Gospel Story Finder

Building anything in Alaska in the winter can prove quite a challenge, and constructing a temple is no exception. When work on the Anchorage Temple had to be delayed because of the weather, the youth in the area decided to give themselves a preview of what having a temple in their city would be like.
So they built a scale replica of the temple out of snow bricks, complete with an Angel Moroni statue on top. With a little help from the temple’s architect, who gave a youth fireside prior to the project, they came up with a pretty good likeness. The snow replica is about one-fifth the size of the real thing, which the youth can hardly wait to see.

On January 19, 1841, in a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith at Nauvoo, Illinois, the Lord said, “Come ye, with all your gold, and your silver, … with all the precious trees of the earth … and build a house to my name, for the Most High to dwell therein” (D&C 124:26–27).
The Saints obeyed and built the Nauvoo Temple at great sacrifice before they were driven out of their beautiful city and they moved to the Salt Lake Valley. After they left, the temple was destroyed by others and lay in ruins for more than 150 years. Then, at the end of the April 1999 general conference, President Gordon B. Hinckley announced that the Nauvoo Temple would be rebuilt. And in October 1999, the work of rebuilding the temple began.
The Primary children of the Nauvoo First Ward eagerly watched as the temple rose from a large hole in the ground. They wanted to help in building this house of the Lord, but they couldn’t do any actual physical work, such as cutting the stones or carpentry or electrical work. They decided to answer President Hinckley’s call for Church members to make donations for this special temple. But how? Their Primary leaders found the answer in a story* about the original temple there:
“In 1844, the Saints in Nauvoo were building the temple, as the Lord had commanded. All of them were contributing as much as they could in tithes and offerings. The men were putting in long hours at the temple site, and Mary Fielding Smith and her sister Mercy Thompson were trying to think of a special way in which the women could contribute to the temple. They couldn’t work at the stone quarry or build windows with the carpenters, but they did come up with a wonderful plan: They started collecting a penny each week from the sisters who could help. That might not seem like much today, but it was a lot of money then. Penny by penny, the sisters’ sacrifice paid for the glass and nails needed for the temple.”
A penny fund would be the perfect way for the Primary children of the Nauvoo First Ward to help! Every child could find a way to contribute pennies, and the money would be used to buy a tree to plant on the temple grounds. That way, each time the children went there, they would see a reminder of their sacrifices and contributions. And as the tree was growing, they would also be growing and preparing to enter the temple and make sacred covenants there.
To start the project, the Primary leaders created a special tree on which each class placed a colorful leaf on Sundays when they put their pennies in the Penny by Penny jar. Children brought pennies they earned by doing things like extra chores and recycling cans. Soon the pennies were pouring in, and the special tree branches were filled with colorful leaves. Even children who visited Nauvoo during the busy tourist season put pennies into the jar.
In November 2001, the temple was almost finished, and it was time to prepare the grounds so that they would be beautiful for the open house in the spring. On a cold Saturday morning, the Primary children and their parents gathered in front of the temple to plant their Penny by Penny tree.
First, they sang “I Love to See the Temple.”† The bishop gave a talk, then the children gave their pennies to Brother Ron Prince, the temple project administrator. The tree was placed in the hole prepared for it, a canister containing the written and drawn testimonies of the children was placed among the tree’s roots, then the children took turns shoveling dirt to fill in around the tree. They were very happy to have helped make the Savior’s house in Nauvoo more beautiful, and they look forward to the day when each of them may enter it.

I illustrate this principle with a personal experience. When I was young, I decided to prepare for the entrance exam to the best business schools in France. This preparation, which lasted a year, was very challenging. At the beginning of the year I decided that whatever the heaviness of the task, I would never let my studies prevent me from attending my Sunday meetings or from participating in an institute class once a week. I even accepted a call to serve as the clerk in my young adult ward. I was confident that the Lord would recognize my faithfulness and would help me accomplish my objectives.
At the end of the year, when exams approached, I felt that I had done my best. When I arrived for the examination at the most reputable school, I had full confidence that the Lord would answer my desires. Unfortunately, the oral exam in my strongest subject was an unexpected disaster—I received a grade that prevented me from getting into this highly coveted school. I was distraught. How could the Lord have abandoned me when I had persevered in my faithfulness?
When I presented myself at the oral exam for the second school on my list, I was filled with doubt. In this school the exam that was weighted the heaviest was an interview with a jury presided over by the director of the school. The beginning of the interview was normal—until I was asked a seemingly insignificant question: “We know that you studied a lot to prepare for this exam. But we would be interested to know what your activities were outside of your studies.”
My heart skipped a beat! For one year I had done only two things: study and go to church! I feared that the jury would negatively interpret a description of my membership in the Church. But in one second I made the decision to remain faithful to my principles.
For 15 minutes or so, I described my activities in the Church: my Sabbath meetings, institute classes, and responsibilities as the ward clerk. When I had finished, the director of the school spoke.
“You know, when I was young, I studied in the United States,” he said. “One of my best friends was a Mormon. He was a remarkable young man, someone who had great human qualities. I consider Mormons to be very good people.”
That day I received one of the best grades possible, which allowed me to get into this school with a place of honor.
I thanked the Lord for His goodness. It took me several years, however, to understand the miraculous blessing of not getting into the first school. In the second school, I met key people. The benefits of my association with them became evident throughout the entire length of my career and are still important in my life and in the lives of members of my family.

I would like to thank you and tell you how much I enjoyed the story “I Didn’t Want to Die” (Jan. 2004). Just a few weeks before, I was struggling with a problem like the one described in the article. When I opened the magazine, I turned right to the story and felt like I needed to read it. For a few days I read it and studied it, and then I prayed. I poured my heart out, and the next day I felt an answer come. I felt a smile immediately come to my face, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt warmth and love, and I knew my worries about this problem were over. I know I can always turn to that article to remember the power of prayer and that Heavenly Father truly does love us. Thank you so much.Brynn Pehrson, Slate Canyon Third Ward, Provo Utah Stake

And I have seen this underdog, come-from-behind victory story in my own life. Having emigrated from Mexico to Utah as a nine-year-old girl, I once could barely form a sentence in English, let alone speak in front of an audience this size. Reading was difficult. And writing? Even harder.

The very fact that I’m standing here today is a miracle. The very fact that I chose a career in which the bulk of what I do is reading and writing is an act of faith. And so it is with each of you.

All of us, no matter where we come from or who we are, have an underdog story. We’ve taken leaps of faith. And after many times of praying relentlessly outside the Testing Center, after watching the clock tick closer and closer to our midnight deadlines, and after staying up well past that time just to have fun with our friends and roommates, we have made it here.

We have made it to this moment with the proof that God works through the unlikely—the underdogs—to accomplish the impossible.

I want you to know how much I love this place. Not only do I get to teach here and associate with all of you; I also got a great education here, and the best thing that ever happened to me happened on this campus. Her name is Bonnie, and she's seated right behind me on the stand. We actually attended several devotionals together when we were students. I think we even held hands. As a matter of fact, I'm sure of it because I don't remember a single thing any of the speakers said. I was just so happy to be holding a girl's hand. I was living the dream--a returned missionary, at Ricks College, holding hands with the girl that I would someday marry. Now, 24 years, seven children, and almost one grandchild later, here we are at devotional again. She's my companion, my hero, and my very best friend.

Two ministering brothers felt a strong prompting to visit a man who has not been regular in church. As they resisted this prompting, it became stronger until they decided to follow the impression to visit the man in his home. On getting there, they knocked for several minutes without any response from the man. They thought that the man was not home and wondered if they should leave. Thankfully, they tarried a while and decided to knock again. This brother finally decided to open the door. On entering the room, they noticed the man was considering extreme self-harm. Those thoughts were immediately negated by the brethren as they were able to share the Savior’s love with him. Because they were mindful of their fellow man, they were able to hold up the Savior’s light, as instructed in 3 Nephi 18:24: “Hold up your light that it may shine unto to world. Behold I am the light which ye shall hold up”.

The fourth question: “Some of our closest friends are not totally committed to the Church. The fellows don’t honor their priesthood, and the girls are only conveniently active. We like them for what they are. We don’t want to strain our choice relationships. Talk seems to do no good at all. What shall we do then?”

In answer to this question, shortly before Christmas we had the opportunity of going to the hospital at the request of a mother whose fifty-five-year-old son was seriously ill. As we met with them and tried to give them comfort, the fifty-five-year-old patient’s nephew was in the hospital room as well. The afflicted one’s wife said, “Elder Ashton, would it be possible for you to give my husband a blessing?” I nodded approval and looked in the direction of the thirty-year-old nephew and said, “Are you an elder?”

He said, “Yes, I am an elder, but don’t ask me to put my hands on his head. I am not worthy to participate in a blessing with you.”

As he backed away, I said, “Roland, how would you like to try to be worthy for ten minutes? Couldn’t you be worthy for a few minutes while you help me give this needed blessing?”

He nodded his head and said, “I think I can be worthy for a few minutes.”

While he was walking close to the side of the bed, I said, “If you can do it for ten minutes, you can do it for thirty minutes.”

He said, “Yes.”

I said, “If you can do it for thirty minutes, you can do it for a day, can’t you?” About then I felt he figured we had better get on with the blessing or he would be committed. We gave his uncle a blessing, and when it was over he said, “Thank you for letting me share this blessing with you. No one has ever put it up to me like this before. I will try to be worthy.”

I leave you that story in answer to this question. Perhaps, my friends, the best way to help some of our associates who are not quite as active as they should be is to involve them. I don’t know of anything that would be more important and have more impact upon an inactive person than to have you call and say, “Would you help me to administer to my wife, my roommate, or my friend?” Give him an opportunity to make shaping up a process.

It was almost Christmas, and the year had been hard for my family. My dad’s job was not going well. At night I could hear my parents talk about Christmas and how they didn’t know what to do. They knew that they could tell us that we would have to go without giving presents to each other, but they didn’t know what they could do about Santa, because most of the kids were still young. I was 13 years old and the oldest of six. At nights I would lie in my bed and try to think of a way that I could help my family to have a good Christmas.
One night I had the idea that I could earn some money, buy gifts for my brothers and sisters, lay them out on Christmas Eve, and say that they were from Santa. The next day, I walked around my neighborhood asking people if there was any work that needed to be done so I could earn some money. For a couple weeks before Christmas, I worked to earn the money I needed.
Two days before Christmas Eve, a friend who was old enough to drive took me to the store so I could finish some Christmas shopping.
As I was walking down the aisles in the store, I was getting excited looking for things that I knew my brothers and sisters would like. Every present was chosen with much love, and I couldn’t wait for them to open these gifts. Spending all the money I earned, I took the gifts home and hid them in my room until Christmas Eve.
When Christmas Eve came, all of my brothers and sisters were excited. After having our Christmas dinner, we got ready for bed and laid our stockings out for Santa to fill. Going downstairs to my room, I set my alarm so I could wake up in the night to lay out the gifts I had bought. I knew that my mom and dad would be setting things up and going to bed late, so I tried to get as much sleep as I could so I wouldn’t be tired for Christmas day.
That night, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t go to sleep. I hoped my parents would go to bed soon. After waiting a few hours, I got all the gifts that I bought and snuck upstairs. A warm feeling came over me as I set out the gifts. I couldn’t wait for morning to come. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night because I was so filled with excitement and love.
When morning came, we all ran upstairs to wake up Mom and Dad and to see what Santa had brought. Watching my brothers’ and sisters’ faces as they opened the gifts that I bought them was the best part of my day. When mom and dad realized there were other gifts, they started to cry.
I will never forget that Christmas and the feeling I felt. It was worth working hard to prepare for that day.

Henry, now 16, returned with his mother and younger sister, Mary Jane, 4, to Nauvoo. An older sister, Maria, stayed behind to work for the Bettses.
Henry, weak himself from the summer sickness, returned to St. Louis for his sister. He earned his passage downriver and back on riverboats. On the trip down he was an assistant fireman, carrying firewood and loading and unloading freight.
On the boat trip back to Nauvoo, Henry was third cook and “had the cabin dishes to wash, they being brought down to me by the cabin boys.” He liked the job because he could eat the leftover food, which was better than he usually ate. Some plates of food came to him “untouched,” so instead of dumping the food overboard as ordered, he let other cabin boys eat it.
Henry, big for his age, joined the Nauvoo Legion. He “enrolled in a Captain Black’s Company” when unfriendly neighbors began harrassing the Mormons in and around Nauvoo. Officers gave this teenager “something of a gun” and he “sometimes was scouting all night and took delight therein, even at times when the mob was expected every hour.”
Early in 1846, when Henry was 17, the Saints had to leave Nauvoo. For the wagon trek across Iowa, Jonathan C. Wright hired Henry to be a chore boy and drive an ox team. Henry liked this job, except for Brother Wright’s restriction that Henry walk his horses but never run or race them.
While Henry was camped with the Wrights at Council Bluffs, Iowa, a United States army recruiter arrived. “I had told my comrades that he would not get a man,” Henry said. But President Brigham Young called a meeting in a brush-covered bowery and asked that 500 men enlist for the Mexican War. Henry felt impressed to answer the call, so he joined the army. Mr. Wright, upset at losing his hired hand, “was wrathy and said that I could not go.” But Henry went. He was not yet 18 as required by the government, “but as I had nearly got my growth in height I passed without difficulty.” Besides, nobody asked him his age.
The next summer, when he was 18, he entered the Great Salt Lake Valley just behind the 1847 pioneers. Wanting to rejoin his family, he returned east with Brigham Young’s company late that same year to the Winter Quarters area.
Henry and his family came west three years later, in 1850, and became Utah pioneers. He married and lived at Union Fort, Fillmore, and Fairview, Utah. During his adult years he was a farmer, teacher, and shoemaker.

Excited by their newfound religion, Jaanus and his friend Urmas Raavk decided they must spread the gospel. They spoke with at least 50 people on the streets and knocked on 20 doors. They tried to talk like missionaries, explaining the story of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. The missionaries later asked Jaanus, “Why did you do that? Who gave you the authority to act as a missionary?”
“We know from reading in the Bible that everybody must be a missionary,” Jaanus answered. “I already have a strong desire to serve. It is hard to wait until I get a mission call.”
The elders smiled. “In opening this new mission, we need to be very careful and work only through referrals to members’ friends,” they explained. President Steven R. Mecham of the Finland Helsinki East Mission said that this proved to be important in getting the Church accepted by the government. Proselyting needed to be handled carefully, so as not to offend. From then on, Jaanus and Urmas worked with the missionaries.

Some twenty-four years ago I was seated in the choir seats of the Assembly Hall situated to the south of us here on Temple Square. The setting was stake conference. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith and Elder Alma Sonne had been assigned to reorganize our stake presidency. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. Those of us who served as bishops were singing along with our young men. As we concluded singing our first selection, Brother Smith stepped to the pulpit and announced the names of the new stake presidency. I am confident the other members of the presidency had been made aware of their callings, but I had not. After reading my name, Brother Smith announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call we shall be pleased to hear from him now.” As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. Its title was “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” Such is the courage I seek this evening.

“Touchdown! He saved the day!” Chris’s big brother, Evan, whooped as he jumped up from the couch and turned off the television. “Did you ever see such a great player?” Evan asked Dad.
“Not that I recall.” Dad smiled. “He’s quite a hero.”
“I’m going to put his picture on my wall,” Evan said as he headed up to his room.
Chris helped Dad pick up the popcorn bowls and take them to the kitchen. “Why did you say he’s a hero, Dad?” Chris asked. “He didn’t save someone’s life or anything like that.”
“No, he didn’t,” Dad said as he put the bowls into the dishwasher. “I guess I called him a hero because he did something important to help his team. He did something the other players couldn’t do. That’s what makes a hero.”
Just then Chris’s mom came into the kitchen, carrying a big bag of groceries.
“Let me help you with that,” Chris’s dad said and took the bag from her arms.
“Thanks.” Mom smiled. “Just in time—I was about to drop it. My hero!” she said, kissing Dad gently on the cheek.
Chris looked at Dad. “You’re a hero, too?”
“I guess so.” Dad grinned.
“Mom,” Chris’s big sister, Julie, yelled as she came into the kitchen. “Did you remember to get the ingredients I need?”
“Right here.” Mom pulled some items from the sack.
“Thanks, Mom,” Julie sighed. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“A lifesaver?” Chris mused. “Does that mean Mom’s your hero, Julie?”
Julie shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Wow—two heroes in one room!”
“I don’t know about two heroes, but there are definitely too many people in the kitchen,” Julie said. “Everyone out. I need to make cupcakes for a service project.”
Chris wandered up to the bedroom he shared with Evan. Evan was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine. On the wall behind him was a picture of the football player who had made the winning touchdown.
Chris went through his desk and found a photograph of his family. He studied it a while, then asked, “Evan, have you ever done something for someone that he couldn’t do for himself?”
Evan looked up from his magazine. “I guess so.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I shovel Mrs. Bates’s driveway when it snows. She can’t do that for herself.”
“Good. That makes you a hero.”
“A hero? I’m no hero.”
“You are to Mrs. Bates.”
A slow smile spread across Evan’s face. “Yeah. I guess maybe you’re right.” He went back to reading his magazine.
Chris put the family photo into his pocket and went down to the kitchen, where Julie was measuring ingredients into a bowl. Chris sat at the table and watched her work.
“I suppose you want to lick the bowl,” Julie said.
“No. I’m just watching.” Chris watched Julie in silence while she beat the batter and poured it into cupcake pans. After she put them into the oven, he asked, “Who are you making the cupcakes for?”
“We’re celebrating birthdays with the ladies at the nursing home tonight.”
“Can’t the ladies make their own cupcakes?”
“No. They don’t have kitchens in their rooms.”
“Oh. Did you know that that makes you their hero?”
Julie smiled. “Sure. I’m rescuing them from cakeless birthdays.” She untied her apron and whipped it around her neck to her back. “Here I come to save the day!” she yelled. She pretended to fly as she ran out of the room, her apron fluttering out behind her.
Chris laughed. He went back to his room and tacked the family photo to the wall above his bed. He stood back and looked at it. Everyone in the picture was a hero: Dad, Mom, Evan, Julie. Even their dog, Misty, saved the family garden by chasing rabbits out of the yard in the summer. Chris sighed. He wanted to be a hero, too, but what could he do?
Just then Chris heard someone calling his name. He went to the top of the stairs and saw his dad standing at the front door. “Hey, Chris,” Dad said, “want to go on a rescue mission with me? Your mom forgot to get milk at the store and needs someone to get it while she fixes dinner.”
“Sure,” Chris said. This was his chance to do something for someone who couldn’t do it for herself. This was his chance to be a hero.
As they drove to the store, Chris told his Dad about the photo on his wall. “Did you know that we have a house full of heroes?” Chris asked.
“Now that you mention it, I guess we do. But do you know why we have a house full of heroes?”
“No.” Chris frowned. “Why?”
“Because we are all trying to be like the greatest hero of all. Actually, the person I’m talking about was much more than a hero. He did something to save everyone in the world. He atoned for our sins and was resurrected, making it possible for us to return to our heavenly home. That is something that we could never do for ourselves. And He was the only one who could do it for us. Do you know who that was?”
“Jesus Christ?”
“Right.”
Chris thought about this for a minute. “Do you have a picture of Jesus, Dad?” he asked. “I’d like to put it on my wall next to our family photo.”

Maren Nelson, 16, of the Alma Branch, was helping her mother make a salad for dinner. When the house started to shake, she automatically dove under the table, pulling her mother with her. Huddled together, they could see cupboard doors flying open, dumping dishes out. The refrigerator fell over, spilling food everywhere. The built-in oven was wrenched from the wall, kitchen cabinets tore loose and fell into a messy heap on the floor. A massive china cabinet tipped over against the table, crushing the chair between. “After the shaking stopped,” Maren said, “I remember the terror in my father’s voice as he yelled into the house to find out if we were safe.”
The Nelson home was one that was heavily damaged. Maren was grateful her family was uninjured. “Even though our home was destroyed, I have learned and continue to learn from the experience. The most important thing is that we are all alive and together.”

President Hinckley described what happens to the heart of every missionary who commits his or her life and work to the Lord when he talked about his own missionary experiences. It was early in his mission, and he was discouraged. The work was hard, and the people were not receptive. However, there came a time when discouragement turned to commitment. For him, the beginning was a letter from his father in which he read: “Dear Gordon, I have your letter. … I have only one suggestion: Forget yourself and go to work.” In describing what happened next, he said: “I got on my knees in that little bedroom … and made a pledge that I would try to give myself unto the Lord.
“The whole world changed. The fog lifted. The sun began to shine in my life. I had a new interest. I saw the beauty of this land. I saw the greatness of the people. … Everything that has happened to me since that’s been good I can trace to that decision made in that little house” (in Mike Cannon, “Missionary Theme Was Pervasive during Visit of President Hinckley,” Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).
President Hinckley continued by saying: “You want to be happy? Forget yourself and get lost in this great cause, and bend your efforts to helping people” (in Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).

Mandy’s giving the lesson at the Cooper family home evening.
… so if we listen, the Spirit can tell us if we’re doing something wrong and need to repent.
After the lesson …
Good lesson on repentance, Mandy.
Hey, I heard about a great new ice cream shop. Let’s go there for our treat. I don’t know that neighborhood very well, but the GPS I got for Christmas should get us there.
Cool!
Turn left onto Jackson Street.
I think I know this area after all. If we go past Jackson a couple more streets and then turn, we can avoid some traffic lights.
Uh-oh!
Turn around and proceed to Jackson Street. Then turn right.
Guess I should have listened to that little voice the first time. Well, I’ve listened now, and I can get back on the right track.
Thanks, Dad. You just acted out my repentance lesson!

During the difficult year of 2021, the number of refugees and asylum seekers seeking a better life increased. Thankfully, the Oasis Cardiff centre stepped in to help them integrate with our communities and provide them with the necessities that were not otherwise easily available to them.
For most of us, there is much to look forward to over November and December, but for others it is a time of despair and going without. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Cardiff wanted to try and change this and make a difference.
During this time, members of the Cardiff Stake, with the help of local communities around the stake and a donation from LDS Charities, gathered toiletries and teddy bears for approximately 150 people to help them enjoy the festive season more than they might otherwise have done.
The willingness of volunteers from local communities to help was amazing. Several shopping trips were required to acquire items, including over 350 packs of nappies. Many members, including full-time missionaries and youth, came together to pack 150 toiletry packs for the refugees. Even the South Wales Police helped by providing a large van to transport the nappies and toiletries collected.
The packs were donated to refuges on December 10—the response was phenomenal. Volunteers were very grateful to be able to give to people in need.
Jacci Peach from Oasis Cardiff said, “The generous donation of nappies and toiletries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have so far been given to 95 families and individuals. Additionally, 51 children aged up to 8 have also received a teddy. Most of these children would not have received anything for Christmas. In fact, most would’ve had no toys at home at all.
“What seems like a little thing to so many can mean the world to an asylum seeker. Being able to stay clean is a simple ‘luxury’ that ensures dignity and some sense of normality. Thank you so much for your kind donations, they are much appreciated!”

It was Christmas Eve. Alone in his car, Dan Lytle had driven four and a half hours through the thick California fog. For the same four and a half hours he had followed the same white Volkswagen bug with the same green and white Washington plates through the same unending fog.
Dan hadn’t been this tired since his mission. But he had a diamond ring in his pocket, and there was a girl in San Leandro waiting up for him. Dan reckoned there would be at least another three hours of driving before he could put the ring on Callie’s finger.
Looks like a long night, he said to himself as he and a thousand other drivers rushed through the fog.
Dan turned the car’s radio dial, looking for Christmas music to help pass the hours. Funny, he thought, how sometimes at night your car radio can bring in Los Angeles or Salt Lake or Omaha—and how at other times the same radio brings in only static. He turned the radio off.
For perhaps another hour Dan passed through a foggy world where literally all he could see was the back end of a white Volkswagen bug with green and white license plates. It was tense, tedious driving, requiring full attention.
And then into his mind came a still, small, prompting thought: “Dan, pull over into the far right lane and slow down.”
Slow down? Why? Weren’t all the other cars and trucks doing just fine hurtling through the thick mist as if there were no such thing as ten-foot visibility?
Besides—it was late. Even if he kept to his present speed, Dan couldn’t hope to open the ring box until well after this foggy Christmas Eve had turned into a foggy Christmas day.
Dan wondered. Had the Spirit really warned him? Or had it been just the normal workings of a cautious mind? Couldn’t he just continue at the same speed as everyone else? Was it really important that he pull over to the right and slow down?
Again came the prompting: “Dan, if there were a wreck on the freeway, there is no way you could stop in time: You’d slam right into the wreckage. You really should pull over to the right and slow down.”
Dan Lytle had been taught that he should never ignore the promptings of the Spirit. Reluctantly, he signaled, then pulled his car over and cut his speed. The white Volkswagen bug with Washington plates sped on, and instantly was swallowed up in the impenetrable fog.
Better late than not at all, I guess, he thought ruefully. He calculated that at his new speed, he likely would be on the road for quite some time.
What if Bishop Clark had not been in tune with the Spirit that Christmas Eve so long ago? thought Dan Lytle. Or what if he had ignored the prompting?
Dan Lytle peered intently through the fog. “Modesto, 12 miles,” he read. Got to be careful I don’t miss the Oakland turnoff. A fellow could drive right past it in this fog.
And then, suddenly, out of the fog came the red glare of tail lights. Flares appeared on the roadway, along with highway patrol cars with flashing lights. A trooper, walking between lanes of now halted cars, passed the word: “Terrible accident up ahead—dozens of cars and trucks in a big pileup. Be patient, folks—we’re trying to clear out one lane so you can get by.”
It took a long time for the four lanes of northbound cars to merge into one lane. Dan’s concern for the accident victims grew to disbelief and then near nausea as he was waved past the massive jam-up.
He saw crumpled cars, jack-knifed trucks, ambulances, patrol cars, paramedics—and motionless human forms under blankets at the side of the road.
As his car crept past the wreckage, Dan counted the demolished vehicles—10 … 20 … 30. How many more people on Christmas Eve, delayed at best, dead on the highway at worst?
And there: number 41. A horrified Dan Lytle recognized what had been a white Volkswagen bug with Washington license plates—now jammed into an accordion between the wreckage of number 40 and number 42.
For hours and hours I followed that car, thought Dan. For hours and hours—until the Spirit told me to move over and slow down.
What if I hadn’t been in tune to receive the warning? Or, what if I had received the warning and then had ignored it? He shuddered at the thought. Dan understood now as never before the principle his bishop had learned those many years ago.
With the massive accident scene finally behind him, Dan resumed his previous slow speed. He turned on the car radio, and from a station a thousand miles away came Christmas music, clear and sweet and reassuring.
There was not the slightest trace of static.

A few weeks after my visit to the Kirtland Temple, I was standing at the water’s edge of the baptismal font in the small Manila Temple in the Philippines. Many of those dear Saints had traveled for three days in the heat and humidity by boat to come and participate in sacred ordinances available only in the temple. On one of these islands in a small, primitive nipa hut, I visited with a family of Latter-day Saints. A beautiful young fourteen year old in this humble setting listened intently while her father explained that in 1991, by saving all they could, the family would have enough to go to the Manila Temple, where they could be sealed as a family forever.

One summer my father said that he had a big job for me and my brother, Clay, to do. Pointing to a nearby field with a bunch of lambs in it, Dad said that he’d share any money that we made from raising them and selling them in the fall.
We were excited. There were about 350 lambs, and all we had to do was feed them. However, none of the lambs had mothers. They had all been lost in a violent storm. To feed one or two baby lambs is easy, but to feed 350 of them was a real job. There was plenty of grass, but the lambs needed milk. So we made some long, V-shaped troughs out of boards. Next, we got a tin washtub, ground up some grain, and put it into the tub. Then we added milk to make a thin mash.
We herded the lambs to the troughs and, pointing to the food, said, “Eat!” They just stood there looking at us. We tried pushing their noses down into the milky mash, hoping that they’d get a taste and want more. We tried wriggling our fingers in the mixture to get them to suck our fingers. Some of them would drink, but most of them ran away.
Many of the lambs were starving to death. The only way that we could be sure they were eating was to pick them up two at a time, hold them in our arms like babies, and feed them.
At night the coyotes would sit up on the hill and howl. The next morning we’d see the results of their night’s work, and we’d bury two or three more lambs.
Clay and I soon forgot about becoming rich. All we wanted to do was save our lambs. It really wasn’t too bad until I made a pet of one of the lambs and gave it a name. It was always under my feet, and it knew my voice. I loved that lamb. One morning it didn’t come when I called it. Later that day I found it under the willow trees by the creek. It wad dead. With tears streaming down my face, I picked up my lamb and went to find my father. Looking up at Dad, I said, “Isn’t there someone who can help us feed our lambs?”
After a long moment he said, “Jayne, a long time ago, Someone Else said almost those same words. He said, ‘Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep.’” (John 21:15–16.) Dad put his arm around me and let me cry for a long time, then went with me to bury my lamb.
Many years later, while pondering Moses 1:39, I came to understand Dad’s words. The scripture reads: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of [all mankind].” As I thought about the mission of the Savior, I remembered the summer of the lambs, and I sensed how the Savior must feel with so many lambs to feed, so many souls to save. And I knew in my heart that He needed my help.