Gospel Story Finder

Ben rested his arm on the suitcase next to him in the car. Mom and Dad were driving him to Grandpa’s house. Ben was going to stay with his grandpa for one whole week. No brothers, no baby sister—just Ben and Grandpa.
Ben had talked to Grandpa about their week together. Grandpa said it was Ben’s week and they could do all of Ben’s favorite things. Ben looked out the window. Did he remember to pack everything? He had packed his lucky fishing hat, his sunglasses, and his favorite books.
“Now, remember,” Mom said from the front seat, “Grandpa isn’t a member of our church. He’s a good person and a good grandpa. But some things at his house will seem different to you.”
“Like what?” Ben knew his grandpa didn’t go to church. But he hadn’t thought about how that would be different.
“You might have to remind him that you don’t drink iced tea,” Dad said.
“OK,” Ben said.
“You won’t be able to go to church on Sunday, but you can keep the Sabbath day holy in other ways,” Mom said.
“I will,” Ben said.
When they arrived at Grandpa’s house, Grandpa was waiting for them on the porch. Ben was the first one out of the car. “Grandpa!”
“How’s my favorite seven-year-old?” Grandpa gave Ben a big hug. “Are you ready for your very own special week? You get to choose what we do together.”
“Can we go fishing?” Ben asked. “I brought my lucky fishing hat.”
“Sure we can,” Grandpa said.
“And can we go to the zoo?” Ben asked. “I brought my sunglasses.”
“Sure we can,” Grandpa said.
“And can we read together?” Ben asked. “I brought my favorite books.”
“Sure we can,” Grandpa said. “And I think we need a shopping trip so you can pick out a toy at the store.”
“Wow,” Ben said. “This is going to be a great week!”
On Friday, Grandpa and Ben went fishing.
On Saturday, Grandpa and Ben went to the zoo.
The next day, Grandpa made pancakes for breakfast. “Today is our shopping day,” Grandpa said.
“Yippee!” Ben exclaimed. “What kind of toy should I get?”
Then Ben remembered—it was Sunday. How could he explain to Grandpa about not shopping on Sunday?
After breakfast Ben said a prayer in his room. He asked Heavenly Father to help him explain to Grandpa about keeping the Sabbath day holy.
After the prayer Ben sat on his bed. Grandpa called to Ben, “Just let me put on my shoes, and we’ll be off.”
Ben took a deep breath and stood up. He found Grandpa tying his shoes.
“Grandpa, thank you for taking me fishing and to the zoo. But I think today we should take a rest.”
“What do you mean?” Grandpa asked. “I promised to take you shopping.”
“I know, but do you think we could go another day?”
“Are you OK? Are you sick?”
“No, Grandpa,” Ben said. “Today is Sunday. At my house we don’t go shopping on Sunday.”
Grandpa didn’t say anything.
“Can we stay home today?” Ben asked. “We can take a walk. We can read books.”
Grandpa smiled at Ben. “Sure we can,” he said. “It’s your very own week, so you get to choose.”
Ben gave Grandpa a big hug. “I knew this would be a great week,” Ben said.

For many years our family has enjoyed the annual tradition of camping high in the Uintah Mountains of northeastern Utah. We travel 20 miles (32 km) over a rocky dirt road to arrive at a beautiful green valley with towering canyon walls and through which runs a river filled with cold, clear water. Each year, hoping to reaffirm the value of gospel doctrine and practices within the hearts of our children and our grandchildren, Susan and I ask each of our six sons and their families to prepare a short message on a topic they feel is an important element in the foundation of a Christ-centered home. We then gather for a family devotional in a secluded place, and each presents their message.
This year our grandchildren wrote the topic of their message on stones and then, one by one, buried them next to one another, representing a sure foundation upon which a happy life is established. Woven among all six of their messages was the immutable, eternal truth that Jesus Christ is the cornerstone of that foundation.

As a young child, I remember my mother reading to me the story “The Ugly Duckling,” by Hans Christian Andersen. Maybe it was because I was shy and felt like I didn’t fit in, but the memory and the moral of that story have always remained with me.
In the version that I remember, a mother duck waits patiently for her eggs to hatch into little ducklings. Before long, the fuzzy, yellow ducklings emerge to the delight of the mother duck. However, there is one slightly larger egg that still has not hatched. The mother and her ducklings wait and watch. When the egg finally cracks open, the yellow ducklings notice that this new member of the family looks different. They gather around him and declare to their mother and father, “He’s not like us. He’s ugly.” They leave him alone in the nest and swim away. The ugly duckling wanders away from the nest and tries to hide. Every encounter he has is negative and discouraging. He would often think to himself, “Everyone hates me because I’m ugly.”
Then a miracle takes place in his life. He sees others who look and act just like he does! He becomes friends with them, and they take him to their mother and ask, “Mother, Mother, we’ve found a little brother! Can he stay with us forever?” The beautiful, graceful swan mother folds her white wing around the ugly duckling and says to him in a gentle voice, “You’re not a duckling at all! You are a little swan, and someday you will be the king of the pond.”
I loved hearing this story as a child. I didn’t realize that the lessons I learned from it would help me through my difficult teenage years. I was baptized a member of the Church when I was eight, but gradually my family became less active.
In the small town in Idaho where I grew up, there was a movie theater that featured an afternoon matinee every Saturday. I would always go with two or three of my friends. The theater would show a short movie about sports and another about current events. The main feature was usually a cowboy movie with lots of action.
One Saturday during intermission, the staff wheeled out a 10-speed bicycle. It was red, it was beautiful, and they were going to give it away to the person in the audience who had the winning ticket stub! Oh, how I wanted that bicycle!
The announcer reached into the container and pulled out a ticket. As he read the number on the ticket, I discovered that I had the winning ticket. Yet I didn’t move or say anything. I was too shy and embarrassed. I did not have enough confidence in myself to stand and let everyone know that I had the winning ticket. He announced the winning number two more times, and each time I held the ticket down so that no one could see it. Finally, the announcer read another number. One of the friends I came to the movie with happened to have the new number. He jumped up, screamed, and ran to the stage to claim his bicycle. That bicycle could have been mine!
As I walked home alone from the movies that Saturday, I thought of the story of the ugly duckling. I was feeling a lot like that little swan. I felt like I was wandering around in the woods trying to hide and that no one liked me. I didn’t realize who I was or what I could become. By the time I arrived home, I knew something had to change. I remember thinking, “It’s time to grow up. That will never happen to me again.”
I began to discover that there were others around me who loved and cared about me. My ward bishopric took an interest in me, as did my stake president, who lived just down the street from me. They taught me the gospel. They bore their testimonies to me of the reality of the Savior and His precious Atonement and what it could do for me. They read to me repeatedly the story of Joseph Smith and his vision in the Sacred Grove. From that experience I have developed the wonderful habit of reading Joseph Smith—History every week. By doing so, I know that I can have the strength to overcome anything placed before me that week.
At that time in my life, when I needed someone so badly, my Heavenly Father blessed me. He knew who I was, and He sent His servants to help me discover that for myself. They wrapped their arms around me and told me by their actions that I wasn’t an ugly duckling at all and that if I was worthy and kept the commandments of God, I could become “the king of the pond.” The blessing and understanding of the Atonement began to give me added strength and confidence.
When I reached the age of 16, these good men encouraged me to receive a patriarchal blessing. After I received my recommend, I got on my old bike and rode several miles to the patriarch’s home. He explained once again what a patriarchal blessing is and how it would bless my life. He laid his hands on my head. After that experience, my life was never the same.
I accepted a mission call to Scotland and had a wonderful experience. A few weeks after I returned home, I met my future wife at a Church meeting. We dated, and I proposed marriage. We were married in the Salt Lake Temple.
One sentence in my patriarchal blessing indicates that I would be permitted to live in mortality with an angel. At the time the patriarch gave me that blessing, I didn’t know what an angel was, let alone the meaning of the phrase. As I left the temple the day my wife and I were sealed, I knew what it meant. She has been the light of my life. Thanks to her, I have been permitted to live in an environment of light. She has brought joy and happiness to our 8 children, 25 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren. My children have all come to call her blessed. I give thanks to God for the blessings of the gospel and the eternal blessings of the covenants and ordinances of the holy temple.
Satan would have us believe that we are ugly ducklings with no chance of becoming like our Heavenly Father and His holy Son. I bear witness that God loves each of us in special ways. As Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said so often, “God’s personal shaping influence is felt in the details of our lives.”1 We are His children. I have come to know that we can rise above our current environment and become “kings and queens of the pond” by following the gospel commandments.
I know something else. I know who you are and where you came from. The revelations remind us of our faithfulness in the premortal life (see Revelation 12:7–11; D&C 138:56; Abraham 3:22–23). As we tie our testimonies to that great truth, each day becomes a wonderful blessing for each of us.
Stay on the Lord’s side of the line. If He can take care of a bashful, shy boy like me, He will take care of you now and in the future. You are a chosen son or daughter of God. Choose to live up to the divine potential that lies within you.

Prodi sat up in bed with a jolt. His heart was beating fast.
Rain pattered on the roof as he sat in the darkness. He could hear water dripping from the African fig tree outside his window, and the air felt sticky and warm. Prodi took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was just a dream.
He crawled out of bed and peeked at his parents. Mama and Papa were sleeping peacefully. His little sister, Célia, was curled up in her bed too. Everything was OK. His family was safe.
Prodi climbed back into bed and tried to go back to sleep. He tossed and turned, then tossed and turned some more. He knew his dream wasn’t real, but it had been so scary! Even though he was tired, he was afraid to fall asleep again. What if he had another nightmare?
Prodi lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. He tried to think of happy thoughts. Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer? A wave of warmth came over Prodi as he thought of the words of his favorite Primary song. Sister Kioska had taught them that Heavenly Father was always watching over them. They could pray to Him anytime, anywhere.
Prodi knew what to do. He got out of bed and knelt down to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “I’m really scared. Please keep my family safe. And please help me to go to sleep and not have any more bad dreams.”
Prodi finished his prayer and climbed back in bed. His body relaxed, and his mind felt peaceful. Soon he was asleep.
When morning came, Prodi woke up to the warm sun shining through the window. He could hear pots clanging in the kitchen. Célia was at the table eating leftover cassava. Mama was warming some up for him to eat too.
“Bonjour,” Mama said. “How did you sleep?”
“I had a really scary nightmare,” Prodi said. “But then I said a prayer. Heavenly Father helped me feel safe.”
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” Mama said. She hugged Prodi close and didn’t let go for a long time. “But I’m so glad you said a prayer. It sounds like praying really helped you.”
“It did,” said Prodi. “I was able to fall asleep again, and I didn’t have any more bad dreams.” Prodi hugged Mama tight. He was glad to know that no matter how scared he felt, Heavenly Father was just a prayer away.
Go to page 15 to meet the boy from this story!

I have a dear friend with whom I went fishing. He seemed uneasy during the trip and shortly confided to me that he had just returned from a visit with his son-in-law in another state. During this visit he had a strong feeling that he should give his son-in-law a father’s blessing but felt somewhat constrained because he was not his father.
As we discussed his uneasy feelings, it was decided that he should phone his son-in-law immediately upon our return from the fishing trip. During the phone call my friend’s son-in-law, with considerable emotion and tears, confided the great need and desire he had felt for a father’s blessing. He had earnestly prayed that his father-in-law, to whom he felt very close, would know of his desires and give him such a blessing.
When we pray to our Father in Heaven for help, he often answers us by inspiring one of his other children here on earth to provide that help. Generally speaking, the Lord does not speak with a clap of thunder but through the whisperings of a still, small voice as he inspires one of his children to help another in need.

In 1989, our family of seven was returning from a ward outing. It was late. Lynette was expecting our sixth child. She felt a strong prompting to fasten her seat belt, which she had forgotten to do. Shortly thereafter we came around a bend in the road; a car crossed the line into our lane. Going about 70 miles (112 km) an hour, I swerved to avoid hitting the oncoming car. Our van rolled, skidded down the highway, and slid off the road, finally coming to a stop, landing with the passenger side in the dirt.
The next thing I remember hearing was Lynette’s voice: “Shayne, we need to get out through your door.” I was hanging in the air by my seat belt. It took a few seconds to get oriented. We started lifting each of the children out of the van through my window, which was now the ceiling of the van. They were crying, wondering what had happened.
We soon realized that our 10-year-old daughter, Emily, was missing. We yelled her name, but there was no response. Ward members, who were also traveling home, were at the scene frantically looking for her. It was so dark. I looked in the van again with a flashlight and, to my horror, saw Emily’s tiny body trapped under the van. I called out desperately, “We have to lift the van off of Emily.” I grabbed the roof and pulled back. There were only a few others lifting, but the van miraculously flipped onto its wheels, exposing Emily’s lifeless body.
Emily was not breathing. Her face was the color of a purple plum. I said, “We need to give her a blessing.” A dear friend and ward member knelt with me, and by the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood, in the name of Jesus Christ, we commanded her to live. In that moment, Emily took a long raspy breath.
After what seemed like hours, the ambulance finally arrived. Emily was rushed to the hospital. She had a collapsed lung and a severed tendon in her knee. Brain damage was a concern because of the time she was without oxygen. Emily was in a coma for a day and a half. We continued to pray and fast for her. She was blessed with a full recovery. Today, Emily and her husband, Kevin, are the parents of six daughters.
Miraculously, everyone else was able to walk away. The baby Lynette was carrying was Tyson. He too was spared any harm and was born the next February. Eight months later, after receiving his earthly body, Tyson returned home to Heavenly Father. He is our guardian angel son. We feel his influence in our family and look forward to being with him again.
Those who lifted the van off of Emily observed that the van seemed to weigh nothing. I knew that heavenly angels had joined with earthly angels to lift the vehicle off of Emily’s body. I also know that Emily was brought back to life by the power of the holy priesthood.

About this time, President Joseph F. Smith and his counselors in the First Presidency suggested to members of the Church that they hold a family home evening once each week. Accordingly, my father would gather us around a little table after supper to read the Book of Mormon. We read it from cover to cover that year.
Because Mother had taught me to read, I was privileged to take my turn in reading aloud. What excitement I experienced as we approached the Third book of Nephi and the coming of the Savior! With feelings of sadness we continued through the books of Mormon, Ether, and Moroni. These feelings were strongly reinforced by my father.
Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father,” (Hymns no. 139) and it was published in modified form in the Primary songbook.
Hearing this music and reading the Book of Mormon in these early years with my parents made a forceful impression upon my mind concerning the reality and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I hope that each of you will watch and listen carefully to what your parents say and do. I pray they will teach you well. I also hope that the music you hear in your home will be uplifting and inspiring, because we believe that “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” (A of F 1:13.) The place to begin with good things is at home with your family.
Finally, let us all remember the commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” (Ex. 20:12.)

For example, Yves, an 18-year-old from the Tamenga Branch, Paramaribo Suriname District, saw that when he played the keyboard at Church meetings and activities, lots of people were interested in learning how to play. So he started teaching free classes for children, teens, and adults.
The classes are taught at several branches and are open to anyone who wants to come. Most evenings when Yves teaches, there are at least a half dozen students in attendance, both Latter-day Saints and others who heard about the class from members of the branch. He also teaches flute when someone is interested. He leads the branch choir, and he directed a special presentation by the district choir. He says his musical involvement is a way of showing thanks for the missionary couple who taught him how to read notes and make music.

Martin follows Jesus by learning about Him. When Martin met the missionaries, they gave him a pamphlet about Jesus Christ. Martin is visually impaired, so he couldn’t read the small words. But he still wanted to learn more.
The missionaries gave Martin a copy of the Book of Mormon in braille. Braille is a form of written language for people who are blind or visually impaired.
Martin chose to be baptized with his dad. “I’m thankful for the Church of Jesus Christ,” Martin says. “I know it’s true.”

When I returned to Buenos Aires, my mother realized that I truly wanted to be baptized. Since I had a somewhat rebellious spirit, instead of opposing me, she very wisely took my side. And without even knowing it, she did my baptismal interview herself. Indeed, I believe that her interview was even more in-depth than those that our missionaries conduct. She told me, “If you want to be baptized, I will support you. But first I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to think very hard and answer me honestly. Do you commit to attend church absolutely every Sunday?”
I told her, “Yes, of course I’m going to do that.”
“Do you have any idea how long church is?”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
She replied, “Well, if you get baptized, I am going to make sure that you attend.” Then she asked me if I was truly willing to never drink alcohol or smoke.
I answered, “Yes, of course I am going to comply with that as well.”
To which she added, “If you get baptized, I am going to make sure that that is the case.” And she proceeded on in that way with almost every commandment.
My uncle had called my mother to tell her not to worry, that I would get over this soon. Four years later, when I received my call to serve in the Uruguay Montevideo Mission, my mother called my uncle to ask him exactly when I was going to get over all this. The truth is that from the time I was baptized, my mother was a happier mother.

Twenty-one-year-old Emma Hale first heard about Joseph Smith when he came to work for Josiah Stowell in the fall of 1825. Josiah had hired the young man and his father to help him find buried treasure on his property.1 Local legends claimed that a band of explorers had mined a silver deposit and hidden the treasure in the area hundreds of years earlier. Knowing Joseph had a gift for using seer stones, Josiah offered him good wages and a share of the findings if he would help in the search.2
Emma’s father, Isaac, supported the venture. When Joseph and his father came to the Stowell farm in Harmony, Pennsylvania—a village some 150 miles (240 km) south of Palmyra—Isaac served as a witness when they signed their contracts. He also allowed the workers to live in his home.3
Emma met Joseph soon after. He was younger than she was, stood over six feet (1.8 m) tall, and looked like someone who was used to hard work. He had blue eyes and a light complexion, and he walked with a faint limp. His grammar was uneven, and he sometimes used too many words to express himself, but he displayed a natural intelligence when he spoke. He and his father were good men who preferred to worship on their own rather than attend the church where Emma and her family worshipped.4
Both Joseph and Emma liked being outdoors. Since childhood, Emma had enjoyed riding horses and canoeing in the river near her home. Joseph was not a skilled horseman, but he excelled in wrestling and ball games. He was at ease around others and quick to smile, often telling jokes or humorous stories. Emma was more reserved, but she loved a good joke and could talk with anyone. She also liked to read and sing.5
In 2015 the Church rebuilt this replica of the Isaac and Elizabeth Hale home in Harmony, Pennsylvania. Joseph Smith met their daughter Emma when he lived on the property while working for Josiah Stowell.
As the weeks passed and Emma got to know Joseph better, her parents grew anxious about their relationship. Joseph was a poor laborer from another state, and they hoped their daughter would lose interest in him and marry into one of the prosperous families in their valley. Emma’s father had also grown wary of the treasure hunt and was suspicious of Joseph’s role in it. It did not seem to matter to Isaac Hale that Joseph had tried to convince Josiah Stowell to call the search off when it became clear nothing would come of it.6
Emma liked Joseph better than any other man she knew, and she did not stop spending time with him. After he succeeded in convincing Josiah to stop looking for silver, Joseph remained in Harmony to work on Josiah’s farm. Sometimes he also worked for Joseph and Polly Knight, another farming family in the area. When he was not working, he visited Emma.7
Joseph and his seer stone soon became the subject of gossip in Harmony. Some of the older folks in town believed in seers, but many of their children and grandchildren did not. Josiah’s nephew, claiming that Joseph had taken advantage of his uncle, brought the young man to court and charged him with being a fraud.
Standing before the local judge, Joseph explained how he had found the stone. Joseph Sr. testified that he had constantly asked God to show them His will for Joseph’s marvelous gift as a seer. Finally, Josiah stood before the court and stated that Joseph had not swindled him.
“Do I understand,” said the judge, “that you believe the prisoner can see by the aid of the stone?”
No, Josiah insisted, “I positively know it to be true.”
Josiah was a well-respected man in the community, and people accepted his word. In the end, the hearing produced no evidence that Joseph had deceived him, so the judge dismissed the charge.8

When Rakotomalala became interested in the gospel, the nearest church was in Antsirabe, a city 30 miles (50 km) from his village in Sarodroa. Rakotomalala and a friend found a way to make the journey each Sunday.
I wanted to attend church, but I had no money for the bus. I talked to my friend, Razafindravaonasolo, and she said we could ride my bike. We rode two hours one way from Sarodroa to Antsirabe every Sunday. When I would get tired of pedaling, I would ride on the back and she would start pedaling. Then when she got tired, we would switch places again.
Eventually, Razafindravaonasolo’s family and I joined the Church. We attended church in Antsirabe until a branch opened in Sarodroa. We were so happy when we could attend church in our own village!

I Can Still Hobble
I went for a run. Well, let’s be honest and call it what it really is—the tumor hobble. I exercise to keep breathing right and keep my lungs clear. However, it is difficult when my tumors hurt so much. I cried, then prayed for Heavenly Father to help me. The words of a Christmas song came into my mind, and I started singing:
Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.2
I must have looked and sounded pretty funny, but that doesn’t matter at this point. I’m just grateful for the words to this song.
Then my cousin called to tell me about her daughter that just went through her second brain surgery. She reminded me that it’s a blessing I can still hobble! Nothing changed. My pain was still there, but I was lifted. I knew I could get through this day.
When things are pressing down on you and you think things are just too hard to bear, sing the third verse of “Away in a Manger,” and our Lord will be with you.

When I was growing up, each summer my family stayed at our cabin in Utah. One morning my friend Danny and I decided we wanted to clear an area in a nearby field so we could have a campfire. We began to pull at the tall grass, but we knew this would take the entire day.
I said to Danny, “All we need is to set these weeds on fire. We’ll just burn a circle in the weeds!”
I want to make it clear that both Danny and I were forbidden to use matches without adult supervision. Our parents had warned us many times of the dangers of fire. However, I knew where my family kept the matches, and we thought we needed to clear that field. I grabbed a few matchsticks, making certain no one was watching.
Back to Danny I ran. I struck a match and set the grass ablaze. It ignited as though it had been drenched in gasoline. At first Danny and I were thrilled as we watched the weeds disappear, but soon we saw that the fire was not about to go out on its own. We panicked as we realized there was nothing we could do to stop it.
Finally we had no option but to run for help. Soon all available men and women were dashing back and forth with wet burlap bags, beating at the flames to try to put them out. After several hours the last remaining embers were smothered.
Danny and I learned several difficult but important lessons that day—not the least of which was the importance of obedience.

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
I was left half-blind when a truck knocked me off my bike. A little over four years later, during the Christmas season in 2011, I felt prompted to ask a brother I had known in a previous ward for a priesthood blessing. I saw this brother only from time to time, so I didn’t understand why I should ask him. I knew there were other worthy priesthood holders I could ask instead.
In the weeks that followed, the feeling that I needed a blessing became stronger. I was serving as a temple worker in the Frankfurt Germany Temple, so I decided to ask one of the brethren there for a blessing.
After I made this decision, the brother I had been impressed to ask entered the temple. I immediately knew this wasn’t a coincidence—Heavenly Father wanted me to ask this brother specifically. I worked up my courage and asked to talk with him after his session. He agreed.
Later, I explained that I didn’t know why, but I felt I needed a blessing from him. He said he would be happy to help. He invited another brother into the room and then began giving me a blessing. As he finished, I was confused. The blessing was nice, but there was nothing particularly special about it.
Then I opened my eyes.
When I opened my eyes, I could see the whole room almost clearly. I couldn’t believe it! I asked the brother if he knew why he was the one who needed to give me this blessing. His response humbled me.
“I don’t think this blessing was only for you,” he said. “It was for me too. I’m giving my niece a blessing tomorrow because she is getting baptized. Our family is not active in the Church, and she is the first family member to be baptized in almost 20 years. Many in our family will attend the baptism, and I wasn’t sure my faith was strong enough to give the blessing. Now I know I can do it.”
In the days that followed, my vision improved enough that I no longer needed my white cane. I wrapped it and gave it as a Christmas gift to this brother along with a letter. “I know this is not the staff of Moses,” I wrote, “but I hope it reminds you of the priesthood power that you hold.”
Heavenly Father loves us and delights to bless us. This blessing at Christmas not only restored my sight but also gave a humble priesthood holder confidence in his priesthood service.

For example, Neal Jones, a science teacher, introduced me to the marvels of the universe. At the time when air travel was emerging, he invited his students to explore the possibilities of space travel and interplanetary communication.
In one intriguing discussion, we considered the prospects of flying to the stars and back. We calculated the distances and applied the rates of flight. We concluded that at 100 mph a pilot would grow old and die before reaching some of the heavenly bodies and returning to earth. None of us could foresee, as Mr. Jones could, the future wonders of rocket power, jet propulsion, and the like.
When Sputnik was launched, I thought of Mr. Jones’s classroom; when the moon landing occurred in 1969, I thought of Mr. Jones; and, when I learned of the Concorde reaching altitudes above 60,000 feet and speeds in excess of 1,000 miles per hour—I thought of Mr. Jones. He introduced me to the fascinating world of science and transfused in me a curiosity about the universe, and convinced me that “the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).

As a youth, Joseph personified the Apostle Paul’s admonition: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right” (Eph. 6:1). He strictly obeyed his parents not from fear, but from deep love. His love and tenderness toward his parents can best be seen in an event from his childhood. Young Joseph had become infected with a serious and extremely painful leg disease. After several weeks of excruciating pain and many failed attempts by surgeons to alleviate it, doctors concluded that the leg must be amputated. But when young Joseph and Mother Smith objected, the doctors agreed to attempt one more operation. They insisted that Joseph be bound to the bed and that he must drink some wine or brandy to deaden the pain. Joseph’s response, recorded by his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, illustrates his confidence in his father and his tenderness toward his mother.
“‘No,’ exclaimed Joseph, ‘I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.’ Looking at me, he said, ‘Mother, I want you to leave the room, for I know you cannot bear to see me suffer so; father can stand it, but you have carried me so much, and watched over me so long, you are almost worn out.’ Then looking up into my face, his eyes swimming in tears, he continued, ‘Now, mother, promise me that you will not stay, will you? The Lord will help me, and I shall get through with it’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, edited by Preston Nibley, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1958, page 57).

“Rosie!” called Mama. “It is time for you and Heman to take Papa his dinner.”
We needed no second call, for this was one errand we delighted in doing. Mama filled a plate with hot food, covered it with a soup dish to keep in the warmth, wrapped it carefully in a large napkin, and placed it in a basket. Then she handed the basket to us with final instructions: “Carry it carefully, don’t play on the way, and hurry home after Papa has eaten.”
It was ten blocks from our home on East Third South to Salt Lake Temple Block where Papa worked as a stonecutter. But it didn’t seem that long to us as we talked of the fun we’d have while Papa ate his dinner. It was interesting to watch the huge granite blocks being brought in from the canyon quarry by ox-drawn wagons. While the wagons were unloaded, the oxen stood patiently switching at flies with their tails. After the rough blocks were cut and smoothed to the required shape and size, they were tilted and placed in rows like dominoes, leaving the sharp edges protruding like saw teeth. We enjoyed running back and forth on top of these stone dominoes in our bare feet. Shoes were saved for Sunday and for school.
Sometimes we would watch as skilled workmen cut sun, moon, and star designs into certain stones. Each held a small iron chisel in his left hand and a hard wooden mallet in his right, tapping gently so as not to chip out too much rock and spoil the pattern.
Today Papa had a special surprise for us. He said, “The men who are making the circular staircase (there was one in each corner of the building) say you may go up as far as it is completed, but you must be very quiet, because this is the Lord’s house.”
I took Heman’s hand, and together we climbed the huge stone steps—up, up, up until we were out of breath. It was easier going down. Then Papa took us into the carpenter shop where wood for the building was sawed. On the floor was a heap of clean sawdust and Papa told us that the foreman said it would be all right for us to take some home so Mama could show us how to make a pincushion. “Someday it will be a fine thing,” Papa said, “to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”
Eagerly we filled the basket with fragrant sawdust and hurried home. But Mama had no time right then to help with a pincushion. She was trying to finish the washing and ironing for Sister Young, who lived next door, and the baby was cross. I rocked the baby to sleep, then helped Mama prepare supper.
In the evening, after the dishes were washed and put away, Mama found a piece of strong, durable brown cloth on which she drew a large fig leaf. She showed me how to embroider green lines for veins and outline the edge with a blanket stitch. A matching piece for the back was sewed to the front, leaving a hole near the top to pour in the temple sawdust until the leaf would hold no more. Then we sewed the hole shut so none of the precious sawdust would be lost. When the pincushion was finished I proudly showed it to Papa for his approval, then placed it on top of Mama’s dresser with my other special treasures.
Sometime later Mama was called to Idaho to help with a new grandchild, leaving me to do the cooking and housekeeping. Heman helped Papa with outside chores, while our little sisters Aggie and Birdie played together under the trees. One morning I noticed how faded and worn Birdie’s hand-me-down dresses were and asked Papa for a quarter to buy material to make her a new dress. At McMaster’s Store I bought a piece of lovely pink gingham. Laying it on the floor, and using pins from the temple-sawdust cushion, I pinned one of Birdie’s old dresses to the cloth for a pattern, then cut around it carefully, and sewed the pieces together. Birdie looked as sweet as a rosebud when Papa came from work that evening.
When I was older I found work in a dressmaking shop, and learned how to make nice clothes for myself and for Mama and my little sisters too. Soon after this Jody, my childhood sweetheart, asked me to marry him. Looking closely at the temple-sawdust pincushion one day, I knew I wanted to be married in the temple. But after nearly forty years in building, the temple still was not completed, so Jody’s father solved the problem by giving us railroad tickets to Logan. On a beautiful June day we were married in the Logan Temple for time and all eternity.
The pincushion made from temple sawdust traveled with us to our home in Salt Lake City. It went with us wherever we lived. And it has been a reminder to each of our eight children that the temple is a sacred and important place. Papa was right. It has, indeed, been “a fine thing to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”

At a recent stake conference the stake president called a young father, who had just been ordained an elder, from the audience to bear his testimony. The father had been active in the Church as a boy, but during his teenage years had veered somewhat from his childhood pattern. After returning from the military service he married a lovely girl and presently children blessed their home. Without warning an undisclosed illness overcame their little four-year-old daughter. Within a very short time she was on the critical list in the hospital. In desperation and for the first time in many years the father went to his knees in prayer—asking that her life be spared. As her condition worsened and he sensed that she would not live, the tone of the father’s prayers changed—he no longer asked that her life be spared—but rather for a blessing of understanding—“Let thy will be done,” he said. Soon the child was in a coma, indicating her hours on earth were few. Now, fortified with understanding and trust, the young parents asked for one more favor of the Lord. Would he allow her to awaken once more that they might hold her closely. The little one’s eyes opened, her frail arms outstretched to her mother and then to her daddy for a final embrace. When the father laid her on the pillow to sleep till another morning, he knew their prayers had been answered—a kind, understanding Father in heaven had filled their needs as he knew them to be. His will had been done—they had gained understanding—they were determined now to live that they might live again with her.

I promise you young men that if you will commit and prepare to serve a mission, it will be the most rewarding and exciting experience of your lives. Yes, there will be many and varied experiences—yes, even humorous experiences, like the elder who shared with me how he and his companion got on the bus, and as they sat down, in the seat in front of them was a grandfather with a young grandson who was having a temper tantrum. Missionaries being as ingenious as they are, these two elders decided they would see what they could do to quiet the little boy down and help the grandfather.
The boy had a baseball cap on. The elders proceeded to take the cap off his head and made a gesture like they threw it out of the window, but instead they quickly hid it under their seat. They then told the boy, as he felt his head, that if he wished hard enough he could wish it back on his head. The boy looked at his grandpa, wondering what was going on, and as he did, the elders quickly put the cap back on his head. The boy immediately felt the cap on his head, took it off, looked at it again, and then proceeded to throw it out the window, saying, “Do it again, Grandpa!” I think the elders got off at the next stop.