Gospel Story Finder

When it seems like “Been there; done that” is the reaction to every suggestion made in planning youth activities, then you might try what members in the High Wycombe Ward in the Staines England Stake did. Think of something challenging and interesting, then see if it can be done.
The teens suggested that it might be great fun to record their own CD for their super activity. That meant writing the lyrics, performing the music, and, before anything else, making assignments.
What kind of song could they write? First, it had to include everyone, and some people readily admitted that singing was something they’d rather listen to than do. They agreed that to include everyone, they really needed something simple with some sections to pull in everyone. Lindsey Judd, a Mia Maid, agreed to write the lyrics. One of the Young Men leaders agreed to compose a background track.
Lindsey said, “My first source of information was For the Strength of Youth. That is where I found the topics to write about. I looked some of those topics up in the scriptures and found a really good first line in D&C 45:57. ‘For they that are wise and have received the truth, and have taken the Holy Spirit for their guide, and have not been deceived—verily I say unto you, they shall not be hewn down and cast into the fire, but shall abide the day.’ I had my topics, some scripture lines, and my own knowledge. I just started to rhyme.”
Next came the practicing. The date for the recording came, and 19 youth and 5 leaders drove to a small recording studio for what turned out to be a three-hour recording session. The professional musicians who ran the studio were overwhelmed to have 19 teens crowding into the small studio. Some parts took many retakes to get right, and other parts made it in one take. Every teen participated; every voice was recorded. The musicians asked some meaningful questions about the young people, who asked if they could say a prayer after the session was over.
The best parts of the day didn’t end up on the recording. MaLanie Robison said, “I learned how important it is for everyone to work together as a team. When we were all singing together, all bunched up around the microphones, I kept thinking how cool it was that each person, with his own unique talents and differences, could become one and sing about our similar belief in the Savior.”
“I think our recording of a CD was great,” said Richard Holt. “It taught us the importance of teamwork, patience, and, most important of all, we proclaimed the gospel.”
With the CD finished, the young people discovered that words put to music really make them easier to remember. “I think it was good,” said Camilla Warren, “to give the song words that remind us of our standards.”
So, as their song says, “Whether you’re in Malibu or in Timbuktu, if you pray with faith, He’ll always be there. He’ll be there to guide you and to answer your prayer.”
And in the background, you’ll hear the High Wycombe Ward youth humming along.

Connecting 150 generations was not easy. Like many others who are involved in searching out their ancestors, the Wu family acknowledges that they had help.
After going back 26 generations, they got stuck.
“About all we had was a nickname,” Sister Wu says.
On the final day of the Chinese New Year, Sister Wu had plans to attend a holiday celebration after serving in the temple. But when a friend on the shift mentioned she was going to stop by the family history center located on the temple grounds, Sister Wu felt impressed to go with her.
She went to a book containing information on people with the surname of the ancestor the family couldn’t find. When she opened the book, it fell open to a page that listed information on this particular ancestor. With that information, they were able to connect to other lines that led back many generations.
“It was a very special experience for me,” Sister Wu says. “I can feel that our ancestors are very anxious to have their ordinances done.”

An experience during my first year of junior high school could have left me emotionally wounded and scarred for years; but it turned out to be one of the best times in my life—all because of a very special friend.
That year, the girls my age started forming groups. There were several different groups, but “the group” consisted of the most popular girls in the school. All of my friends belonged to the group and so did I to begin with. But then something happened. I’m not exactly sure what.
One day Bonnie, one of the most popular girls in school, came up to me and told me I was kicked out of the group.
“But why?” I asked. “What did I do?”
“We just don’t want you to associate with us anymore,” said Bonnie.
I realized then that I needed to find a new friend. I thought I could make the group jealous and they’d realized they weren’t hurting me. So I made a new friend. Her name was Vicki. I picked Vicki because I was certain that the group would never pay any attention to her. She was really short, thin, and not exactly pretty. But she turned out to be a wonderful friend.
Vicki and I shared a lot of good times together. We both seemed to enjoy doing the same kinds of things. I was beginning to like being with her so much that I decided I didn’t need the group as long as there was Vicki.
Shortly after Vicki and I became friends, we were sitting on the school lawn sharing sodas and candy and doing a lot of laughing. All of a sudden, Vicki got real serious. She stopped laughing and began fumbling with a candy wrapper. When she finally looked at me, I could tell she had something important on her mind.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Vicki struggled for a minute to control her voice before answering. “I’ve never had a best friend before,” she said looking at me straight in the eye. “Can we promise we’ll be best friends forever?”
“Sure,” I said feeling great. I smiled as I picked up a candy wrapper. “I’d like that, too.”
Some time later, the group started to take notice of Vicki. “Come on, Vicki,” they’d say. “Come eat with us,” or “Why don’t you associate with us, Vicki?”
At first, Vicki declined, but then the invitations got to be too irresistible.
I remember that day clearly. When I got to school, I headed straight for Vicki’s locker as usual. From down the hall I could see the group surrounding her. The closer I came, the louder and merrier their laughter grew. A couple of my former friends looked sideways at me before throwing their heads back in forced bursts of laughter.
Vicki didn’t look at me. She was too absorbed in all the attention. I guess I couldn’t blame her for that. But had she already forgotten our promise?
Just then the girls in the group all linked arms with Vicki in the middle and gaily marched down the hall. They went right by me as if I weren’t even there.
This time I was really upset. I tried not to let the group see how much they were hurting me, but they could tell they were getting through.
Then one day it happened—one of the greatest experiences of my life. Suddenly I realized I had a friend that the group could never take away, someone who would always be there, someone I could talk to at any time, someone who would never forsake me.
As I made this startling discovery, I noticed a warm sensation starting to grow in my heart. It grew until I felt totally engulfed in it. I realized that it was my Heavenly Father telling me that he loves me. I wanted to shout, laugh, or cry. I felt so new, so special, so loved.
A short time later, Bonnie approached me. “How are you?” she asked uncomfortably.
“Fine,” I said with a puzzled expression. There was a lengthy period of silence as she struggled to continue.
“We were just wondering,” Bonnie began, “we thought that you might like to spend some time with us again. You see, we had a vote and, well, most of us still like you.”
“Thanks,” I said, “I’ll see what I can do.” It felt good to have them want me back, but I realized then that being in the group somehow wasn’t all that important anymore.
Through that experience, I had found a true friend whom I wanted to do something for, in return for what He had done for me. I remembered the scripture that said: “Go, and do thou likewise” (Luke 10:37). So I started looking around for someone who needed a friend.

I watched Cynthia prance across the playground, followed by three girls who wanted to be popular, like her. Cynthia’s earrings were long and silvery. She wore pink lipstick and bracelets that sounded like chimes.
I had to admit, I was jealous. Cynthia was pretty—and pretty snobby. My friends and I sat on the grass at recess, pointing out every snobby thing she did.
One day, Cynthia wasn’t at school. When I got home, Mom asked, “Do you know Cynthia Harper?”
“Yes. Why?” I asked.
“She had an accident yesterday.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Both of Cynthia’s parents were at work. She forgot her house key, so she tried to open a basement window. She slipped and pushed her arm through the glass.”
I gasped. “Will she be OK?”
“I think so,” Mom said. “She had to have surgery. Mrs. Keller was the one who found her.”
I shuddered thinking about the accident. Then I realized something. “Did you say Mrs. Keller found her?” The Kellers lived on our street.
Mom nodded. “Cynthia’s family lives in the green house.”
I knew Cynthia lived nearby, but I didn’t know she was my neighbor!
The next day, I told my friends about what happened to Cynthia.
“Serves her right,” Caroline said.
I thought about how unhappy Cynthia must be. “No, it doesn’t,” I said. “My mom said she’ll have to wear a cast all summer. She’s lucky she can even move her fingers.”
“Sorry,” Caroline mumbled.
After school that day, I went to my room. My eyes fell on a pair of tiny earrings I had gotten for my birthday that I hadn’t worn yet. An idea came to me. Maybe I could give them to Cynthia.
“What are you thinking?” I asked myself. “She doesn’t know you, and she’d never wear earrings like that.”
But before I knew what I was doing, I was carrying a get-well card and the earrings up the street to the green house.
Cynthia’s mom answered the door. “Is Cynthia here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“She’s right here.” Her mom smiled, and I looked inside to see Cynthia sitting on the couch.
“I’m Kim,” I said. “I live up the street.”
Cynthia smiled. “Hi.”
“I heard about what happened, and I hope you feel better soon.” I gave her the card and earrings and held my breath, waiting for her reaction.
Her eyes lit up. “Thank you! You are so nice!” she exclaimed.
“Um, are you … feeling better?” I stammered.
Cynthia nodded. “It hurts a little. But I’m OK.” She held out her arm so I could see her pink cast.
“Well, see you later,” I said as I hurried out the door.
I skipped all the way home. I knew I had been brave and that I had done the right thing. But most of all, I knew I had been wrong about Cynthia. She wasn’t snobby—my friends and I had been the snobs.
Cynthia and I didn’t become best friends, but every time we saw each other in the hall or at recess we smiled and said hi. A few weeks later, school ended and I moved away. Knowing I had been wrong about Cynthia helped me not to judge others at my new school. Making friends was easier when I remembered that being nice could start with me.

Answers sometimes came in the form of people who influenced our children’s lives. One time, a daughter at college was in grave spiritual and possibly physical danger. On the day following our temple visit, the bishop of her ward visited with her and then called us about the visit. He continued this each day for the next three days. A parent could have done no more than this great bishop did to comfort and guide our daughter.

Rosario Saccone
Soft-spoken Rosario Saccone was elated when, in 1981, the missionaries first talked to him about the plan of salvation. He thought, “Finally! Someone who thinks like me.” Excitedly, he gathered his friends at the local pizzeria and had the missionaries explain the plan to them. (One of the those friends was later baptized.)
Rosario’s conversion did not go smoothly, however. At one point, he was going to call off the baptism. But the reassuring words that came from one of the missionaries struck Rosario so deeply that he knew they could only come from the heart of one inspired by God.
The situation nearly got out of hand when his large family learned of his impending baptism. The crying, pleading, and arguing that emanated from his family’s apartment drew the nine other families in their building into the discussion. At length, Rosario succeeded in calming the situation and convincing his mother that what he was about to do would not bring the family disgrace. Instead, it would make him better.
In time, his family came to know that he was right.
Rosario, who lives in Palermo, Sicily, has since served in the Italy Rome Mission and now is employed in microfilming birth, death, and marriage records for the Church’s Family History Department.

Sister Beck: When I was a young girl, my father served as president of the only mission in Brazil. There were fewer than 4,000 members—most of whom were full of potential yet not prepared to lead. Only a handful of branches had a Relief Society.

My mother was called to be the district Relief Society president. She spoke no Portuguese and had no manuals. What she did have was a testimony of the gospel and of Relief Society. She and her counselors began by helping sisters learn how to be visiting teachers.

They started their training in a small branch in São Paulo. Seven humble women attended the meeting. My mother’s counselor, a Brazilian, greeted the sisters. After the prayer, she stood with trembling hands and read a message explaining visiting teaching. Then my mother stood. She knew four sentences in Portuguese: “I know that God lives. I know that Jesus is the Christ. I know that we have a living prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” The meeting ended. She hugged the women and bade them good-bye.

What a humble beginning to such a great work! Eventually, a Relief Society was established in every branch in Brazil. The sisters worked to prepare for a stake and the first temple in South America. They learned about ordinances and covenants and how to save souls.

In part, because the Relief Society sisters helped further the Lord’s work, the Church in Brazil now numbers over one million members. Like these sisters in Brazil, we must do our part. No one can do it for us. We cannot delegate our responsibility for building the kingdom to anyone else. It is our work. Let us embrace it and excel in building faith, strengthening families, and giving relief.

Sister Meacham stood up in Primary and said, “Boys and girls, we want you to share your wonderful talents at our Primary Celebrations Show!”
Allison slid down in her chair. What could she possibly perform at a talent show? She didn’t sing, play an instrument, dance, or do anything else like that.
Her best friend, Sarah, leaned over. “I know what song I want to sing!”
“You’ll be awesome,” Allison said. And she would, too. Sarah had such a pretty singing voice. And, of course, Courtney was incredible on the piano. Allison glanced around the room. Everybody else had a special talent. Everybody but her.
Later that day Allison helped Mom deliver some surprise cookies to Sister Moody. Allison rang the doorbell.
“Who’s there?” asked a soft voice.
“Sister Andrews,” answered Mom. “And my daughter. We wanted to drop off some of Allison’s homemade cookies.”
Sister Moody opened the door, and her face lit up in a big smile. “My favorite!” Sister Moody took the plate gratefully. “What a talent. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.”
Allison’s heart skipped a beat. Baking cookies was a talent?
During the car ride home, Allison glanced up at Mom. “Mom, Sister Moody said baking cookies is a talent. Is she right?”
“You bet she is.”
“But … well, you can’t bake cookies on a stage. Nobody claps when you mix dough in a bowl or pull cookies out of the oven.”
Allison always figured making cookies was no big deal. She’d made that chocolate chip recipe so many times she had it memorized.
“Not all talents belong on a stage, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Some people are thoughtful friends or wonderful gardeners. Being able to cook well is definitely a talent not everyone has.”
Allison thought about what Mom had said. Was it really that simple? A moment later she asked, almost in a whisper, “Do you think I could bake cookies for the Primary talent show?”
Mom reached over and squeezed Allison’s hand. “I think that’s a great idea.”
On the day of the talent show, Allison rushed home from school and started baking. She made five batches of her favorite chocolate chip cookies. The house filled with the smell of chocolaty goodness.
At the talent show, Allison sat next to Sarah and Courtney.
“Your name’s not on the program,” Sarah said. “Aren’t you doing anything?”
“Yes. But it’s a surprise.”
One by one her friends performed. Allison clapped loudly each time. They really were impressive. When everyone finished, Sister Meacham stood and thanked everyone for participating.
“Often we only think of talents as being good at music, art, and singing,” Sister Meacham said. “However, talents come in many different forms. Tonight Allison wanted to share her own special talent. After the closing prayer, you’re all invited into the next room to enjoy her homemade chocolate chip cookies.”
Ooh’s and Mmm’s filled the room. After the prayer everybody hurried into the next room.
“These are so good,” Sarah said, taking a bite of her second cookie.
“I wish I could make cookies this yummy!” Courtney said.
Within minutes, only crumbs remained. Everyone complimented Allison on the delicious cookies. She felt so happy inside. Sister Moody was right. She had a talent to share after all.

Then Christine thought of another day, just last October. It was overcast, gray, cool. The heavy air smelled of rain. Papa and Clément were up early, as usual on a Monday. The big diesel engine was already throbbing, mildly vibrating the entire house.
Clément stuffed the compartment behind the cab with blankets, canned pudding, instant soup, snack food. He ran inside to get some tapes, his earphones, and a tape player.
Then he thought again, and laid them aside. This was his last trip to Mechanicsburg for two years. He and father would be talking all the way there, talking about his mission.
The stairs were steep at the south end of the terrasse, but Christine took them easily. Hours of volleyball practice had conditioned her to run, and her lungs pulled in air that was crisp and pure. She reached a narrower boardwalk, the Promenade des Gouverneurs, which stretches along the cliffs to reach the Plains of Abraham.
The French love to tell of a great struggle here, when the Chevalier de Lévis, battling to reclaim Quebec, lured the British far from the city and beat them. But those assigned to cut off the retreat failed, and the rest of the army, too tired to pursue, let the enemy escape. British reinforcements arrived soon, and what should have been a French victory turned to defeat.
Christine breathed deeply and let the air out slowly. It surprised her when she thought of a scripture: “Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live” (3 Ne. 15:9).
“Endure,” she said aloud. “Sometimes you just have to endure.” And then she was remembering again.
It was a routine, the same routine Marie Claude had followed every morning for years. Get up early and care for the animals. Feed Daisy, Belle, and Lady, the horses. Feed Fido, the bull in the barn. Feed three pigs, three sheep, two dogs, four ducks, and any other animals calling the farm home at the moment.
From upstairs, Christine heard Marie Claude come in the house and bolt the back door against the wind. She could imagine her hanging her flannel coat on the peg in the kitchen. Then she heard her pull a chair across the floor and put breakfast dishes on the table.
For as long as Christine could remember, Marie Claude got up early to take care of the animals. But today the routine was different—the movements slower, the pauses longer, the sighs heavy and audible.
And Christine knew why. Last night, Marie Claude had finally told her boyfriend good-bye. He was a decent fellow, a nice man. But he didn’t understand. He’d had the missionary discussions, even been to church a time or two. But all this religion, meetings every Sunday, marriage in a temple—for him it just wouldn’t do.
And now Marie Claude, who loved him and had dated him for a couple of years, who had argued with him before, had sent him away. She sat at the breakfast table, numb, almost crying, wrenching solace from the everyday routine.
At the end of the promenade, there’s a gazebo. To get there, Christine had to mount steps again. Quickly she bounded up them, the end of her run in sight. And as she ran, her mind flashed ahead, like a video on fast forward.
Here was Marie Claude again, but this time she was smiling. Dressed in embroidered chiffon, she sat by a cheery window in a friend’s house, holding hands with an amiable young man in a blue sweater.
It was amazing. When they laughed, it was the same laugh. The smile was the same smile. They looked like each other, they talked like each other. They both had kind eyes. You’d think they were brother and sister, not fiances.
Yet there on the table was their wedding announcement, and it really did seem like a dream come true—“C’est avec joie que nous vous annonçons notre mariage qui aura lieu au Temple de Washington, D.C., mercredi le six mai.” (It is with joy that we announce our marriage in the Washington, D.C. Temple on May 6, 1987.)
André and Marie Claude. They met at church, and fell in love quickly. But after years of struggling to feel right about something that was wrong, it was easy for Marie Claude to do something that felt so true.
At the gazebo, Christine stopped.
She thought about the family. She pictured her mother, joking with the visiting teachers, happily discussing her hobby of decorating cakes. She saw Father, smiling broadly, the proudest sacrament meeting usher the Branche de Québec has as ever had. She imagined Clément, Elder Ferland, teaching missionary lessons in broken English. And she pictured Marie Claude, in her own home as a newlywed, so happy she was almost dancing.
Then she thought of spires of white, rising from a green woodland, and she cherished the promises of eternity.
Christine looked across the ancient battlefields. The rolling hills seemed to be resting, calm now as she was calm. In the distance, a calèche, a carriage, bobbed along the folds of green. From so far away, it seemed to be in slow motion. But in the evening air, she could hear the clip-clop, clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.
She turned and looked again at the river. It was shining still, but it was no longer silver. The setting sun had turned it to gold. And the sailboat, still a silhouette, pulled up to its moorings.
Dusk was past. The time for returning was here.

The Three Princes In this beautifully illustrated tale from the Middle East, a wise and lovely princess told her three suitors that she would marry the one who brought her the thing of greatest wonder. One uses his gift, a crystal ball, to learn that she is dying. The second uses his gift, a flying carpet, to take the suitors to her in time for the third to use his gift, an orange with special powers, to heal her. The gifts were of equal value in saving her life, but she could only marry one of the suitors. … Eric A. Kimmel8–12 years

Your article on tallness gave me an added friendship—a girl in my Laurel class whom I was never close to but who has now become a great friend. I recently recovered from viral meningitis. While in the hospital for two weeks I found that my copy of the New Era gave me added courage to fight on and endure. The magazine made me feel closer to the General Authorities and closer to members of the Church. The article on war answered many questions and gave me added courage to be obedient to the laws of my country.
Marily WilsonBurbank, California

When you see Madilyn Paige perform, you would never guess the 20-year-old once suffered from paralyzing stage fright. At age 16, she faced her fear by trying out for the singing competition The Voice. She made it to the finals, where her voice enchanted judges and viewers alike.
Since then, Madilyn has released singles and is soon to release an album. She continues performing at venues like the Stadium of Fire in Provo, Utah, USA, and keeps chasing her dream to spread light and share uplifting messages through her music.
“I think music is a superpower. I feel so fortunate that I’ve been blessed with this gift. I want to use it to bring hope and happiness to people.”

Elder Stephen D. Nadauld, while serving as a member of the Seventy, related the following experience: “A stake president and I took the opportunity to visit a young woman. … Her husband had been killed in a car accident; she was living in a modest apartment with her two young children. I suppose we expected to find her upset and discouraged. … On the contrary, she was cheerful; she was calm; she was very gracious. She thanked us for coming and then said, … ‘Brethren, I want you to know I believe in the plan of redemption. I am grateful to my Savior for the promise of a glorious resurrection with my husband. I am grateful for His redeeming sacrifice.’ Then, putting her arms around her two children, she said, ‘Our faith in Jesus Christ will see us through’” (“Faith and Good Works,” Ensign, May 1992, 82–83).

At school the next afternoon Keith was struggling to keep up with his classmates as they ran around the track. Jason had been a fast runner, and sometimes Keith’s teacher, Mr. Lee, would kid him by saying, “Are you sure you’re a Johnson boy?” Last time Keith had answered with a grin, “I got the brains of the family.”
Now Mr. Lee was yelling at the runners, “Keep going! Two more times!” Then he went in to his office.
“Follow me,” a boy in front of Keith called out as he cut across the middle of the track. Everyone laughed and began to follow him.
“Come on, Keith,” called a girl. “This way we won’t have to run so far.”
Keith thought quickly: That’s not honest. Jason wouldn’t do it, and neither will I. He continued his jog around the track.
When Mr. Lee returned, everyone was finishing the run except Keith, who still had another lap to go. He heard his classmates giggle when Mr. Lee said, “That Johnson boy seems slower than usual today.” Keith didn’t know it, but his teacher had stopped the giggles when he added, “And the rest of you seem to have extra energy, so we’ll do jumping jacks while we wait for him!”
When Keith finally finished, Mr. Lee patted his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Johnson.”
“For being last?” Keith panted.
“No. For being honest. You’re a lot like your brother, after all.”

My Uncle Mons Andersen had said to us that we must go to his folks in Lehi. That same evening a fisherman was going past Lehi and said he could take two of us. So Mother and my brother Mathias went with him. Then someone would come after the rest of us. The train could not take us there for the track was then only laid to the Point of the Mountain. So the rest of us stayed in the tithing yard till the next day. All that day no one came. But the next day, July 20, 1872, a man by the name of Mathias Petersen from Lehi came for us in a brand-new wagon. Happy were we. We came as far as this side of Sandy and stopped overnight. The next day, this being Sunday morning, July 21, 1872, we arrived in Lehi.

Now I must say a little about Sunday, July 21, 1872. As I said before, we camped overnight on the state road this side of Sandy. It was a beautiful morning, and time came for us to have something to eat before starting. There were five of us in all, and we had some baked wheat bread. There was a farmhouse some distance away, so Mathias Petersen, our driver, went over there to see if he could get some milk to go with the bread. He soon came back and a lady with him with a pan full of sweet milk. It was my first night camping out and my first meal of wheat bread and sweet milk. I shall never forget how good it tasted to me. I was overjoyed. Oh, how good I thought that lady was to bring us that good milk! I don’t know if she was a Mormon or not. But at that time I thought all the people in Utah were Mormons so, of course, I thought she was. So it was another step to me to gain a little better feeling for Mormonism.

“Hi, Gweg!” Greg could feel his face getting hot even before he looked up to see Melissa standing on the roadside by her bike.
“My name’s not Gweg,” he said crossly, focusing intently again on the basketball hoop he was aiming at.
“What is it, then?” Melissa waited expectantly, her eyes already dancing with laughter.
“You know what it is.”
“Yep. It’s Gweg; that’s what you always say.” She started to giggle.
“My name’s not Gweg,” Greg yelled. “It’s Gweg!”
Melissa burst into laughter and hopped back on her bike. “I was right, then. Bye, Gweggy!”
Greg scowled at her braids streaming out behind her as she pedaled away. It wasn’t fair! He tried and tried to say his Rs, using the exercises that his speech therapist gave him every week. But even though she praised him at the end of each session and told him that he was doing better, he still couldn’t say the words quite right. Worst of all, he couldn’t even say his own name!
“Well, at least we didn’t name you Roger or Roderick,” Dad had chuckled, tousling Greg’s hair. “Don’t worry, Son. Lots of kids have trouble with their Rs, and sometimes other letters too. You’ll get over it.”
But Greg did worry. The Primary president had asked him to tell the story of Joshua in two weeks. He loved to hear about how the children of Israel were led into the Promised Land, and he wanted to do a good job telling it. But what if everyone laughed at him?
The next Sunday at dinner, Greg was quiet as he pushed the food around his plate with his fork. He usually loved Mom’s mashed potatoes; the rich gravy he poured over the top looked like brown lava sliding down a snowy volcano. But gravy lava seemed stupid now, and his food stuck in his throat.
“Is something wrong, Greg?” Mom asked.
Greg nodded soundlessly.
“Is it your Primary talk?” said Dad.
He nodded again.
“Well, I have something to show you.” Dad disappeared into the living room and returned with his Bible. “You know, Greg,” he said, flipping through the pages, “when I was your age, I didn’t like to give talks either, but for a different reason. All those people made me nervous! My mouth got as dry as sandpaper, and I felt like I couldn’t say anything. Then I read about Moses. Here.” He handed the open Bible to Greg. “When you’ve finished your dinner, why don’t you read about how Moses felt when the Lord told him to speak to the people and to Pharaoh. It might help.”
Later, Greg read in Exodus how the Lord appeared to Moses and told him to tell the children of Israel His words. In Exodus 4:10 [Ex. 4:10], Greg read that Moses had said, “But I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.”
Greg kept reading, using the footnotes. In Exodus 6:30 [Ex. 6:30], he saw that Moses was still protesting to the Lord: “Behold, I am of stammering lips, and slow of speech; how shall Pharaoh hearken unto me?”
Greg was astonished. So Moses, the mighty prophet, couldn’t speak very well, either! But the Lord didn’t find another prophet to replace him. He knew that Moses, whom He had called to serve as the Israelite leader, was a righteous man, and He made a way for Moses to do what he had been commanded by sending Aaron to help him. Well, I have lots of people to help me—people like Dad and Mom. A warm, peaceful feeling crept over him. They can help me learn to say my Rs right someday, and I know that the Lord will help me give my talk!
All the next week, Greg practiced and practiced until he knew the whole story by heart. When Sunday finally arrived, he was a little nervous, but he felt ready. He stood at the microphone, took a deep breath, and gave his talk. He still couldn’t say his Rs quite right, and he thought that he heard a giggle from the back of the room. When he sat down, though, he felt good inside. He knew that he had told the story well.
Dad and Mom had come to hear him, and when Primary was over, they both gave him a big hug. “We’re very proud of you,” Mom said, beaming; Dad said, “Way to go, sport.”
Suddenly Greg felt someone cuff his arm playfully. He looked around and saw Melissa standing there. “Good job, Greg,” she said, grinning.
“Thanks,” he said. And he couldn’t help grinning too.

From the time she was a young child, Sister Lifferth has had a testimony of prayer, reinforced by simple experiences. Once, for example, her parents had gone to the temple, and young Margaret lay in bed, worried about their safety because of the bad weather. A cold had left her coughing and even more resistant to sleep. “I remember crawling out of bed, kneeling down, and praying that I would stop coughing and that my parents would get home safely,” she says. Her coughing did stop, and she was able to sleep peacefully. The next morning she found that her parents had indeed arrived safely at home.

It’s not unusual for Young Men and Young Women to paint a house as part of a ward service project, but the teachers quorum and Mia Maid class from the Boise 19th Ward, Boise Idaho North Stake, did it as part of a community-wide “Paint the Town Day.” They combined with 154 other teams made up of 4,200 volunteers to paint houses all over the community, with materials donated by local merchants. When they were through, they all met in a local park for a community party.
They had such a good time, in fact, that the rest of the youth from the ward decided to do a painting project the very next Saturday.
This one involved being ferried across a reservoir to camp, then painting the log picnic shelters and tables the next day. “This is a pretty place, and I like being part of keeping it nice,” said Melissa West, surveying her ward’s work. The event resulted in some sore muscles and sunburned noses, but everyone agreed they were worth the friendship and sense of service they came away with.

Zach had never felt more worried in his whole life. His dog, Ace, had swallowed something he shouldn’t have eaten, and it was stuck inside him. If Ace didn’t have surgery right away, he would die!
Dad was at the vetinarian’s office now with Ace. Zach wished he could be there too, instead of stuck getting ready for school. With a sigh, he knelt by his bed to say a prayer. “Heavenly Father, I’m really worried about Ace. Please help the surgery to go all right. Please bless Ace to live, and please help me not feel so worried.”
Zach knew Heavenly Father loved him and heard his prayer. The worried feeling in his stomach melted away a little bit, and he felt more calm inside. Zach zipped up his backpack and ran to catch the bus. Everything was going to be OK.
At school, Zach kept thinking about Ace. Ace was such a healthy dog. But he got sick so quickly! What if Ace dies before I can say goodbye? All of Zach’s worried feelings rushed back. Zach took a deep breath and remembered the peace he felt after he prayed that morning. Heavenly Father would answer his prayer, wouldn’t He?
When Zach came home from school, he ran straight inside to ask Mom how the surgery went. “Mom! How’s Ace?”
“He’s OK,” said Mom. “He’ll be home soon, but he’s going to be pretty sore. We’ll need to be gentle with him.”
Zach let out a big sigh as Mom gave him a hug. He was so relieved. And he couldn’t wait to see Ace!
When Ace came home, Zach’s family gave him extra care. They brought him his favorite toys. They talked to him and told him how much they loved him. They gently rubbed the fur on his back. Zach took time to scratch Ace’s ears. Ace loved the attention. He seemed to be getting better and better.
But the next week, Ace got sick again. He stopped eating and drinking and seemed very tired. Zach’s stomach sank as he watched his parents drive away to take Ace back to the vet.
When Mom and Dad walked through the door a few hours later, they were alone. They gathered the family together and explained that Ace had died. Zach felt numb. He could hear his brothers and sisters crying and felt tears on his own cheeks.
Zach thought about his prayer before Ace’s surgery—the prayer that brought him so much comfort and peace. He had asked Heavenly Father to bless Ace to live, but now Ace had died. This wasn’t what he prayed for at all!
Mom came over and sat next to Zach on the couch. “Ace was such a good dog,” she said. “We had so many happy times with him.”
Zach smiled a little as he remembered scratching Ace’s ears in just the right spot. Then he thought about the past week. Ace had lived for 10 more days after the surgery. Zach got to spend time with him and show Ace how much he loved him.
Maybe Heavenly Father really did answer my prayer, Zach thought. A warm feeling came over him like another hug. He still missed Ace, and he still felt sad. But he also felt peace. Zach knew that Heavenly Father had heard his prayer, even if the answer wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He knew Heavenly Father loved him. And because of that, everything really would be OK.

It was probably the most spiritual experience the youth from the Baton Rouge Louisiana Stake can remember. Nearly 200 of them piled into five buses and traveled to Dallas for a few days of temple work and scripture study.
When not doing baptisms for the people on the four-generation sheets they’d prepared, they were reading the Book of Mormon, studying it, discussing it, even making skits from it. With each person in the group reading assigned pages, they read the Book of Mormon in a combined effort more than five times during the trip.
For many, it was their first time in a temple.