deficiencies and those of others and built our self-esteem with his tolerance and good-natured support. One interesting observation about Jim is that as a teenager, he had more than a few people who were sure that he was their “best friend.”
One of Jim’s greatest accomplishments, in my judgment, was his dramatic change for the good when he entered the army after high school graduation. Recognizing that for perhaps the first time in his life his behavior would reflect not only on himself but on his family and the Church, he quickly became exemplary to his mainly non-LDS associates and qualified to serve a mission.
After his release from military service, he was called on a mission, which he successfully served. He then graduated from the university and married in the temple. He has served with distinction in the Church as a bishop, teacher, and in other assignments.
In all of this he continues to be a great friend to many and to me.

“I miss everyone in our branch,” Olga said sadly. She and her family were the only ones in Sunday School again.
Olga’s sister, Wilma, closed her scriptures. “I miss them too.” Mom and Grandma nodded.
Olga wanted to cry. When she was baptized, 60 people came to church each week! But then World War II started. Because of the war, all of the missionaries in Brazil had to go home. Without them, there weren’t enough priesthood holders to have regular Church meetings. They couldn’t bless the sacrament or baptize people.
The branch stopped renting the church building. Church members met in people’s houses to study the scriptures instead. And one by one, they all started going to other churches.
When the war ended, Olga thought the branch would have church meetings again. But there weren’t enough people. So Olga and her family kept meeting alone on Sunday.
“I miss singing with everyone,” Olga said. “And I miss the children who used to come to church.”
“Me too,” said Grandma.
Over the next few days, Olga thought hard about what to do. She prayed for help. “Heavenly Father, please help us know how to make our branch strong again.”
One day Olga had an idea. She went outside. Two girls were playing under a tree.
“Olá!” Olga said. “Would you like to come to my church’s class for children tonight? We’ll learn about Jesus, sing songs, and have fun.”
The girls looked at each other. “Sure,” one of them said.
“Great! If your parents say you can come, meet me here later. We can walk to the class together.”
Olga waved goodbye and walked down the street. She found more children playing futebol (soccer). Olga invited them all.
Some of the children had come to church before. They were excited to come again! Other kids didn’t want to come. But Olga let them all know they were welcome.
Later that night, Olga gathered the children who said they would come, along with their parents. They all walked together to her house.
Mom and Grandma taught the parents in one room. Olga and Wilma taught the children in another. Olga sang songs with them. Wilma told scripture stories.
Olga felt happy as she walked the children home. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “See you next week!”
Their branch was small, but Olga knew it would grow again. And she wanted to plan next week’s lesson right away!

I had an extremely frightening experience several years ago while flying from Reno, Nevada, to San Rafael, California, with a friend in his twin-engine Aztec airplane.
When we left Reno, the weather was a little cloudy, and my friend was somewhat worried about it. Because of his concern, we landed at the Lake Tahoe airport to get a second report on the weather. It did not indicate that the weather was too bad, so we continued our flight to San Rafael.
Our destination was an airport in the northern part of San Francisco Bay. As we approached the Bay area, the clouds became increasingly low and dense. We tried to stay under the clouds so we could see the water and thus keep our bearings visually. But suddenly we flew into very dense clouds and could see nothing.
When you fly into such clouds, you become totally disoriented. You do not know whether you are flying straight, sideways, or upside down. You lose your sense of forward motion, and it takes a few minutes for the pilot to orient himself from visual flying to instrument flying. At 180 miles an hour, you move a long distance in that few minutes and can get into serious trouble very quickly. Unfortunately, my friend had not flown entirely on instruments for two years.
My friend struggled intensely and was near the point of panic as he tried to recall all that he had learned about instrument flying. I knew very little about instrument flying, so I could not help him. All I could do was put my hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a deep breath and get hold of himself. The only instrument that I could read was the altimeter. I said, “We are now at 500 feet. Don’t make any quick moves; just think it out, and you can pull us through.”
It seemed an eternity before he finally made radio contact with Hamilton Air Force Base. He said to them, “I am in trouble; please help me.” The air traffic controllers had us on their radar screen and immediately began to help my friend regain control of the plane. They told us where we were and started to give us instructions to help guide us to safety.
When my friend heard the voice from Hamilton Tower, he regained a sense of confidence that enabled him to gain control. But he knew that the plane was completely out of control and that our chances of pulling out of this danger were marginal. We could easily go the wrong way. The foothills, buildings, towers, and bridges were not far away. At one time we dropped to only 200 feet, and must have been flying upside down at one time because the maps and other items in the visor above my head fell into my lap.
At the peak of this crisis, an instant replay of my entire life flashed through my mind. I thought of my wife, my seven children, my parents, my business partners, the 37 priests whom I was the adviser to, and many other things. I prayed fervently all through this crisis and made a commitment more deep and more sincere than ever before in my life. I began, “Heavenly Father, guide us out of this thick, dense cloud, and help my friend remember all he knows about instrument flying.” And then I said, “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, bless my friend that he might regain control.” My prayer continued. I committed to Heavenly Father that if he would help us, I would place my life in his hands. I promised him that I would be what he wanted me to be.
Finally, we saw the lights on the runway. The white line in the center of the runway was a most welcome sight.

I didn’t think I would ever be able to have a chance to serve a mission, with my disabilities and challenges, but my patriarchal blessing tells me that I would serve as a missionary, so I prayed for guidance from my Heavenly Father to answer my prayers and fulfil my righteous desires to serve the Lord.
Because my ward Relief Society president heard about service missions, spoke with my mother, and helped me to complete my mission papers, I started my service mission on the 4th of January 2021. Now serving a mission, I find some days are hard, but Heavenly Father strengthens me in so many ways when I need it. I have grown so much, and I know I am in His hands.

Carrie’s older brother tugged one of her thick blond braids. “Hey, Freckles, you ought to have the sheepshearers do you too.”
“Yeah,” chimed in her twin brother, “you have more wool than old Tim Buck.”
Nine-year-old Carrie made a face at her brothers. All three children were perched on top of the strawstack at the far end of the sheep shed. Sheep, waiting to be sheared, milled about below them, blatting nervously. The shearing clippers buzzed, and men shouted orders as they threw the fleeces up into the wool bag.
Tim Buck, the huge lead ram, seemed to be the only calm one amid the confusion. He was penned apart and was munching on hay. Whenever he shook off flies, the large bell around his neck jingled.
“Carrie Helen!” shouted her dad. “Carrie Helen Shultz, please come here.”
Always anxious to please her father, she hollered back, “Coming—on the double!” Scooting off the strawstack, she ran to meet her dad.
“Carrie, I need you to go with Tim Buck to lead the sheep we’ve already sheared over to the south pasture. There are about a hundred ewes or so, plus the lambs. We have to make room for the next ones.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, grinning up at her brothers and throwing her shoulders back proudly.
Dad fastened one end of a stout rope to the lead sheep’s collar and handed the other end to Carrie. “OK, Carrie, Tim Buck’s ready. Remember what his job is.”
Without hesitating, Tim Buck started out of the holding pen. Once an orphan lamb, he showed no fear of Carrie and looked up at her with soft brown eyes, eyes filled with warmth and wisdom.
Confident of her own importance and of Tim Buck’s love, Carrie stepped out in front of the old sheep. She walked through the noisy ewes, which responded immediately to the sound of the lead sheep’s bell. As they followed Carrie and Tim Buck out of the corral gate, she felt their excitement as they rushed forward. They seemed to know that they were free now to go to the south pasture. Sensing their anticipation, and sure of her responsibility, Carrie tugged at the rope fastened to the sheep’s collar, pulling him toward the narrow bridge and her favorite shortcut to the south pasture.
But Tim Buck resisted Carrie’s tugging and headed toward the hill and the longer, usual route. Again Carrie pulled at the rope, trying to head the old sheep toward the bridge. Again Tim Buck resisted.
“Oh, why can’t you do it my way!” Carrie stamped her foot impatiently as Tim Buck firmly planted his feet, refusing to move. Though she pulled hard, her sixty pounds were no match against the weight of the huge sheep. When her arms began to tire, Carrie glared at Tim Buck and grouched, “All right! I’ll do it your way this time. Come on. Let’s go up that long hill. At least we can cut across the hayfield and not have to take the long road around it.”
The ewes, confused at the delay, had begun to push forward, baaing worriedly. As Tim Buck moved forward, his bell started jingling, and the sheep quieted. When Carrie, walking a couple feet in front, quickened her step, Tim Buck quickened his. The hungry ewes also increased their pace. Out of breath, Carrie rushed to the top of the hill. “Now’s my chance,” she said, pulling tightly on Tim Buck’s rope, forcing his head toward the hayfield.
Tim Buck butted Carrie gently, loosening her grip. Then he moved toward the well-used road.
“Why, you ornery critter! Can’t you see how much easier it would be to cut across that field instead of going around it!” She yanked at the rope, trying to drag Tim Buck toward the hayfield. He looked at her questioningly, then shook his head forcefully. The bell jangled, and the ewes pressed forward as Tim Buck pulled away from the hayfield and moved quickly onto the familiar road. The rope started to slip through Carrie’s hands, but she held on tightly.
Half running, Carrie tried to get ahead of Tim Buck. But he only walked faster. The more she tried, the faster he went, and the faster he went, the faster came the ewes and lambs. Soon Carrie was sandwiched between Tim Buck and the rushing sheep, and the rope was slipping out of her grasp. She clutched it desperately, even though it was burning her fingers.
Familiar with the road and quickened by hunger, the sheep hurried toward the open gate to the south pasture, where Tim Buck saw his own shortcut! He swerved suddenly from the road and down a steep slope. The sudden movement sent Carrie sprawling, and the rope was jerked out of her hands. The sheep quickly moved away from her and down the slope, following Tim Buck through the open pasture gate.
Carrie lay bewildered, hurt, and defeated. Sobbing, she struggled to her feet. With skinned knees and stinging hands, she stumbled back toward the sheep shed. With each step, she imagined her brothers’ teasing and her father’s disappointment.
Her dad met her in his truck before Carrie reached the shed. Stopping his truck, he got out and hurried over to her. Then, tilting her tear-stained face up for him to see, and putting one hand on her shoulder, he said, “It looks like you’ve had some troubles, honey.” He looked at her intently, but his voice was gentle and matter-of-fact. Seeing Carrie’s ropeburned hands, he dampened his bandanna in some clean water and gently patted them while she blurted out her story.
“So you wanted the sheep to take the shorter path across the bridge?” her father said when she had finished.
“It would have been much faster.”
“Do you think that all those sheep could have safely crossed that narrow bridge together?”
“Well,” Carrie hesitated. “I—I guess not. But they would have had plenty of room to cross the hayfield.”
“But, Carrie, do you remember how sick the sheep get when they eat too much hay? Do you know that most sheep can’t stop eating fresh hay once they get started?”
“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry,” Carrie sobbed.
“You’re lucky, Carrie, that Tim Buck wouldn’t allow the sheep to take a dangerous path.”
“Yeah, he’s really stubborn,” Carrie said, starting to fume again.
“Perhaps he’s not as stubborn as he is committed to doing what he knows is right. Remember, Carrie, that he’s the lead sheep. He guides the others in the paths that will get them safely to where they want to go, just as Mom and I try to lead you along the right pathways so that you can return to live with Heavenly Father.
Dad and Carrie got into the truck and he looked at her hands again to make sure that they weren’t seriously hurt. Then he drove toward the south pasture and stopped. Carrie was surprised when he got out of the truck and lifted her out too.
“All right, Carrie Helen. Now that you know why Tim Buck behaves as he does, do you think that you can take him back to get another bunch of sheep?”
“Yes, Dad. And this time I’ll let him lead the way.”

I had my eyes opened to “looking beyond what I could see” while serving as a mission president. A young elder arrived with apprehension in his eyes. As we met in an interview, he said dejectedly, “I want to go home.” I thought to myself, “Well, we can fix this.” I counseled him to work hard and to pray about it for a week and then call me. A week later, almost to the minute, he called. He still wanted to go home. I again counseled him to pray, to work hard, and to call me in a week. In our next interview, things had not changed. He insisted on going home.
I just wasn’t going to let that happen. I began teaching him about the sacred nature of his call. I encouraged him to “forget [himself] and go to work.” But no matter what formula I offered, his mind did not change. It finally occurred to me that I might not have the whole picture. It was then that I felt a prompting to ask him the question: “Elder, what is hard for you?” What he said pierced my heart: “President, I can’t read.”
The wise counsel which I thought was so important for him to hear was not at all relevant to his needs. What he needed most was for me to look beyond my hasty assessment and allow the Spirit to help me understand what was really on this elder’s mind. He needed me to see him correctly and offer a reason to hope. Instead, I acted like a giant demolition wrecking ball. This valiant elder did learn to read and became a very pure disciple of Jesus Christ. He opened my eyes to the Lord’s words: “For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she and her students had just crossed. The students were from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah. They were a variety of ages and sizes; some students were even older than she was. She was glad to see the older ones helping the younger ones along the tracks. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride.
Annie felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.
“Do we really get to walk through the tunnel?” he asked nervously.
Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They said no trains are scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening of the mountain tunnel ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie, and there are no lights inside. But on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”
Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”
Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Go slowly,” Annie said. Her voice echoed in the tunnel. “Stay on the tracks and hold hands so you don’t fall.”
At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew quiet as they concentrated on keeping their footing. Their footsteps grated on the gravel as they guided each other over the railroad ties.
Annie knew they were about halfway through the tunnel when she saw a small circle of light in the darkness ahead. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “Look at the light.”
As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise behind them, and then a sound that terrified them—a train whistle.
“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear?”
Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming very fast toward the bridge they had just crossed!
Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Should we run?”
The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.
“No!” Annie commanded. The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say you can. Now, go!”
She had to shout the last word over the sound of the approaching train. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack, and the smoke almost suffocated them. The train seemed to go on forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child she was holding, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.
When the train was finally gone, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and helping her students, who were also rushing to get out of the dark.
Once outside the tunnel, one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”
Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “He’s still lying facedown by the wall.”
Annie heard another boy comforting him. “It’s OK, Hughie. The train is gone. You can get up now.”
Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say I could?”
Annie hurried over and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said with tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”
Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. She silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped she would always live worthy of that trust.
Annie also knew her trust in Heavenly Father had been rewarded. Her prayer had been answered when she told the children what they needed to do to be safe. They were spared because they immediately obeyed those instructions. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson Hughie, the other students, and their teacher never forgot.

Several years ago I picked up the desk pen in my office at BYU to sign a paper that had been prepared for my signature, something I did at least a dozen times each day. That document committed the university to a particular course of action we had decided to follow. All the staff work had been done, and all appeared to be in order. But as I went to sign the document, I was filled with such negative thoughts and forebodings that I put it to one side and asked for the entire matter to be reviewed again. It was, and within a few days additional facts came to light which showed that the proposed course of action would have caused the university serious problems in the future.

The war over, Alexandria planned to return to her parents. But she became ill, spent two weeks in a hospital, and missed her train. That was a blessing, she now realizes; returning Russians faced great struggles, and living conditions were much better in Germany than in Russia. While living in a displaced-persons camp in 1945, Alexandria met a handsome American soldier on a blind date. After months of courtship, they were married, and two years later Sergeant Ronnie Graybeal brought his young bride to the United States.