Gospel Story Finder

Let me say something of the marvelous members of the Church themselves. In the reorganization of a rather far-flung stake recently, I felt the Lord’s prompting to call a man to the stake presidency who, I had been told, owned a bicycle but no automobile. Many leaders across the Church don’t have cars, but I was nevertheless worried about what that might mean for this man in this particular stake. In my terminally ill Spanish I pursued the interview, then said, “Hermano, ¿no tiene un auto?” With a smile and not a second’s hesitation he replied, “No tengo un auto; pero yo tengo pies, yo tengo fe.” (“I do not have a car, but I do have feet and I do have faith.”) He then said he could ride the bus, ride his bicycle, or walk, “como los misioneros,” he smiled—“like the missionaries.” And so he does.

Christmas in Paris was incredible, and it was even better because I was spending it as a missionary—a representative of the One whose birth we were celebrating. My companion and I prepared a special Christmas message, certain that people would throw open their doors and welcome us in to talk of Christ.
Imagine our disappointment when in reality very few doors opened. And of those few people who opened their doors, not one could spare a minute to hear our message, though a few offered us chocolates. One woman even shouted through her still-closed door: “Jesus Christ? He’s dead!”
Those words hurt. And I longed to bear testimony to her—or anyone who would listen—that He lives still and loves us all. But listeners were hard to find.
Apparently ours wasn’t the only companionship struggling to find opportunities to teach. Our zone leaders called one day with an interesting idea: since we couldn’t compete with the busyness of the season, we might as well join it. So two days before Christmas, about 20 missionaries gathered in downtown Paris to sing carols to the crowds bustling past.
We arranged ourselves on steps not far from one of the busiest metro hubs and shopping districts of the city, Châtelet-Les Halles. Once settled, we launched into song. I’m sure we startled a few people as we started out, but what we lacked in musical abilities we made up for in enthusiasm. Many people looked at us suspiciously, as if they were wondering what we were selling. But the longer we sang, the more the hurried shoppers seemed to accept and appreciate our presence.
I watched as people paused and listened to us, even if it was just for a moment. A few even tried to hand us money and seemed astounded when we shook our heads in refusal. It was fun to see their reactions, but still, I wanted more. I wanted to testify.
Then a woman stopped abruptly like she’d run into a wall. She just stood there listening to us. As her eyes met mine, I put all the testimony I could into the words we sang. It was like a lightbulb flashed behind her eyes—as if she suddenly remembered something she’d forgotten—and the stress of the day drained from her face.
When the song ended, I smiled at her and she smiled back. Then she turned and moved on, her pace slower and her shoulders relaxed. For her, at least, we’d made a difference.
That experience was one of few opportunities I had to testify of Christ that Christmas season. But I’d learned an important truth: a testimony can be borne in more than one way. A song and a smile can be enough to touch a heart.

The friendship that Michelle and I had was one of those “one of a kind” things. It was a friendship that changed my life.
In the early stages of our friendship all that I knew about her was that her morals and values were much stronger than any of my other friends. It wasn’t until I was invited over to her house for a family home evening that I found out she was a Mormon.
It was at this family home evening that I was introduced to the gospel by two wonderful missionaries, Elder Stinchcombe and Elder Archibald. When they asked if I wanted to hear the discussions, I was filled with an unfamiliar but comfortable feeling. I accepted.
After having the discussions and resolving many of my concerns, we set a date for baptism. But, even though I felt good about my decision, I wanted some kind of confirmation that I was doing the right thing. I started to search desperately for the answer to my question, “Is the Church true?” I prayed morning, noon, and night, but I didn’t seem to be getting an answer.
It wasn’t until I met Davie Wilden, a Church member, that my hopes became a reality. After many hours of talking and reading with him, we decided it was time to pray. As we knelt and Davie began to pray, the room grew silent. He ended his prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me; then it was my turn to pray.
I had just begun my prayer when I heard a voice. It said, “Say sorry, just say sorry.”
I prayed with all my heart for Heavenly Father to forgive my sins. I felt a warm, tingly feeling come right down through my arms and seem to pierce me to the very center. Five days later I was baptized.
Since then, my testimony of the gospel has grown stronger and stronger, and I know it came about through the prayers of myself and those who helped teach me the gospel. Exactly one year and two days after I was baptized, I entered the New Zealand MTC, being called on a mission to Perth, Australia. I now have a chance to experience the same joy as the people who taught me the gospel by sharing my testimony with others.

When the missionaries taught me the gospel, the friend who gave me the Book of Mormon promised me that if I read it cover to cover in English, I would learn to speak English. I took that promise seriously, so I started reading, even though I didn’t understand much at first. I read and studied the Book of Mormon every day and every night. I even kept it under my pillow so that if I woke up at night, I could start reading again.
Within a year, I spoke English well enough to work in an English-speaking call center. After saving money, I was called to the India Bangalore Mission.
During my mission, I was really concerned about not having all of my family together in the Church. One day I read this verse: “Behold, you have had many afflictions because of your family; nevertheless, I will bless you and your family, yea, … and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in my church” (Doctrine and Covenants 31:2).
I felt the Spirit so strong that I knew this verse was speaking to me. It took 14 years for that promise to come true in my family. But three years ago, I baptized both of my parents. Now we are all members of the Church except for one of my brothers.
I say this often: “The Church is a place where dreams come true.” Because of the Church, I have the things I desired most. I learned to speak English. I served a mission that was full of miracles. After my mission, I met Radhika, who is now my beautiful wife, and we were sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple. We have a four-year-old son. My family is with me in the Church. All of my good dreams have come true.

At the beginning of 2010, I was struggling with some trials and went on a walk to clear my mind. While on the walk, I felt the Spirit whisper that I should not worry about the past; instead, I should think about my future. Just as I began reviewing my goal of finishing school, I was prompted to think about serving a mission. I never thought about a mission before, but as the idea took hold, so did an excitement and a desire to serve. However, I decided that I wanted a little more time to think about such a big decision.
The next few months were filled with promptings to serve a mission. While I still felt that same desire and excitement when the promptings came, doubts and fears came as well. I knew that women are encouraged to serve if they so desire but are not obligated to do so. During this time, I received priesthood blessings telling me the Lord would be pleased no matter what I chose.
The following summer I had a roommate who had served a mission. She said that she too felt fear before and even after she decided to serve. She helped me understand that the Spirit does not speak through doubt and fear (see 2 Timothy 1:7). As we talked, the Spirit touched me. I returned to my room and read a letter from a friend who was serving a mission. The letter encouraged me to read Joshua 1:9, and I felt the Spirit nudge me to look it up.
The words pierced my soul: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” I felt as though the Lord was speaking directly to me. I knew that I could serve a mission. I didn’t need to fear—I wouldn’t be doing it alone; the Lord would be with me.
One month later I received my call to the Philippines Iloilo Mission, where Joshua 1:9 was the mission theme.
Kristen Nicole Danner

Brad Lau doesn’t swear. He wouldn’t think of watching an inappropriate movie. While other guys listen to heavy metal in the locker room, Brad sings hymns he’s learned in ward choir. He never drinks or smokes, and he always minds his mother.
Oh, and he also happens to be a six-foot, 240-pound, all-state fullback who benches 350 and rushed for over 2,000 yards and scored 49 touchdowns during his high school career in Boise, Idaho.
Of all Brad’s statistics, perhaps the most noteworthy is “0.” That’s the number of times he’s used profanity since he started playing football.
A football player who never swears? It may be hard to believe, but Brad’s teammates say it’s true.
“When Brad gets mad on the field, he just shakes his head,” says quarterback Mitch Rasmussen. “He just turns red—beet red,” says tight end Mike Kelley. “He might look like he’s close to swearing, but he never lets it go,” says offensive lineman Nate Black. “He just unleashes a huge hit,” says strong safety Terry Deeble with a knowing grin.
And when Brad takes a hit? “I just say ‘ouch,’” says Brad, shrugging his enormous shoulders.
How does Brad refrain from swearing even in a high-tension sport in which cussing is so common?
For one thing, he avoids profanity in the music, television, and movies he chooses. “Obviously, I can’t go around and control what people say, but I can control what I watch and listen to.”
Although he doesn’t control others, Brad does try to have a positive influence in whatever environment he is in. “In the weight room, kids’ll play trashy CDs. I’ll turn it to something else, and some guys’ll say, ‘Why can’t we listen to this?’ If I ask nicely, ‘Can we listen to something else for a while?’ then they will.”
“When Brad picks the music, they’ll always give him a hard time, but it’s all in good fun,” says Terry.
And in the locker room, especially notorious for filthy talk and music, Brad says he likes to sing hymns.
A football player who sings hymns in the locker room? “Not only that, when Brad starts singing, other guys join in,” says Mitch.
Laughing, Brad recalls, “I remember once after practice I was singing, ‘How Great Thou Art.’ I guess other religions know it too, because all of a sudden even all the non-LDS guys started joining in. I was really surprised!”
So don’t people think Brad’s a little … well, strange?
“Actually, everyone looks up to Brad,” says Steve Warren, a Catholic teammate from high school. “He sets a good example. Everybody just considers him a friend.”
“Guys will tease him a lot, but then they’ll say, ‘Man, I wish I could be like that,’” says Mitch. “They respect him because they see someone who doesn’t back down.”
“And he’s nice to everyone,” says Terry. “I’ve never heard him say a mean thing.”
Perhaps that’s another key to Brad’s abstaining from profanity. He’s won people’s respect, so people respect his standards when they’re around him.
Says Steve, “When I’m around other people, every once in a while a swear word slips out. But when I’m around Brad, I just don’t do it.”
Mike nods his head in agreement. “There were even a couple of times when the coaches were swearing and just started apologizing right away. They weren’t even looking at Brad; they just knew he was around somewhere!”
Brad says when people do swear around him, he uses good-natured humor to encourage them to stop. “I’ll just jokingly say, ‘Heeeeey. Use substitute words!’ I have a good time with everybody.”
“During football season he started telling other players he was going to charge them money for every swear word they said. Some words were worth a quarter, some a dime, and some five cents,” says Steve.
“I didn’t keep track, so I never made any money,” Brad says with a smile.

I saw that diligence and heard that laughter when, late on a Saturday, I visited with a group of Latter-day Saints in Florida. The volunteers stopped their cleanup labor long enough to let me shake some hands. They said that 90 members of their stake in Georgia had created a plan to join in the rescue in Florida just the night before.
They left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, drove for hours, worked through the day and into the night, and planned to labor again the next day.
They described it to me all with smiles and good humor. The only stress I sensed was that they wanted to stop being thanked so they could get back to work. The stake president had restarted his chain saw and was working on a downed tree and a bishop was moving tree limbs as we got into our vehicle to go to the next rescue team.

Brandon recalled a touching moment during the technical rehearsal. “The night before the concert, during the FSY Medley, all the lights suddenly went out. But the music and mics kept working, so we kept singing. The audience turned on their phone lights and waved them to the music. It was breathtaking. I teared up as I saw the crowd singing with us. It reminded us that in times of darkness, trust the Lord—He will lead you to the light.” The lights came back on just as they sang the final line: “We will trust in the Lord.”

You could say 17-year-old Chris S. of Florida danced his way into the Church, but that’s not totally correct. Actually, it was the people he danced with who introduced him to the gospel. Chris is part of a troupe that performs Panamanian folk dances, and two of his best friends, Rebecca and Joshua R., who are also in the group, invited him to come to church.
“One time we started talking about the Church, and I just told him more about it, and he seemed really interested,” Rebecca says. “I told my parents about it, and they said we should invite him to church.” So one day they invited Chris to come, and he accepted.
“I asked my parents, and they said I could go,” Chris remembers. He also remembers how well received he was. “I was kind of nervous. But once I came, everyone was so warm and welcoming. It was nice to be there, and I felt comfortable.”
Soon Chris began meeting with the missionaries. “When they came over, they taught me a lesson and gave me a Book of Mormon,” he says. “They told me to read and pray, and I did. I didn’t feel anything at first, but then later on as I prayed, I felt great because it was like something inside of me was really warm. I know that was the Spirit, and it was a great feeling.”
Chris continued learning and decided to be baptized. “After being baptized, I received the Holy Ghost, received the Aaronic Priesthood, and was ordained a priest,” he says. “I felt special knowing that I am in God’s Church and that He loves me.”

I provide full-time care for my mum, who is blind. I have coeliac disease, so I have to be very careful what I eat. During the pandemic, I had to stand in all the queues for the shops, and I would do this alone as we were encouraged to do.
One week, I was exhausted but still needed to do some things for my mum. This week, I felt that she needed to come with me and help a little bit. I was really concerned about it, as she has a bad back. I didn’t think it would be able to withstand all the standing around I was doing.
My mum said, “It will be fine, we shall say our prayers and it will be okay!”
So off we went, the first time my mum had been to the shops during lockdown. To our surprise, there wasn’t a single queue anywhere. We got into every place we had to go with no problems. Even at the tills, the queues were very quick.
It was a miracle that day. I’ve not forgotten it.
It never happened again, only on this day. Jesus does know each of us and what we need.

Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

So Granny told it. “Once upon a time there was a very good little boy. His daddy took him in the car to see his granny. When they got to Granny’s house. Daddy stopped the car in the driveway. He smoothed Jeff’s hair and tucked Jeff’s shirttail in. ‘Be a good boy,’ Daddy said.
“Jeff climbed out of the car and waved good-bye to Daddy. Then Jeff rang Granny’s doorbell.
“When Granny opened the door, she pretended that she didn’t know him. ‘Good morning,’ Granny said. ‘Are you selling something? I don’t think I need anything today.’
“Jeff began to giggle. ‘Don’t you need a good little boy?’
“Granny made her face look surprised. ‘How did you know? That’s the only thing that I need.’
“Jeff laughed out loud. ‘I’m just what you need!’ he said.”

The Young Women and mothers from the San Antonio Eighth Ward, San Antonio Texas Stake, took a step back into time to the days of the Old West. The group scheduled an overnight outing to a reconstructed western town complete with covered wagons and a jail. After the girls cooked dinner for their mothers, they had a special campfire meeting. The following day, they combined a nature study with a service project to clean up the area. Competition in camping skills between mother-daughter teams added to the fun. The outing concluded with a trail ride. Both girls and mothers found that they had come to know each other a little better.

Emma Whitney’s life was completely different to what it became as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Twenty years old, living in Scunthorpe, England, Emma describes her life before discovering the Church as full of drink, drugs, partying, toxic friends, no respect for herself, little education, and challenges to her mental health.
Learning and understanding God’s words has always been a desire for Emma. One life-changing experience brought Emma to her knees; pouring her heart out in prayer led to an answer a few weeks later, by accepting a request to participate in a Bible study class with full-time Church missionaries. Understanding the words of the Bible has been a struggle for Emma; on the other hand, she says, “Even though the words are old English words, I understand the Book of Mormon clearly.”
Scripture study and prayer are factors that enable Emma to stay strong and to say no to situations that she deems would be bad for her. Inspiration which led Emma to change her ways and join the Church, was understanding that she could turn over a new leaf and all would be forgiven. Therefore, after five weeks of investigating the Church, Emma was baptised on the fifth of May 2021.
In 2022, clean from drugs and alcohol, surrounded by good friends, a good relationship, good family relationships, and studying the subject of communications using the online BYU-Pathway programme, Emma says she is genuinely happy and strengthened. Dealing with her past has been easier for her as she talks about the importance of looking after her body, “I was just abusing my body in every way you could think of. I’ve come to realise that to take pride in our bodies is a gift from God.”
Follow Emma’s journey at lds.scripturestudy on Instagram.

During the message I delivered at general conference in October 1975, I felt prompted to direct my remarks to a little girl with long blonde hair who was seated in the balcony of this building. I called the attention of the audience to her and felt a freedom of expression which testified to me that this small girl needed the message I had in mind concerning the faith of another young lady.
At the conclusion of the session, I returned to my office and found waiting for me a young child by the name of Misti White, together with her grandparents and an aunt. As I greeted them, I recognized Misti as the one in the balcony to whom I had directed my remarks. I learned that as her eighth birthday approached, she was in a quandary concerning whether or not to be baptized. She felt she would like to be baptized, and her grandparents, with whom she lived, wanted her to be baptized, but her less-active mother suggested she wait until she was 18 years of age to make the decision. Misti had told her grandparents, “If we go to conference in Salt Lake City, maybe Heavenly Father will let me know what I should do.”
Misti and her grandparents and her aunt had traveled from California to Salt Lake City for conference and were able to obtain seats in the Tabernacle for the Saturday afternoon session. This was where they were seated when my attention was drawn to Misti and my decision made to speak to her.
As we continued our visit after the session, Misti’s grandmother said to me, “I think Misti has something she would like to tell you.” This sweet young girl said, “Brother Monson, while you were speaking in conference, you answered my question. I want to be baptized!”
The family returned to California, and Misti was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through all the years since, Misti has remained true and faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Fourteen years ago, it was my privilege to perform her temple marriage to a fine young man, and together they are rearing five beautiful children, with another one on the way.

“I’ve swum twenty laps already, and I just can’t go another one.” Susan shouted to her swimming coach, who was standing near the edge of the pool.
“Yes, you can!” Coach Andersen encouraged confidently. “You’re good for at least four more laps.”
Susan looked up at the tall thin man and wondered why he expected so much of her.
“Four more!” the coach shouted. “And watch that kick. Your rhythm is off.”
Susan pushed off from the bank feeling discouraged and wanting to cry. Carefully she cupped her hands and pulled at the water.
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted over and over to herself as she kicked and then rhythmically fit her windmill-like arms into the pattern. Slowly but smoothly she glided over the water. Her arms and legs ached and her lungs gasped for air as her head turned in and out of the water.
Susan touched the edge and then sprung backward and began the backstroke. Once more she glided gracefully over the water.
As she neared the edge, she wished she could stop, but even in the water she could hear Coach Andersen’s voice calling from the deck, “Two more laps. You’re looking good, but don’t get lazy with those arms. Pull, pull!”
Susan turned on her stomach again and did one more lap freestyle and then tried another lap on her back. Her muscles were so tired she wondered how she could make it.
“The last lap! This is the last lap!” she kept telling herself as she moved through the water. She felt a smile cross her lips as she finished.
“That was pretty good,” Coach Andersen said without smiling. “We’ll have a short workout tomorrow, and then you’ll be ready for the swimming meet on Saturday. Remember what you can eat and what you can’t, and get to bed early tonight and tomorrow night.”
Slowly Susan crawled out of the pool. For a while she sat on the edge dangling her feet in the water and breathing fast to catch her breath.
Is all this worth it? she wondered. Or am I going to all this trouble and work for nothing?
Then she looked down at the pool and her thoughts changed. “This time I’m going to win!” she whispered. “Every time I practice and every time I lose, I learn something. I can’t give up now. I’m going to win!”
She grabbed her towel and sweatshirt and went in the dressing room to change her clothes.
Within fifteen minutes she was on the bus going home. By now her tired muscles were beginning to feel better.
At the first stop a girl about her age got on the bus. Susan watched as the girl walked down the aisle and then stopped next to her seat.
“Hi,” the girl said. “May I sit here?”
“Sure,” Susan replied.
“My name is Rachel Ann Moyle,” the girl said as she sat down.
“I’m Susan Thomas,” Susan replied.
“I’m going to visit my grandmother,” Rachel Ann said. Then she opened a small sack and pulled out two chocolate bars. “Would you like some candy?” she asked.
Susan looked longingly at the candy. She loved chocolate, but the coach’s rules kept ringing in her ears, “Don’t eat empty calories. Eat high protein foods.”
She looked once more at the candy bar and her mouth began to water. “I’d better not,” Susan finally said reluctantly, “but thanks anyway.”
“Come on,” Rachel Ann urged. “I’ll feel silly eating if you don’t.”
Susan looked once more at the candy. Then she remembered her tired muscles and all the work she had done so she could win.
“No, thank you,” she said very firmly. “I really wouldn’t care for any. But you go ahead. I don’t mind.”
During the next two days Susan’s thoughts alternated between discouragement and excitement. But as she climbed onto the starting block Saturday afternoon, she felt only a determination to win.
The starter’s voice called out, “Judges ready?”
Eight hands at the ends of the pool signaled readiness, and the voice instructed, “Swimmers, take your mark.”
Susan stepped up and curled her toes around the edge of the starting block.
“Get set,” the starter shouted.
Susan poised herself to make the starting dive.
Bang! The gun rang out and the eight swimmers flew off the blocks.
One girl led the way, with Susan a little behind her and a girl in the next lane just a little farther back.
Susan pulled and kicked down the first lap. As she made the turn, the girl in the next lane caught up with her so Susan let go with all her strength. Halfway down the lap she started gaining on the leader. The two girls swam neck and neck.
When Susan could tell she was starting to fall behind, she pushed herself even more. She felt as if she would burst, but the extra push was just enough. She finished two-tenths of a second before the other girl!
Coach Andersen ran over to help Susan out of the pool. His face was one big smile.
“Congratulations!” he said. “I knew you had what it takes.”
Susan gasped for breath. Her muscles ached, but she had never felt so good.
“Thanks, coach,” she whispered between breaths. “I owe it all to you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re the only one who can win. I’ve helped a little, but you’re the swimmer!”
While Susan was getting dressed, she thought about what Coach Andersen had said. Lots of people are willing to help me, but it’s up to me to help myself too, she decided with a smile.

Carlitos wiped the tears from his eyes. His mamá had been sick for many months. At last Papá had convinced her to go to the city, many kilometers from their small village in Chile, and see a doctor. After many tests, the doctor said that Carlitos’s mamá had cancer.
Mamá refused to feel sorry for herself. “I still have much to do,” she said.
One day, two young norteamericanos (North Americans) appeared at the door of their small home. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” one said in halting Spanish.
Mamá listened intently and occasionally asked questions. She accepted the young men’s message immediately. “It is the truth,” she said.
Despite the disease that caused her much pain, Mamá was determined to be baptized and confirmed.
On Saturday morning the family traveled to the small meetinghouse where Elder Metzer baptized her. She shivered as she stepped from the baptismal font.
“Mamá, you are cold,” Carlitos said and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You must go home and get warm.”
Mamá shook her head. “It is not enough. I will stay until I am confirmed. How can I be cold when the gospel warms me?” She was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Mamá was not content with just that. She was determined that Papá and Carlitos learn of the restored gospel as she had. “If you will pray, you will know the truth of which the missionaries speak,” she told them.
The elders taught them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Papá would have to give up his cigarettes. Carlitos listened to the elders’ teachings and felt peace wrap around his heart. He began to understand the warmth that Mamá had described.
Within a month Papá had stopped smoking. Shortly afterward both Papá and Carlitos were baptized and confirmed. A few weeks later Papá received the Aaronic Priesthood. Carlitos would have to wait three more years before he could receive the priesthood.
Mamá was very weak, but she always managed to go to church and visit those in the village who were sick.
“We are members of God’s Church, but it is not enough,” Mamá told Papá and Carlitos one night.
“What must we do now?” Carlitos asked. He loved learning about the gospel and wanted to live it in every way.
“We must be sealed in the temple,” Mamá said.
The temple in Santiago was the closest one to their home. But they did not have enough money to travel there. Any extra money Papá earned went to buy medicine for Mamá.
So Mamá started a temple jar. She placed it by the door. The coins she collected grew until the family had enough money to make the trip. In the temple their family was sealed for time and all eternity.
Mamá glowed with happiness. “It is enough,” she said.

Julischka doesn’t just show her testimony—she talks about it. If friends don’t know which church she belongs to, they soon find out! “She isn’t afraid to talk about the gospel,” her dad says. “One day she came home sad because she’d had a discussion with a boy at school. He didn’t believe in Jesus.” Julischka bore her testimony to him and encouraged him to believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God.

Our parents hadn’t encouraged us to go. They said it was too early to be climbing in Echo Canyon, that we should “wait until spring was really here.” But the winter had been long and cold, we were 16, and we couldn’t wait any longer. Though it was just mid-March, the invitation from the brilliant sun light and the soaring temperatures could not be turned down.
Glenn, Marvin, John, and I settled into Glenn’s Chevy Bel Air. We didn’t relax much in the car for the ten minutes or so it took us to drive to Echo Canyon.
I climbed out of the back seat, stretched, and looked up at the rock formations surrounding us. The prehistoric waters of Lake Bonneville once covered this area, and the currents had eroded the cliffs and pinnacles into exotic shapes. Now the almost continual wind worked on the job of rock carving. Its blasts had slashed grotesque caves and chutes and chambers into the sandstone and shale walls. Echo Canyon was a place of eerie beauty.
In our years of going to Echo Canyon, we never climbed up any of the “real” cliffs. We didn’t have the equipment or experience for that. But several times each summer we tried our strength against the intermixed “almost” cliffs—they were close enough to being straight up and down to suit us fine.
We settled down to climb one of the major “almost” cliffs that glowered down on the main canyon and spent almost an hour getting to the top. Our ascents—though requiring more endurance than skill—were always marked by caution. Even though nature had already gouged hundreds of hand and foot holds out of the rock, it was a long way to the bottom for a foolhardy climber.
The view from the top, though familiar, was invigorating. From the valley floor, the blue sky seemed to arch overhead. Here on top, we were in the sky, a part of it. Climbing today was more than an adventure—it was a celebration of the radiance of the sun, a celebration of our youth and vitality—a celebration of life.
Going down the “cliff” took longer than climbing it did. Between us and the car, still almost a quarter of a mile below us, was a rock slide. Since we had run down similar slides on earlier trips, we knew that we could throw caution away and rashly blast down the hill without much danger of a twisted ankle or a small avalanche of cascading rock, as long as we ran without stopping.
We scattered out along the top side of the immense slide, littered with tons of shale and sand stone, threw our hands high in the air, whooped and screamed, and started running for the car. We were cheered by our own echoing voices as the sliding rocks and our churning legs started us down the hill.
One of the best parts of these lunatic runs was jumping over any sagebrush we could find. We purposely headed for any of the sparsely-spaced bushes that punctuated the shale for the incredible ecstasy of soaring over them. The momentum of our bodies would carry us over them with hardly any effort. I would feel like a lunar astronaut, bounding into the air against gravity, landing—still running—below the bushes I hurdled.
Halfway down the slide, I headed for a grand sagebrush. It was almost three feet higher than any other I had seen on the slope, and I knew I could jump it with dramatic speed. As I approached it, I calculated how I would maintain my balance—and speed—as I landed on the other side of it.
As I hit my final approach, my energy seemed electrified, yet I was in absolute control. Just before I jumped, a voice in my mind commanded, “Stop! Stop right now!”
There was no time to consider the source of the voice—I just felt impelled to stop. My legs stopped churning and dug into the shale like anchors. I leaned backwards and skidded to a stop in a shower of stones.
As the dust swirled around me, I felt foolish. My friends were still running, oblivious of me in their own descent. I lay there on the sharp rocks on the uphill side of the bush, catching my breath, wondering how long it would be until inevitable scrapes and bruises from the rock would start to sting my currently numbed body.
Some of the retinue of rocks I had loosened as I ran down the hill caught up with me and rocketed through the sagebrush and on down the slope. Then I heard the buzzing—fierce and steady. There was a rattlesnake somewhere close!
My breath stopped momentarily with fear. We all knew that a few rattlesnakes showed up here and there in our area, but not here in Echo Canyon! I wondered what I should do and warily looked around, being careful to not move anything but my eyes. I couldn’t see anything.
I listened intently to the buzzing and determined that it was coming from the downhill side of the bush. I slowly got to my feet and skirted the sage, keeping back from the sound, until I could see the downhill side clearly.
Until interrupted by me and my rocks, a big rattler had been sunning itself in the shale. Now it was coiled to strike—its defiant head was matched by its angry tail. I watched it for several minutes until it uncoiled and slid back into the security of the bush. It was a diamondback, at least three feet long. At its thickest part, its brown and gray body was as big around as a baseball.
I felt no anger for the snake. I had disturbed it; it hadn’t sought me out. The unusual warmth of the last few days had undoubtedly brought it prematurely out of hibernation. Its venom would be a thick concentrate, incredibly potent after not being used for killing prey during the winter months of hibernation. If I had jumped the bush, I would have landed inches away from its fangs. My heart was still beating like primitive drums from my downhill exertion and my astonishment. This rapid heartbeat would have scattered the poison throughout my body in a few seconds. My only chance for survival came in the voice: “Stop! Stop right now!”
I was overwhelmed as I realized, with a startling and clear perspective, that God was aware of me as an individual. He really was a Heavenly Father—and he knew Layne Dearden, one of his sons. He knew what I was doing on that March afternoon. And he knew that my careless exuberance would end my life unless he helped.
That day was more of a celebration of life than I ever imagined it could be, even when I had stood at the top of the cliff. I basked in the warmth of my Father’s love as I slowly walked down the remaining shale slope.

When I was a boy, childhood diseases appeared regularly in every community. When someone had chicken pox or measles or mumps, the health officer would visit the home and place a quarantine sign on the porch or in the window to warn everyone to stay away. In a large family like ours, those diseases would visit by relay, one child getting it from another, so the sign might stay up for weeks.
We could not blockade ourselves inside our homes or stay hidden away to avoid those terrible contagions. We had to go to school, to employment, to church—to life!
Two of my sisters were stricken with very severe cases of measles. At first they seemed to recover. A few weeks later Mother glanced out of the window and saw Adele, the younger of the two, leaning against a swing. She was faint and weak with a fever. It was rheumatic fever! It came as a complication from measles. The other sister also had the fever.
There was little that could be done. In spite of all of the prayers of my parents, Adele died. She was eight years old.
While Nona, two years older, recovered, she had fragile health for most of her life.