Gospel Story Finder

Toby curled himself around his mother’s feet on the kitchen floor and began to purr. “Look, Mommy! I’m a kitty,” he said.
Mommy stirred sugar and salt into a big bowl of hot milk on the table and smiled. “Oh, you’re a kitty, are you?” She bent over and patted his head. Toby gave a contented meow. The yeast in a cup with warm water had risen to the top in a bubbly foam. Mommy tested the milk to make sure that it was cool enough, then poured the yeast and a small amount of oil into the bowl.
When Mommy pulled her feet out from under Toby and went to the cupboard for the sifter, Toby slithered up onto a kitchen chair. “Look, Mommy! I’m a snake,” he hissed. He weaved and bobbed as he watched her mix the fine brown flour into the liquid in the bowl. When the dough became stiff enough to handle, Mommy dumped it onto the clean, flour-dusted table and began to knead it with her hands. Toby loved to watch this part, and he flicked his tongue and rattled his tail as he watched.
Next, Mommy put the dough back into the bowl and covered it with a red-checkered cloth. “Time to feed the baby, Mr. Snake,” she told Toby, and they went into the baby’s room. Mommy sat in the rocking chair and softly hummed as she fed Toby’s baby sister.
Toby sat on the floor and practiced wiggling his nose. “Look, Mommy! I’m a mouse,” he squeaked, and the big rocking chair creaked back at him.
“Can you be a very quiet mouse so the baby can go to sleep?” Mommy asked.
Toby nodded and decided to become a mouse statue. He held very still and tried not to squeak or wiggle as Mommy gently laid the baby in the crib and tucked the soft blankets around her. Toby and Mommy tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door.
“Look, Mommy! I’m a bunny,” Toby said with a little hop. As he hopped into the kitchen, he noticed that the dough had rounded up over the top of the bowl and was peeking out from under the cloth. Mommy tipped the dough out onto the table and punched it down, working it between her hands and the table. Toby’s bunny ears pricked up, and he giggled as the bubbles in the dough popped and burped at him.
When the dough was smooth and round, Mommy cut it into four parts and shaped each part into a loaf. She put them into pans and set them on the stove to rise again.
Toby hopped into his bedroom, and when he came out again, he had his white blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Look, Mommy! I’m an angel,” he said, pulling his angel robe more tightly around himself.
“It’s naptime for all sleepy little angels,” Mommy said. Toby reverently floated into his room and onto his bed. Mommy kissed his cheek and tucked his angel robe up under his chin. Toby laid his head on a fluffy cloud pillow and drifted off to sleep.
When he woke up, a wonderful smell was tickling his nose. He jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. Four golden brown loaves of bread were sitting on racks on the kitchen table. Toby watched as Mommy sliced a big piece off the end of one loaf. She spread butter and honey over the warm slice of bread and handed it to Toby.
“Look, Mommy! I’m a little boy, now,” Toby said as he took a big bite. “I’m glad Heavenly Father sent you to be my little boy,” Mommy said.
Toby licked the melted honey and butter that ran down his fingers. “Me, too!” he said happily.

For example, last November, Typhoon Haiyan hit the island nation of the Philippines.
A Category 5 super typhoon, Haiyan left in its wake extensive destruction and suffering. Complete cities were destroyed; many lives were lost; millions of homes were severely damaged or destroyed; and basic services such as water, sewer, and electricity ceased functioning.
Church resources were made available in the very early hours following this disaster. Church members living in the Philippines rallied to the rescue of their brothers and sisters by providing food, water, clothing, and hygiene kits to members and nonmembers alike.
Church meetinghouses became places of refuge to thousands of the homeless. Under the leadership of the Area Presidency and local priesthood leaders, many of whom had lost everything they had, assessments were made as to the condition and safety of all members. Inspired plans began to take shape to help restore members to acceptable living conditions and self-reliance.
Modest resources were provided to help Church members rebuild their wood-frame shelters and homes. This was not just a free handout. Members received training and performed the needed labor for themselves and then for others.
One resulting blessing was that as members developed carpentry, plumbing, and other construction skills, they were able to secure meaningful work opportunities as nearby cities and communities began rebuilding.

During the summer of 1996, our family hosted two musicians from a Russian folk-dance group. I had recently given my husband a subscription to the Liahona (Russian), and one morning, one of our guests started to look through the June 1996 issue. He got out his reading glasses and closely studied a particular page. Then he shared that page with our other Russian guest. I learned later that the item in the magazine that had caused such great interest was “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” issued by the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve Apostles.
At the end of the week, as they prepared to leave, our guests asked for only one souvenir—the magazine with the family proclamation in it. We gladly gave it to them—hopefully along with good experiences with our own family.
Victoria Morris,Bountiful 41st Ward, Bountiful Utah Heights Stake

Several years ago a young man was caught in a serious act of theft. He was taken to jail. His parents were shocked and embarassed. They assured him that he didn’t need to worry because they had “influence” with people in high positions and were sure they could get him released. Their bishop, though well-meaning, told the boy that he would do all in his power to see that a good boy like him did not have to pay for his crime. The boy finally got angry and said: “Can’t you see what you are doing to me? I am guilty. If you get me released without punishment, you will force me to carry the burden of guilt all the days of my life. Please let me pay for my wrongdoing so that I might eventually be set free from guilt.”
Few gifts are more desirable than a clear conscience—a soul at peace with itself. Only the power of our Savior Jesus Christ can heal a troubled soul. But if we want him to heal us, we must follow the procedure he has given to us.

Lori Ransom, a 16-year-old Idaho girl, recently won first place nationally in the American Legion Auxiliary Americanism contest.
Lori’s essay placed first in the senior division in Pocatello, went on to win in the state, and was then entered in the national competition. She was flown to Seattle, Washington, on August 22, 1976, to attend the Legion’s national convention where she read her essay to 2,000 women representing every state. Her essay was geared to the question “Is Americanism in danger of extinction? How may I preserve my heritage?”
Winning essay contests is not a new experience for Lori. She was first in the local Americanism contest in both the fifth and seventh grades. Lori has also won two state awards in French competition.
Lori is secretary of her Laurel class, organist for the junior Primary, and is a third-year seminary student. She does a lot of artwork for her ward and for Highland High School (Pocatello, Idaho).

I was introduced to the Church in the beginning of 2018. I loved learning from the missionaries, and when they told me about the importance of family history and temple work, I wasn’t surprised. I already knew that there was something important about learning about and serving family members who had gone before.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained:
“Family history and temple work is not only for the dead but blesses the living as well. …
“… This is far more than an encouraged hobby, because the ordinances of salvation are necessary for all of God’s children.”1
In hearing this, I was excited to keep learning about the gospel and to eventually do temple work for my ancestors and connect with them more.
On November 1, 2018, my family and I visited my grandma’s memorial. I had known her well all my life, and I missed her since she had passed away. I was still learning about the Church at the time, and I was pretty positive that my grandma would have disagreed with and discouraged my interest in the Church if she were alive. She had been very traditional in her religion.
So I was surprised when, while standing in front of her grave and praying for her, I got the distinct impression that she already knew the truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt that she was proud of me because I had the opportunity to live my life according to the Savior’s example.
I was stunned.
The missionaries had recently taught me that those who are on the other side of the veil have opportunities to learn about the gospel if they didn’t have a chance to learn about it on the earth (see Doctrine and Covenants 138:22–24). Somehow I knew my grandma had been taught these truths and was ready to accept the gospel. I knew she needed my help to get her temple work done.
And to do that work, I needed to get baptized myself.
I had been contemplating if I truly wanted to become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ for a while. And it was this experience at my grandma’s grave that led me to finally set up a baptismal date with the missionaries.

When Henry arrived in Utah, he couldn’t read or write, but he learned very quickly. Brigham, as Henry was now called, helped to support his family by farming, herding cattle, training horses, prospecting, mining, and blacksmithing. One night he and a friend shot a 550-pound (250-kg) grizzly bear. They sold the hide, and Brigham used his share of the money to help pay for his education at the University of Deseret (now the University of Utah). He finished his two-year course of study in one year, graduating in 1878 at the head of his class.

“How did I get stuck with such a duck!” San Fai muttered in frustration.
As usual, the duck was upside down in the rice pond. Wiggling above the water’s surface was the duck’s red-feathered rump. Underneath the water, his long neck and beak searched eagerly for a better minnow to swallow than the last one.
San Fai’s seventeen plain brown ducks had swum obediently to the edge of the rice paddies the moment he’d held up his pole topped with a few bits of colored cloth. Each afternoon hundreds of brown ducks had waddled out of the rice fields as farmers waved homemade flagpoles. Every duck knew its own flag.
Now the sun was sinking low over the green rice fields, and there was only one duck left in the middle of the paddies—the duck with the red rump was still bottom up in the muddy water! San Fai lowered his head in embarrassment as farmers carrying their poles filed down the dirt lane. Their ducks marched like little armies behind them. The boy looked at his own seventeen quacking ducks. San Fai’s family was poor; his “army” was small, indeed.
“It looks like Red Wiggle is still out there, as usual,” guffawed one farmer as he passed by. “I’ve never seen such a duck. You’d think he’d drown, with his head underwater all the time.”
“I guess I’d better go round him up,” mumbled San Fai.
“If I were you, I’d just leave him there,” the farmer twitted the boy. “He isn’t worth the bother. That bird doesn’t have a bit of sense.”
“I wouldn’t leave Red Wiggle even if I had as many ducks as he does,” San Fai murmured to himself as the farmer strode on, followed by nearly a hundred ducks.
San Fai shrunk down as another farmer, Chan Sou, marched toward him with a legion of ducks. Chan Sou was the richest of all the rice farmers. He was also a bully, and all the other farmers avoided him. As he came near, Chan Sou poked San Fai and chortled, “Why don’t you give up rice farming. All you do is chase that funny duck of yours. He doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down.” Chan Sou cackled with laughter, and he and his ducks strutted on down the lane.
San Fai sloshed down the muddy row of rice toward Red Wiggle. Sometimes he was tempted to let the duck stay in the rice field. Yet whenever he left his other, obedient, brown ducks in the lane to go after his unruly duck, San Fai felt like the shepherd in Jesus’ parable that his mother read to him from the book of Luke.* If that shepherd could leave ninety-nine sheep to search for one sheep, San Fai could not abandon one duck in the rice paddy.
The next day was the hottest in many weeks. Sweat poured down San Fai’s face as he leaned on a stick and weeded expertly between the rice stocks with his limber toes. Even the mud and water crawling up his legs didn’t alleviate the heat. And the ducks, which usually paddled tirelessly through the rice paddies, seemed listless today. Some farmers had umbrellas to shield themselves from the hot sun, but San Fai always let his mother use their family’s only umbrella.
San Fai was relieved when the sun began setting over the vast fields of rice. He waded to the edge of the rice paddy and pulled his homemade flag out of the ground to signal his ducks. Soon he was surrounded by quacking ducks. He counted them routinely under his breath. “… seventeen, eighteen—they’re all here!” Then he looked again. There was no red duck among all the brown ones. There were eighteen ducks, but Red Wiggle was not one of them. He wondered where the extra duck had come from.
As the boy squinted across the rice paddies into the orange sun, trying to spot his duck, he heard a gruff voice behind him. It was Chan Sou. “There’s no use looking for your red bird. You’re not going to find him. While I was plowing in the far field today, your duck was tail up, as usual, and my water buffalo kicked him. Now you’re rid of him for good.”
San Fai’s eyes bulged with anger. He gritted his teeth and wanted to hit Chan Sou. He tried to tell himself that it was just an accident, but he knew that Chan Sou could have done something to avoid it. He knew, too, that Chan Sou didn’t care if Red Wiggle was dead.
All the way home, with his flock of ducks parading behind him, San Fai wished that he could still see Red Wiggle upside down in the rice paddies. He would never complain again if only he could wade out to get the unruly duck each evening. …
When San Fai reached his family’s dusty yard, the mud-washed pig grunted in disgust as the noisy ducks waddled past him. One duck paused in confusion. San Fai looked down at it. He winced as he recognized whom this stray duck belonged to. Now he remembered counting eighteen all-brown ducks.
San Fai fiddled with the bowl of rice his mother set before him at dinner. She said, “I know that you’re sad about Red Wiggle, but you need your rice to keep healthy.”
San Fai gulped down a few mouthfuls of rice, then stood up. “I have to go to Chan Sou’s tonight. One of his ducks strayed home with ours, and I must take it back.” He hoped that his mother would say that he shouldn’t bother, that Chan Sou would never miss one duck. But his mother didn’t say a word.
When San Fai knocked on Chan Sou’s door, he nervously removed the wiggling duck from a bag. Chan Sou opened the door a few inches and peered out. “What do you want?” He growled.
San Fai stammered, “One—one of your ducks strayed home with mine. I brought it back.”
“Umpf,” grunted Chan Sou. “I thought that I didn’t have all my ducks when I came home tonight. Are you sure that you didn’t lure this duck home with you to replace that worthless duck of yours?”
“No, sir!” San Fai replied indignantly.
“Well, set him down. He’ll wander back in with the rest of my ducks. Just don’t let it happen again!” Chan Sou slammed the door.
San Fai walked dejectedly home in the moonlight. His mother was waiting at the door for him. San Fai cast his eyes down and neither said anything for a few minutes. They listened to the pig grunting and the chickens clucking in their sleep.
San Fai shuffled uneasily. “You know, Mother, as I was walking over there, I was secretly hoping that he would say that I might keep the duck, that he had more ducks than he knew what to do with. I thought that since I was doing the right thing, Heavenly Father would bless me for it that way.”
His mother smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad that you did the right thing and took the duck back. Eventually we are always blessed for everything that we do right. But we should never look for a reward. Think about Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep. Sometimes they don’t come back. But at least we know that we’ve done our best and that we’ve done what is right.”
She took his arm and pushed him toward the little pond by the shed. “Now, I want to show you something. You know that duck, Lily, that we’ve been wishing would lay eggs for so long. Well, she’s finally done it. Maybe some of them will hatch. And who knows,” she said with a wink,” maybe one of the ducklings will have red tail feathers.”

Shortly after the 1985 April general conference, a guest band and chorus were to perform with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. This event was being recorded, so there was a great deal of equipment set up in the Tabernacle.
The department I managed was responsible for tuning the great pipe organ. Fluctuation of the building’s temperature greatly affects the sound of this fine instrument. The performance had occurred on an especially warm night, so afterward we had left the Tabernacle doors open to allow the fresh evening air into the building. The organ could then cool down and be tuned for the next evening’s concert.
Unknown to us, a sparrow had flown into the Tabernacle while the doors were open. The building was later closed, and the bird was not discovered until the next morning.
When I arrived at work, I received a phone call from my employees, who had spent several hours trying to remove this bird from the Tabernacle. The Salt Lake City animal control people had been called, and they came with long-handled nets to capture the sparrow.
When I entered the building I found my employees racing back and forth through the Tabernacle, waving the long nets at the frightened bird. As they would run to one end with the nets, the frantic sparrow would fly to the other end of the building.
It flew from the top of the facade of the great pipe organ to the back of the building, where it would perch atop a bench. The only thing the nets accomplished was to terrify an already frightened bird. It couldn’t recognize that all the doors in the building were open for its escape.
The animal control people brought some pellet guns. Although they were not allowed to fire them on private property, they pointed out that our employees could borrow them to shoot the sparrow.
I immediately stopped that idea. The ceiling in the 118-year-old building was the original—made from plaster combined with fine animal hair to give it stability and its beautiful acoustic—and I didn’t want it damaged by pellets. There were other practical reasons not to shoot at the bird, including the risk of damaging the delicate recording equipment and musical instruments still on the stand. But more important, I did not feel it would be appropriate to kill this tiny creature. I remembered a talk by President Spencer W. Kimball about not shooting little birds.
The animal control people then suggested setting poisoned food out for the bird. I didn’t feel right about that, either. But the bird needed to be removed from the Tabernacle as quickly as possible. That night there would be a full house with several General Authorities and other dignitaries in attendance.
As the bird continued to fly back and forth, chirping loudly, the thought came to me that if this bird was important to Heavenly Father, perhaps I should ask him how to get it out of the building. I turned my back to the others, bowed my head, and said a simple prayer: “Heavenly Father, if this sparrow is important to you, could you please let us know how to safely remove it?”
I immediately had a strong impression of what to do. Closing the prayer, I turned and gave instructions to the workers. They turned off all the lights in the building, shut the window blinds, and closed all but one of the doors.
At that moment, the bird was perched on top of the organ’s facade. Suddenly he left his high perch, swooped down low, and flew out the open door to freedom.

When the Newport Beach California Temple was under construction, the youth of the Orange California Stake did a little constructing of their own at youth conference. With the conference focus on temples, the youth were given two hours and challenged to build models of 12 temples.

Two hours later, the floor of the cultural hall was covered with Styrofoam “snowflakes,” but the 175 amateur builders had created masterpieces that wowed local architects.

Huddling in groups of about 15 each, the youth began the project. With only Styrofoam, glue guns, and bits of black paper, grass, and flowers, they created amazingly detailed replicas of the Bern Switzerland, Bountiful Utah, Edmonton Alberta, Houston Texas, Laie Hawaii, Los Angeles California, Mount Timpanogos Utah, Nauvoo Illinois, Oakland California, St. George Utah, Salt Lake, and Washington D.C. Temples.

The youth found that as they built the temples and began to focus on the beauty and peace they symbolize, they became more unified and creative. “We understand more now what it will mean to have our own temple here in Orange County,” said one participant.

One of my fondest memories as a small boy was the annual visit to our home on Butler Avenue in Salt Lake City of my Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard on Christmas morning. Melvin J. Ballard died when I was ten years old. I knew that my Grandfather Ballard was a very important man in the Church, but I did not understand what it meant to be an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ. To me he was Grandpa Ballard, and that was enough to make me always very eager for his visit to our home, and especially on Christmas morning.
I particularly remember one Christmas morning, just a year or two before Grandfather Ballard died. My father and mother gave to Grandfather and Grandmother a new set of luggage. This Christmas gift seemed so appropriate to me then, because it seemed like Grandfather was always traveling and was never home.
Reflecting back on those special Christmas mornings with Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard brings special fond memories since today I find myself as a member of the Council of the Twelve and I have a new and deeper appreciation for those special Christmas mornings with my grandparents. I hope now as my grandchildren come to visit me and I go to visit them, I can create memories for them that will live on long after I am gone.

So when the Columbia Maryland Stake ad hoc youth committee got together to plan a service project, as the stake Young Men president I was pleased when they decided to try to place the New Era with every young person in the stake.
We organized a pledge drive to solicit contributions of $2.00, $4.00, and $8.00 (an annual subscription is $8.00), making sure to explain what the funds would be used for. Then we contacted ward magazine representatives and used information from the Church Magazines heads of households list to target prospective subscribers.
Based on that information, we allocated a quota of pledges to each ward or branch, based on population. The largest ward was asked to raise enough to pay for 25 subscriptions; the smallest branch was asked to raise enough to pay for three.
There wasn’t a lot of hoopla, although we announced our activity and asked stake members for their support. We coordinated with bishops and branch presidents to make sure we wouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. The bishops also helped us determine which families would have the greatest need for the magazines.
We were able to provide 67 households with subscriptions to the New Era, and we feel this has done a lot to benefit the youth in our stake.

When I was 15, my family and I took a vacation from our home in Arizona to the central United States. We drove through many states, including Kansas, Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Illinois.
Our vacation went well. We learned to enjoy each other’s company during the long van rides from place to place.
As we pulled into a restaurant one evening, we were all anxious to grab a bite to eat. As we got out of our van, I suddenly had a silent but powerful impression that told me to look at the back tire on our van. I started to walk toward the restaurant, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. I looked back over my shoulder and then stopped. The impression came to my mind: “Check the back tire.” It was so forceful I couldn’t ignore it.
I approached the rear of the van and heard a hissing sound. Sure enough, our right rear tire had a leak and was quickly going flat. I ran to get my dad, who had already gone into the restaurant with the rest of the family.
My father took the van down the road to a gas station before the tire went completely flat. Since the tire wasn’t damaged, the repair was inexpensive and quick. And we were able to fix the flat just minutes before the service station closed for the night. I don’t know what would have happened if I had ignored the prompting. But I do know that because I responded, we were able to continue our trip safely and conveniently.
Since that incident, I’m always reassured of the power of the Holy Ghost and how truly blessed we are as members of the Church to have that special line of communication. I am grateful for that experience, for it will stay with me, forever reminding me that our Father in Heaven loves, cares, and watches out for all of His children.

After my baptism and confirmation, my mother drew me aside and asked, “What do you feel?” I described as best I could the warm feeling of peace, comfort, and happiness I had. Mother explained that what I was feeling was the gift I had just received, the gift of the Holy Ghost. She told me that if I lived worthy of it, I would have that gift with me continually. That was a teaching moment that has lived with me all my life.

Caleb waved goodbye to Mom. He and his brother and sister were going to spend a whole week at his aunt’s house. It wasn’t too far from where Caleb’s family lived in the Philippines, but it still felt like an adventure. They were going to have so much fun!
They all got in the car. Dad drove them to their aunt’s house. Caleb ran to give his aunt and his cousin a big hug.
“I missed you!” he said.
His aunt smiled. “I’ve missed you too! Come on, I made some treats for you.”
For two days, Caleb played with his siblings and cousin all day long. They played video games. They drew pictures. They ran outside. But on the third day, Caleb didn’t feel well. His body felt weak and achy.
“You must be tired from playing so much,” his aunt said. She gave him a glass of water. Caleb went to bed early.
When he woke up, he felt even worse. He could hardly move! A rash had spread all over his legs. His aunt was worried. She called Mom.
Soon Mom and Dad picked Caleb up and took him to the hospital. The doctor did some tests. He told them that Caleb had a sickness called dengue fever. It sounded scary.
“It’s good that you brought him in,” the doctor said. “He needs to stay here for a while so we can watch him.”
A nurse took them to a room with three other sick children. Mom helped Caleb get into his bed. She hugged him tightly and said a prayer. Then Mom and Dad left.
Caleb was scared. He began to sing a Primary song to help him feel better.
“Heavenly Father, are you really there?” he sang. “And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?”
The other children listened. “What was that song?” a boy asked.
“I learned it in Primary,” Caleb said. “It makes me feel brave. It reminds me that Heavenly Father is always there for me.”
“Will you please sing it again?” a girl asked. “It’s beautiful.”
As Caleb sang the song again, his fears went away.
“What’s Primary?” asked the other girl. Caleb told them all about church and Primary. He shared his testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Caleb sang Primary songs to the other kids every day until he went home. He also shared scripture stories. It made him feel better, and he knew it helped them too. He was glad he could share the gospel, even in the hospital.
This story took place in the Philippines.

Alice watched the new girl walk out on the playground all alone. She tried to remember what the teacher said her name was. Marisol—that was it.
Alice’s friend Cassie ran up beside her. “Hey, are you coming to play tag?” Cassie asked.
Alice glanced at Marisol. “Cassie, should we invite the new girl to play with us?”
Cassie whispered, “I don’t know. But anyway, be quiet. She’ll hear you talking about her.”
“No, she won’t. Don’t you remember when Mrs. Johnson introduced her? Marisol only speaks Spanish,” Alice said. “Her family just moved here from Mexico.”
“How would we play with her if we can’t even talk to her?” Cassie asked. “Come on, they probably started tag without us.”
Alice didn’t move. Jesus would find a way to be kind if He were here, she thought. She took a deep breath. “Marisol!” she called and ran over to join her. Marisol’s face broke into a big grin.
While they played tag, Alice, Cassie, and Marisol found out they could talk to each other using motions and facial expressions. Marisol also knew some English words, like no, yes, go, and stop. Alice could tell Marisol was having fun because she laughed a lot when they played at recess and smiled whenever the girls tried to tell her something new.
But Alice wanted to do more to show Marisol they were friends. She started praying about what she could do. One night Alice remembered that her dad spoke Spanish. She ran downstairs and asked him how to say a few sentences. She practiced that night and the next morning until she could say the words perfectly.
Alice waited until recess was almost over to say what she’d practiced. “Marisol, ¿quires ser mi amiga?” Want to be my friend? She hoped she’d said it right.
Marisol’s face lit up in a big grin. “Sí, sí!” Yes.
Alice smiled back at her new friend. “Muy bien,” she said. “Yo también.” Good! Me too.
Marisol clapped her hands. “Sí. Muy bien.” She suddenly looked nervous. “Ahora yo,” she said. Now me. “New game?” Marisol asked with a shy smile. She pointed to herself, then pointed to Alice.
“Sí! Sí!” Alice said. For the last bit of recess, Marisol showed them a game she played in Mexico. It was kind of like hide-and-seek. Every day after that, Cassie, Alice, and Marisol played tag or games Marisol taught them. Marisol knew lots of fun games.
But a few weeks later, Marisol didn’t come to school. “She must be sick,” Cassie said.
Marisol was gone the next two days. When the rest of the class left for recess, Alice and Cassie stayed behind to ask Mrs. Johnson where their friend was.
“Oh, I forgot to announce it to the class. I’m sorry, girls, but Marisol moved. Her dad got a new job, and her family had to leave.”
Alice sank down into a chair. “But … she just got here!” Alice couldn’t believe Marisol was gone. Cassie shook her head and looked like she might cry.
Mrs. Johnson looked sad too. “Marisol wasn’t here for long, but you were her friends while she was here. That’s what counts.”
Cassie smiled a little. “I’ll remember her for a long time. I hope she remembers us.”
“I’m sure she will,” Mrs. Johnson said.
Alice and Cassie left the classroom and walked out to the playground.
“I’m glad we were friends with Marisol—even if she wasn’t here very long,” Cassie said.
“Yo también, Cassie,” Alice said. Me too.

Holiness to the Lord in everyday life looks like a young returning missionary who learned to let God prevail in his life. Earlier, when asked to bless someone who was very sick, this missionary said, “I have faith; I will bless him to recover. Yet,” the returning missionary says, “I learned in that moment to pray not for what I wanted but for what the Lord knew the person needed. I blessed the brother with peace and comfort. He later passed away peacefully.”

I was baptized when I was 12, and for many years I was the only member of the Church in my family. That wasn’t always easy, but fortunately I was blessed with good leaders who helped me in my journey of learning the doctrines of the gospel and using those doctrines to strengthen and improve my life. Because of my decision to stay true to what I believed, I have seen great blessings come into my life and, much later, into the lives of family members as well.

When I was a mission president, one of my responsibilities was to interview elders and sisters who had completed their missions and were returning home. I always asked what they were taking home as a result of their mission. I didn’t want to know what was inside their suitcases; I wanted to know what was inside of them.
One elder said, “I am going home liking myself.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
He said, “All my life I have wanted to be someone else. I was envious of the guy at high school who was popular with the girls. I wanted to be him. I was jealous of the guy who owned the red sports car. I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the quarterback of the football team.
“And when I arrived in the mission field, I had the same problem. I wanted to be the assistant to the president or the elder who could always quote the right scripture at the right time. I was always wishing I could be somebody else.
“However, as I have served these two years, I have realized who I really am. I am a son of God. I have a good relationship with my Savior and my fellowmen. I have a greater love for my parents and my family. And I realize I have talents I can develop and share and that others have their talents. I’m grateful for what I’ve been given. I’m no longer envious of what others have that I may not have. I’m going home feeling good about myself.”
I too had a good feeling about this elder and what was inside of him. How happy I was that he had come to appreciate himself and make that appreciation part of his life’s philosophy. Over the years, it has been a joy to see how this young man has developed and matured by sharing himself and his talents with others.

Taking a break from the welding work he is doing, Byron Iquic raises his visor and wipes the sweat from his brow. President Iquic, president of the San Juan Branch, Guatemala City Florida Stake, is building a new home for his wife, Etelvina, and their four children.
He loves his family and wants the house to be comfortable, but he also wants it to be safe and strong. Locks, lights, and a sturdy roof and walls are just some of the features meant to protect his family from man and nature.
As he talks about protecting his precious family, he pauses. Because President Iquic is familiar with the legend of Mixco Viejo, he understands that regardless of how well the house keeps things out, the greatest dangers to his family could come from what the family lets in.
President and Sister Iquic are trying to preserve their family and fortify it against the world, also a difficult task but possible through family prayer (see D&C 10:5), family scripture study (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24), family home evening (see 2 Nephi 25:26), and teaching the importance of obedience (see D&C 88:34).
President and Sister Iquic are also teaching repentance because they understand that even after all they and their family do to protect themselves, there may be more doors than can be guarded. And in a moment of weakness caused by distraction, someone might fall.
In preparation for those moments, President and Sister Iquic recognize that they must teach their children not just faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement but also repentance (see D&C 68:25) so that when their children make mistakes, they will recognize the breach in the wall and know how to fix it.
“Temptation will always be there,” President Iquic says. “We must recognize our mistakes and repent quickly, or they will impede our progress and keep us from the protection of the Spirit.”
With daylight fading and the legend of Mixco Viejo in mind, President Iquic puts his tools away and calls his family together for evening prayer against the gathering darkness.