In my scriptures, beside the 15^th verse of Alma chapter 41 I have written “Law of the Boomerang”.  The name of the law is mine, but the principle it illustrates is laced throughout the scriptures.

Alma 41:15 says, “For that which ye do send out shall return unto you again, and be restored…”

Helaman 14:31 says, “He hath given unto you that ye might know good from evil, and he hath given unto you that ye might choose life or death; and ye can do good and…have that which is good restored unto you; or ye can do evil, and have that which is evil restored unto you.”

Ecclesiastes 11:1 states the Law of the Boomerang most concisely:  “Cast thy bread upon the waters:  for thou shalt find it after many days.”

Someone altered that verse, and, I think, improved upon it.  He said, “Cast thy bread upon the waters:  and it will return unto you—buttered.”

For example:

In the histories written of the Martin Handcart Company can be found the story of George Harrison.  George was 14 years old when he set off across the plains with his parents and 6 siblings, ranging in age from 18-year-old Aaron, down to 5-month-old Sarah Ellen.

At Fort Laramie the handcart pioneers expected to be able to replenish their supplies, but since Church leaders were expecting no more emigrant companies so late in the season, the supplies weren’t there.  Rationing of the meager supplies that the company had was put into place.

At this point 18-year-old Aaron decided to make a sacrifice for the good of the family.  He would stay at Ft. Laramie and join the army.  He and a few other young men made this sacrifice to free up some food for the rest of the company.

Fourteen-year-old George trudged on ahead with the family.  As they weakened, George’s father told the family to put on their best clothes, and then they’d burn the rest so as to lighten their load.  As George’s father went through George’s pockets before throwing the clothes on the fire, he found a piece of rawhide from which George had burned the hair, and upon which he’d been chewing.  He said, “Aye, lad has it come to this?”

George made a decision right there.  He was not going any farther.  He slipped away into the willows that bordered the creek and hid.  When the handcart company moved on, George considered what to do.  He was weak and dazed.  He might make it back to his brother, Aaron, at Ft. Laramie, but remembered a camp of Indians about a mile back.  He knew that if he went ahead with the company he would starve.  He decided to take his chances with the savages.

In his own words:  “When I lifted the flap of the teepee, I found an Indian family inside.  There was the mother with half a dozen papooses of various sizes.  They all stared at me in open mouth astonishment.  An iron kettle was on the coals of a fire in the center of the tepee.  Something was cooking inside of it.  Pointing to the kettle I pleaded, ‘Give me some, give me some.’  The Indian mother understood.  She looked at me pitifully as she took a tin plate and fork and heaped the plate up with boiled buffalo meat.  I began to eat ravenously.  When I had finished the last mouthful, I reached the plate out saying ‘give me some more.’  ‘Oh,’ exclaimed the red mother, with a touch of sympathy in her tone.  She heaped my plate the second time and I devoured the meat just as hungrily as before.  I was simply famished.

“When the kind woman motioned for me to go, I turned to obey her.  I swooned and fell headlong on a pile of buffalo robes in the tent.  This Indian was married to a French trader.  When he came in and saw me, he said something to the Indian mother in Sioux Language and they went away.  I remained in the tepee and rested, while my meal began to digest.  It is really a wonder I am alive to tell about it now.  If I had not had a strong stomach I certainly should have died.  As it was, I was ill from over eating.

“Next day my poor old father came trudging back to find his lost boy.  Until the company went into camp that night no one had missed me.  When I did not show up, mother was frantic.  Father was overjoyed to find me, but when it came to taking me on with him, new difficulties arose.  I was so thin and weak I could hardly stand up.  [The Indians nicknamed George ‘White Skeleton.’]  I was in no condition to make the difficult journey.

“The French trader came to my rescue.  ‘Why don’t you leave that boy here with the Indians?’ he asked.  ‘He will be much better off than to try to make that hard trip over the mountains with next to nothing to eat.  That would simply be the death of him.’  ‘But his mother will go wild,’ said Father.  ‘I cannot leave the lad here.’  ‘Well, you can’t take him,’ said the mountaineer.  ‘He can’t walk.’  ‘I’ll carry him,’ said Father.  ‘Oh, come now, old man.  Be sensible.  You can hardly carry yourself.  Leave here.  The Indians will treat him alright, and next spring he can go on with some other emigrant train.’

“Father was forced to acknowledge the wisdom of the mountain man’s advice.  It almost broke his heart to leave me.  Then after giving me some fatherly counsel and his blessing, he went trudging along the lonely trail to overtake the handcart train now a day or two ahead of him.  I was left ill and alone among the Indians.  They were all very kind to me.  I remained among the Indians fourteen months and learned to speak their language fluently….

“Spring (came) and our Indian band (broke) camp for a trip to a trading post.  We (went to Fort Laramie).  Johnston’s Army was camped there.  They were on their way to Utah to subdue the Mormons.  When some of the men from the Army saw that I was a white boy, they wanted to know why I was with the Indians.  I told them the whole story.  Then they said they must take me to my parents.  They then went and talked to my foster mother.  She cried and did not want me to go.  That night I remained with the Indians.  The next morning I obtained permission to visit the Army post.  There, of course, I found my brother, Aaron.  What a surprise I gave him and what a joyous visit we had that evening….

“A few days later with their trading done, the Indian band took the trail westward to spend the summer in the mountains.  I tried not to show how happy I was when I carried the word to my red mother that I was going with the Army and would have a job helping the cook, for which I would receive pay.  She felt very bad that I was leaving them and the papooses all cried….

“Sometime in March of 1858, the commander at Fort Laramie was ordered to go to Fort Bridger and [was] halted at Jim Bridger’s old trading post.  When we finally reached horseshoe Bend, I happened to see a camp of Indians.  Thinking they might be my old friends I went over to their tepees.  Sure enough, it was my red mother and family.  The French father was not with them.  He had gone out after game.

“All were delighted to see me.  The papooses hugged my legs and danced with glee.  But my Indian mother was troubled.  Finally she told me they were without food.  This nearly broke me up.  I remembered vividly how she shared with me when I first came to her tepee.  ‘I’ll do what I can for you,’ I promised, and away I went to the Army camp.  I said to the commanding officer, ‘There’s an Indian family across the creek, starving, and it is the one who saved my life when I was nigh unto death’s door and now I want to help them with some food.’  But the officer said, ‘I don’t think I can do a thing for you, although I am sorry boy,’ he said.  ‘As you know we have been put on rations.’  ‘But I must have some food for them.  I can’t see these dear friends starve.  Won’t you please get the quartermaster to let me have some food and take the money out of my wages to pay for it?’  ‘It’s no question of money,’ he replied.  ‘You could have it in a minute, if there was food to spare.  I’m afraid it won’t do any good.’  With that I began to cry bitterly.  ‘Here, here,’ he said, ‘hold on now, Georgie, I’ll do my best for you.’  Over he went to the quartermaster’s tent.  How he got it I never learned, but pretty soon he came back with a sack full of supplies, bacon, flour, beans and some sugar.  I thanked him with all my heart and struck straight for the Indian camp.  I received as much as I could carry on my back…You never saw happier, more grateful people than those red friends of mine, with their little gift.  But they were not nearly so happy as I was to be able to give it to them.  It was small pay for all they had done for me.

“Then I told my Indian mother it was time for me to go.  When I bade them goodbye the papooses cried again and begged me to stay.  Their mother showed her appreciation by giving me a fine pair of beaded moccasins.  That was the last I ever saw of these dear Indian friends.  But I have kept them close to my heart through all the years.”  (Tell My Story, Too, Jolene S. Allphin, pgs. 203-4).

George and Aaron were both reunited with their family in Zion, all of whom survived the trek, and lived long, happy lives among the Saints.

Another example:  Note that two men in the following story cast their bread upon the waters.  One came back very buttered.  The other was moldy and rotten when it was cast, and that’s what the man received in return.

Brother Thamas, was a thin elderly man, who had recently been baptized and had no family.  “His Spanish, although understandable, was a mixture of Portuguese, French, German, English, and his native Hungarian.  In brief conversations with those members who tried to fellowship him, he spoke of faraway Hungary.

“One day the bishop asked him to speak for a few minutes in sacrament meeting.  He was surprised but accepted.  We too were surprised to hear his name announced.  We prepared ourselves for a brief and simple testimony.

“But once he stood at the pulpit, this brother’s appearance was transformed in a most remarkable manner, and he immediately captured our attention.  His posture became erect, almost military, although he wore no uniform or medals.  His manner was that of a soldier—old, but proud.  Slowly but confidently he began his compelling story.

“During World War II he had served in an infantry battalion in an area where constant combat covered the earth with blood, pain, and death.  His squad was commanded by a sergeant who had earned the hatred of his men through extraordinary harshness.  One terrible night a mortar shell exploded not far from the sergeant, critically wounding him.  The commanding officer stopped a dilapidated truck that often passed by to pick up the wounded and dying and take them behind the lines to be cared for or buried.

“The squad watched the fate of their dying leader from a distance.  Not one went to help him.  The officer asked for a volunteer to carry the man to the truck and accompany him behind the lines.  No one volunteered.

“Then, after something of a pause, Brother Thamas stepped forward.  ‘Moved by compassion,’ he told us, ‘I decided to carry the unfortunate fellow and go with him on his trip.  I took care of him the best I could during his long and painful ride.

‘I returned later in search of my squad.  When I reached the front, I learned that fierce bombardment had wiped out a large number of men on the awful night of my departure.  Not one man from my squad had survived apart from myself.  And then I understood.  I thanked God for having moved me to compassion.  He saved my life and gave me a chance to hear the restored gospel.’”  (Juan Aldo Leone, The Ensign, October 2005, pp. 66-67).