Gospel Story Finder

Today, 12-year-old Loni, of the Jordan (Utah) Oaks Fifth Ward, can’t remember all of that trouble, but she’s heard enough about it to want to change things somehow. So on January 1, Loni set a goal to sew clothes small enough for babies as tiny as one or two pounds and donate them to the hospital.

“If she sets a goal, she does it,” says Sharon. “There is no stopping her.” Loni says she is always working on one goal or another. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s service oriented or meant for self-improvement; Loni is up to the challenge.

Her idea to sew “preemie” clothes has definitely been one of the larger goals on that list. But for Loni it was easy. She has been sewing since age eight and had no problem finding doll patterns to shrink down and follow. Within a week Loni had sewn eight outfits and delivered them to the newborns at the University of Utah Hospital.

A local television station got wind of what she was doing and picked up her story when Loni delivered the clothes to the hospital. A local viewer was impressed and donated several bolts of material to Loni for more clothes.

Loni quickly took up the challenge and sewed 18 more outfits. This time she made tiny jogging suits, dresses, and night clothes for the infants. On March 1 she returned to the hospital with another batch of clothes.

There she met Kimberly and Mark Graham, whose son Colton had been in the hospital for six weeks. Colton was born 13 weeks early and had only been dressed twice when Loni delivered the clothes. Kimberly was touched by Loni’s ability and desire to do this for her son and the other infants at the hospital. “It means a lot to the parents,” she says. “It’s especially nice because some of these people could really use this. Dressing their babies up lets them feel that they’re going to be okay and helps them realize that there are other [premature] babies out there.”

Many of the clothes Loni delivered will remain at the hospital for other infants to wear during their stay or until they grow into store-bought clothes. And, most likely, Loni Frandsen will show up again at the Newborn Intensive Care Center with an armful of clothes. For Loni service is an everyday act. She says that goals like this allow her to be an example. “[They] help me because I can do things for other people, just like Jesus would.” Loni couldn’t have said that any better.

I was the fifth child in a family of six children. In our home, our parents gave us chores to do. One chore each of us had was to wash dishes after dinner one night each week. Our family rule was you couldn’t go to bed until you had washed the dishes.
I never went to bed without doing the dishes, but it wasn’t because I was super obedient. It was because my mother wouldn’t let me! There was no escape! I would whine, complain, and pester my poor mother because I wanted to watch TV or play with my friends. But eventually, I would do the dishes. Although I was technically obedient and did what my mother asked, I am sure my attitude didn’t please her.
My oldest sister, on the other hand, discovered she could jump up from dinner; put away the food; wash, dry, and put away the dishes; clean off the countertop; clean the kitchen floor; and still have time to play. She was more than just obedient; she was doing what pleased her mother.
The way my sister served my mother reminds me of the way the Savior serves His Father. The Savior said, “I do nothing of myself; but as my Father hath taught me” (John 8:28). Which is to say, He was always obedient.
He further explained, “And he that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him” (John 8:29).
May I suggest two words to give you direction, comfort, and hope? They are Please God. If those two words become an inner compass for you, they will answer a lot of questions and prevent much heartache!
For example, how should you dress for a high school dance? Modestly, of course! But how do you judge what’s modest? You can review the standards of the Church in For the Strength of Youth. You could also ask yourself, “Is the way I’m dressed pleasing to my Heavenly Father?” Then you can ask Him in prayer, and He will tell you!
It shouldn’t be a mystery to know what pleases Heavenly Father. As you strive to please God, the Spirit will move your heart to feel what does or does not meet with His approval. And “then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God” (D&C 121:45). There are many ways we can please God. Here are three ways I have found to be powerful.
At about age 14, while praying, I had a surprising thought: “I wonder what Heavenly Father thought about what I just said in my prayer?” This had a profound impact on me. It changed the way I pray.
Suppose I had an algebra test coming up that I was worried about. While praying for help, if I would ask, “I wonder what Heavenly Father thought about what I just said in my prayer?” I would be more aware of what I was asking, which would lead me to think that He would want me to finish my algebra homework and spend more time studying before the test. If I did so, He would be much more pleased with my prayer.
Seeking His will for us will help us recognize His answers to our prayers. It pleases God when we communicate with Him. He is also pleased when we learn how He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost.
Learning to recognize when God is speaking is more like learning to play the piano or learning a new language than it is like just turning on a light. It takes practice, but you can learn how revelation comes to you, and you can recognize it each time it comes. Revelation is like a light inside us. It’s real, it’s identifiable, and it’s memorable, however it comes. The Lord taught, “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day” (D&C 50:24).
We please Heavenly Father when we look for ways to serve others. When I was Young Men president in a ward in San Antonio, Texas, the bishop suggested that the priests quorum help a woman whose husband was on military deployment. She lived in a trailer home with her small children. The steps to her trailer were rotted and damaged. She needed help replacing them.
We met at her home and got to work. Shortly after we started, it began to rain. The priests decided to work through the rain. Soon new steps were in place. They were high quality when we were done! Some years later I had an occasion to talk to one of those priests. I asked him what he remembered from our time in the priests quorum. He remembered that service project. He said he was sure that what the service did for him was much more important than what it did for this dear sister and her family.
Christ’s teaching is infinitely wise: “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 16:25). Two wonderful things happen when you serve others: first, those you serve are happier and better, and second, you are happier and better. This works anytime and anyplace.
Think about what you want to be years from now. What can you contribute to the world and to your family? What can you do to bring happiness to others? It pleases God when we go for what I call the long win. This means we don’t take the easy way out, we focus on things that have lasting importance and impact, and we do the right thing for the right reasons.
You can gain so much confidence by saying, “I’m going to do what I know is right.” Instead of being shortsighted, think about how you want things to turn out further down the road. You may not know how a situation will end, but if you can have the courage to say, “I know what’s right, and I’m going to do it no matter what,” you will win in the long run. Always.
Going for the long win will also help you stay away from sin. People often fall into sin because it seems enjoyable in the moment. The problem with the moment is that it only lasts a moment. In the end, sin always causes harm and pain. Going for the long win will lead you to make wiser decisions in the short term and be much happier in the long term.
Here is one more thought. You may feel discouraged as you try to please God and do what’s right. Doing right can sometimes be hard. Everyone experiences discouragement from time to time. Sometimes we’re discouraged because we’ve made a mistake or committed a sin. But feeling discouraged shouldn’t lead to lingering hopelessness. If we take advantage of the tremendous blessing of repentance, Heavenly Father will give us power to rise to our true potential. Repentance is there to redirect and correct our course minute by minute, day by day. We can repent and try again! As you strive to please God, you will be on the path to becoming the best and the happiest you can be.

My freshman year in high school, my family and I moved to Vancouver, Washington. I was trying to adjust to a new school, and I ached for my friends in Saratoga Springs, New York. I missed the nice big house we’d lived in there and its peaceful country setting. We were now living in a cramped apartment on a noisy street while my parents house-hunted. I wanted so badly to live in a house again. I wanted my own room, not one that I had to share with my little sister. I wanted the feeling of permanence that comes with living in your own house.

Just when Mom and Dad were narrowing down their choices and I was daydreaming about the wallpaper and frilly curtains I’d put in my new room, Dad was laid off. The small company he was working for was not doing well, and Dad was one of several employees to be let go. Buying a house was now out of the question. Finding a job became Dad’s urgent priority.

Christmas was quickly approaching, and I had never felt so depressed. It was at this time that the Young Women in my ward organized a service project. We would visit the battered-women’s shelter for 12 consecutive nights before Christmas.

On the first night, we drove to the shelter with Sister Harris, our Young Women president. I think we were all a little nervous. As the van pulled up in front of the old two-story house in a dilapidated neighborhood, I suddenly felt sorrow that women and children would be forced to flee to such a dismal place.

Once inside the bleak, chilly house, I didn’t feel any better. The faces we saw looked sad and dejected. All except the face of little Aisha. This beautiful baby girl never stopped smiling as she looked at each of us. We took turns cradling her in our arms, and her mother confided that the small scar on Aisha’s face was due to an injury inflicted by her father.

Another woman asked who we were. Sister Harris told her we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and then bore her testimony of the Lord’s love and concern for each of his children.

We left a Christmas tree and decorations that night and took with us the good feelings that come when we show others we care.

On the nights that followed, we brought gifts donated by members of our ward—baskets with combs and brushes and toiletries for the women, toys and blankets for the children.

The drab living room looked a little less drab each night. We hung homemade stockings on the bare wall above an old television set and taped Christmas cards above the fireplace. The tiny lights on the tree reflected in the silver ornaments. It was actually beginning to look and feel like Christmas in that humble shelter.

On the 12th night we arrived with a turkey dinner and all the trimmings. My heart was touched when a ten-year-old boy cried out, “This is the best Christmas I ever had!”

Something else happened to me during those 12 nights of Christmas. I returned home to our apartment each night feeling so blessed. As I walked into our living room, I saw for the first time how warm and pretty it was. I felt the love that was there and the strong sense of security even during this difficult time. I was grateful that my home was a place of safety and refuge instead of one of violence and fear. I felt a new appreciation for my mom and dad. I no longer resented having to share a room with my little sister.

And I had to agree with the little boy at the shelter—it was the best Christmas I ever had.

Though his memory shines especially bright during this Bicentennial year, Abraham Lincoln had lost some of his luster for citizens in Spokane, Washington. It seems the city’s statue of the nation’s 16th president needed a facelift after prolonged exposure to the rainy northwest climate. It was the Explorers of the Spokane First Ward who provided the manpower to clean up the statue.
Accepting President Kimball’s challenge that each American devote 24 hours of service to his community, the Explorers scrubbed the statue with a vinegar solution and polished it up with naval jelly.
It was a great birthday present to the country, and both the Explorers and Abe have reason to stand tall.

Nature provides some striking parallels. The late film producer Cecil B. DeMille shared this experience:
“One day as I was lying in a canoe, a big black beetle … climbed up to the canoe. I watched it idly for some time.
“Under the heat of the sun, the beetle proceeded to die. Then a strange thing happened. His glistening black shell cracked all the way down the back. Out of it came a shapeless mass, quickly transformed into beautifully, brilliantly-colored life. … There gradually unfolded iridescent wings from which the sunlight flashed a thousand colors. … The blue-green body took shape.
“Before my eyes had occurred a metamorphosis—the transformation of a hideous beetle into a gorgeous dragonfly. … I had witnessed … a miracle. Out of the mud had come a beautiful new life. And the thought came to me that if the Creator works such wonders with the lowliest of creatures, what may not be in store for the human spirit!”

Sister Vida Osei of Ghana wanted to learn to read and write English. She had tried community programs a number of times but had become discouraged and quit within weeks. Then one Sunday while attending meetings at the Second Branch, she learned that the Asamankese District was sponsoring an English literacy program. She decided to take a chance and enroll.
She soon found that this program was different. She would be able to attend with friends from church. Scriptures are used as study materials, so she would learn English and the gospel at the same time.
Two months after starting the class, Vida gave her first prayer in a class—ever. Three months after starting, she gave her first-ever talk in sacrament meeting, partially in Twi, a local African language, and partially in English. Four months after beginning, she began writing in a tattered notebook the orders, costs, and prices for her work as a self-employed seamstress. She made fewer mistakes with customers, got lower prices from vendors, and made more money than she had before in any previous month.
“I was too shy to attend a literacy class with just anyone,” she said. “But when the literacy class was held at the meetinghouse with members I knew, it gave me the courage to try again. And now I can read the scriptures and improve my business by reading and writing English.”

Winfred was helping Jajja (Grandma) make dinner.
“Mmm, I love matoke,” Jajja said.
“Me too,” Winfred said. “It’s one of my favorite meals! I like the green bananas. And the peppers and tomatoes. But the best part is the sauce.”
“That’s because the sauce combines all the flavors into one,” Jajja said.
They kept cutting vegetables. Then Winfred sighed.
“Jajja,” she said, “how do you stay so happy all the time?”
“I try to,” Jajja said. “But I’m not happy all the time. Sadness is a part of life. Are you sad right now?”
Winfred nodded. “I miss Taata (Daddy), because he’s working far away. And I miss school, because we can’t go right now. And I miss my friends from church.”
“It’s OK to feel sad about those things,” Jajja said. “Life is not always easy. But when I’m sad, I try to follow my recipe for happiness.”
“Your recipe?”
“Just like I have a recipe for matoke, I have a recipe for happiness. Sometimes sadness is too big to go away right away. But often I find that my recipe is just what I needed to feel better.”
“What is your recipe?”
Jajja smiled. “Why don’t you see if you can figure out a recipe for yourself? Then you can tell me about it.”
That night when Winfred prayed, she knew Heavenly Father was listening. She realized that prayer made her happy! She got a piece of paper and wrote, Winfred’s Recipe for Happiness. 1. Pray. Then she went to sleep.
The next morning she read her Book of Mormon. Reading the scriptures made her happy too. She found her paper and wrote, 2. Read scriptures. Then she looked at the scripture she had opened to: “Believe in Christ” (2 Nephi 33:10).
Winfred added another note: 3. Have faith in Jesus Christ.
Winfred thought about how nice Jajja was to let her visit. Winfred found Jajja and said, “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”
Saying thank you made Winfred feel good. She wrote on her paper again. 4. Be grateful.
Then Winfred asked her neighbors if the younger children could come and play. She brought her little sister, Milfred, and her little brother, Alfred. When they were done playing, she invited the children to read with her. Jajja cut up a watermelon for everyone to share.
Later Winfred went to visit her friend named Happy. Together, they washed the dishes for Happy’s mother. Then they swept the floor. It was fun to help!
When evening came, Winfred helped her siblings with their homework. She studied the alphabet with Milfred. She helped Alfred with his math.
That night, Winfred talked to Jajja again.
“I feel much better today! I think I found my recipe for happiness.”
“Wonderful! Tell me,” said Jajja.
“Winfred’s Recipe for Happiness,” she read. “1. Pray. 2. Read scriptures. 3. Have faith in Jesus Christ. 4. Be grateful.”
“That is a marvelous recipe,” Jajja said. “But I think you may have forgotten something. What else made you happy today?”
Winfred thought for a minute. “Well, I had fun playing with the little children. And helping Happy and her mother. And studying with Milfred and Alfred. Wait … that’s it! Helping others is the last ingredient.”
“That’s right,” Jajja said. “Serving others is like the sauce—it combines all the other good things into one.”
“That’s a good recipe.” Winfred grinned. “I want to try it again tomorrow.”

It must be close to freezing this morning. David can tell, even though the apartment is still draped in shadow, and he is still lying in a tangle of bedding on the sofa that passes for his bed. It must be 20 degrees outside, David is thinking. He can imagine flowers of ice spreading on the window panes. His mother snuffles and shifts in her sleep. She is nearly always cold, so yesterday David helped her shove her bed closer to the radiator, beneath the window at the front of the studio apartment that the two of them share. It is already late January, but today is the first day it has dipped below freezing. It’s an unusual winter for New York City.
“Morning, Lobo,” David whispers to the warm nose nuzzling his neck. “You ready for your walk?” He scratches his Siberian husky under his chin, then slides out of bed and kneels in his sweat pants at the side of the sofa. While Lobo paces the floor, his toenails clicking on the hardwood, David says his prayers. He prays silently, so as not to disturb his mother, and he prays for what he has been praying for ever since he joined the Church over a year ago. The words are familiar by now. They tumble together in his head like a well-rehearsed hymn.
“Please,” he murmurs into his pillow, “please, let me be able to go.”
It can’t hurt, David figures, to ask for something he doesn’t need for five more years. This ought to give Heavenly Father enough time to work something out.
“David?” his mother’s voice is barely a rasp.
“I’m here, Mom.”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking the dog out in a minute. Why? You need something? Some breakfast, maybe? I could make oatmeal—oatmeal with butter and brown sugar.”
His mother’s eyelids are swollen. She rubs her palm over her forehead and clutches her quilt tighter. “No, baby,” she whispers. “No, that’s all right. You go on.” She waves him away with a flick of her fingers.
On regular mornings, David walks his dog Lobo all the way to Riverside Park. But this is not a regular morning. This is Sunday, and it is not even a regular Sunday because David still has some finishing touches to do on the talk Bishop Wendall asked him to give in sacrament meeting today. Light is just beginning to creep over the horizon, but cars and people are already bustling along the streets. Steam boils from manhole covers as David makes his way up the street, sidestepping the potholes that yawn in the sidewalk. He waves to old Mr. Gerard, who is busy stocking Snickers bars in his newsstand on the corner.
“Whoa, boy,” David says to his dog, which is straining at his leash, wanting to go all the way to the park. David feels bad he has to pull him back. Finally, though, Lobo seems to catch on that they are only walking around the block this morning. Lobo stops and David carefully attends to his needs.
Mr. Gerard is watching. “You know,” he calls from his newsstand, “it’s refreshing to see a young man clean up after himself.” He hobbles over and slips a Snickers bar into David’s hand, grinning his gap-toothed grin at him.
David shrugs. “Thanks, Mr. Gerard, but it’s no big deal. It’s the law.”
Mr. Gerard lets out a half snort, half laugh. “Maybe you haven’t noticed,” he says, shaking his knobby finger at the cement walls surrounding them, “but a lot of people around here don’t care about the law.” The walls are smeared with paint, red and blue and green, pictures and words with sharp angles.
“Seems like a good boy is harder to find than a three-headed rooster these days.” Mr. Gerard chuckles to himself.
David nods, then clears his throat and says, “I’m a Latter-day Saint, you know.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Gerard is shuffling away. “Good for you,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ve seen those Mormon missionaries riding around here on their bikes. They look like good boys, those missionaries. You going to do that someday?”
“I hope so,” David says, but Mr. Gerard is now handing his first customer a newspaper and doesn’t hear. “I hope so,” David says again.
Back at the apartment David shakes dry food into his dog’s bowl and fills the water dish. He sprinkles plant food on the potted geraniums growing on the window sill. He toasts two pieces of bread and pours a glass of milk. Then he puts on his dress shirt. It is short-sleeved, and David knows he looks funny wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt in the dead of winter, but it’s his only one.
After he’s dressed, David goes around the apartment picking up empty liquor bottles and stuffing them into a trash bag so he can dump them down the chute in the hallway. Before he goes, he places the plate of toast and the milk next to his mother’s bed. “I’ll be back by lunchtime,” David says to the dog, who whines and rubs against his legs. Then he scoots out the open door but pauses when his mother starts making small hiccuping noises. He waits until she rolls onto her side, then pulls the door closed gently behind him.
Lobo is the reason David started going to church in the first place. He was out one morning when some boys from the neighborhood ran up and asked if they could pet his dog. They were three brothers, all younger than David, and they weren’t allowed to have a dog themselves. So David let them pet his dog. After that, the boys started coming around all the time to see Lobo, and eventually they told him they were LDS. Did David want to come to church with them some time?
That’s how it happened. The rest was simple. David prayed about it, and he gained a testimony of the gospel. Unfortunately, those three boys moved away.
Now David goes to church by himself. He takes the 7:45 one train to Lincoln Center, then walks across the street, skirting the construction at the corner of 65th and Columbus. It’s the seven-story building with the gold lettering above the door that says “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” “Visitors Welcome” is the sign on the corner, but David is not a visitor.
Two missionaries are relaxing in overstuffed armchairs when David pushes open the lobby doors. One, Elder Hindmarsh, is from Florida, and Elder Simmons is from California. Even though they are indoors now, they still have their trench coats buttoned up and their scarves wound tightly around their necks. They glance up from their worn copies of the Book of Mormon. “Hey, man,” Elder Hindmarsh says. He stands to slap David on the shoulder. “We heard you got roped into speaking today. Good luck.”
“Yeah,” Elder Simmons says. “Don’t choke.” He grabs his own throat with both hands and pretends that he can’t breathe.
“Cut it out,” David says, but he’s laughing. He fingers the two sheets of notebook paper that are folded neatly in his jacket. Please help me not to trip over my words, he pleads silently.
“Seriously, though, good luck,” Elder Hindmarsh says. He squeezes David’s arm for reassurance.
David steps into the elevator at the far end of the lobby and punches the button for level four. Level two is the Family History Library, and level three is the Relief Society room and the cultural hall and some classrooms. Level four is the chapel.
“Well, good morning,” Bishop Wendall greets as he puts his arm around David when he enters the chapel. “Nervous?” he asks. The chapel is nearly empty because David has arrived 45 minutes early to help prepare the sacrament.
David gives the “just a little bit” sign with his thumb and forefinger, and the bishop smiles and pats him on the back. Bishop Wendall says he will do fine, just fine.
After the sacrament is passed, and the bishop excuses the Aaronic Priesthood members to sit with their families, David slides into a seat next to Sister Greene on the stand. Sister Greene used to be a school teacher before she retired. She wears glasses and bright scarves with tropical birds printed on them, and she paints pictures in the air when she talks. David likes Sister Greene. She is one of the first people he ever heard speak in sacrament meeting after he was baptized. She talked about what it means to make a leap of faith.
David looks down and sees Sister Logan smiling up at him from where she’s sitting with her husband and two children. She wants to take David in as a foster child. “You’re only 14,” she told him the other day when he dropped in after school for some snickerdoodles and a glass of milk. David has stayed with Sister Logan and her family off and on for days at a time, when his mother has had to go to the hospital for treatment for her depression. Even when he’s not crashing on the Logans’ sofa, David likes to drop in every now and again.
But the other day, while he was munching his snickerdoodle and sipping his milk, Sister Logan had stood over him, her face a tight mask of concern. She had jiggled her baby on her hip and she said, “That neighborhood of yours …”
She had let her voice trail off, but David knew what she was thinking. She was scared David would never have a chance.
What Sister Logan doesn’t know is how very much David would like to be her foster son. He can picture himself tromping home from school in the afternoon and pushing open the slick glass doors of her building’s lobby. He’d stop and visit with the doorman for a while, then zip up to the 12th floor, where he’d sit at the spotless Formica table in Brother and Sister Logan’s white kitchen. He’d work on his math problems until it was time to help with dinner.
But this, David knows, is only a dream. It is like the dream he used to have about his father coming back to live with him and his mom. It is like the dream that one morning he will wake up and his mother will have stopped drinking. She will be standing in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of blueberry waffles and telling him it’s time to get ready for school. It is only a dream.
David returns Sister Logan’s smile.
Five years, David is thinking while the bishop announces who today’s youth speaker will be. A lot can change in five years. But, then again, a lot can stay the same. Before he knows it, it is time for him to speak. Sister Greene pats him on the knee as he stands up. A leap of faith, Sister Greene said in her last sacrament talk, is when the Lord asks you to walk to the edge of the light and step into the darkness, trusting that He will guide your steps.
While David walks to the microphone, he slips his talk out of his pocket. He spreads the wrinkled sheets of paper on the pulpit and stares at them. His own words, scrawled in a blue ballpoint pen, stare back at him. Please, David prays silently, I’m afraid I’ll never have a chance.
But then he looks out at the hodgepodge of faces in the audience. Dark and light, wrinkled and rosy. Pairs of eyes gaze back at him, young eyes and tired eyes and eyes with crow’s feet. Familiar eyes. You can do it, these eyes say. You can do anything. We’ll help you.
So David clears his throat. He grips the sides of the podium, and he opens his mouth. “I’d like to speak to you today,” he begins, “about what I am doing now to prepare to serve a mission.”

1 Agnes tried not to squirm in the narrow bunk so that she wouldn’t wake her little sister, Sarah, lying beside her. She pulled the blanket up over her ears, but even that didn’t keep out the faint tom-tom beat of drums from across the river. Father insisted that the Indians were friendly to the settlers, but Agnes was still afraid. Finally she fell asleep.
2 Agnes felt like she’d only been asleep a few minutes when little Sarah pounced on her, pulling back the blanket and saying, “Up, Aggie. It’s morning—get up!” Mama was ladling hot oatmeal into their bowls. “Your father and Tom have left already to help the new family build their cabin,” she told the two girls.
3 Agnes’s spirits rose at the mention of new neighbors, even though they would live miles away. Maybe there’ll be a girl my age, she hoped, someone to take the place of Emily, far away in Scotland.
Loud banging startled them, and before anyone could reach the cabin door, young Billy Harris burst in. “Mrs. McTavish, it’s Ma. She’s feeling bad, and the baby’s coming. Please come and help!”
4 Agnes quickly helped her mother gather up some things to take, while Billy jumped around, getting in the way. “Now, Agnes,” Mama said, “you’ll have to be in charge until Papa and Tom get back.” Agnes gulped but only said, “Don’t worry about us, Mama. We’ll be OK.”
5 As Mama and the boy set off, Agnes asked, “Now, what shall we do today?” Sarah pleaded, “Play with your shoes! Dance on the tree stump!” Agnes laughed. “Your favorite game!” Sarah clumped up the steps to the upper room and came down dangling the shoes by their laces. The shoes had become a link with the past for Agnes.
6 As Agnes put on the shoes, many wonderful memories of Scotland came back to her. At the door she began to wonder if they should leave the cabin. What if the Indians are watching? Her stomach tightened with fear. Not wanting to frighten Sarah, however, Agnes let herself be pulled outside.
7 But there was no happy spring in her step as she went through a Scottish dance routine on the tree stump. She finally stopped, panting, and took off the shoes and put them on the stump.
Sarah was coaxing for a turn just as Agnes heard a rustle in the brush. She spun, terrified, and was sure that she caught a glimpse of an Indian!
8 Grabbing Sarah’s hand, Agnes ran back to the cabin, then barricaded the door with the stout plank as her father did each night. Sarah cried, “Aggie, we forgot the shoes! I’ll go get them.” “No!” Agnes cried. Then, gaining control of herself, she softened her voice, adding, “Leave them, Love. We can get them later.”
9 The day dragged by slowly. As Agnes did small jobs in the cabin, she kept scanning the clearing through the window, looking for anything unusual. Then late in the afternoon she suddenly realized that her beautiful shoes were no longer on the stump!
Shouts from outside told Agnes that her father and brother were back, and she saw her mother, too, clambering out of the horse-drawn cart. “This is no gilded coach,” her mother joked, “but it saved me a long walk home. Papa found out that I was at the Harrises’ and picked me up. The Harrises have a fine new baby son. We’ll take some dinner over to them tomorrow.”
10 That evening Agnes told the family about seeing an Indian and bringing Sarah inside and about the shoes vanishing. Mama stroked her daughter’s hair and said, “I can see that you have the makings of a fine, strong pioneer woman!”
11 The next morning Sarah looked out the door and shouted, “Aggie! Mama! Look! There are some slippers on the stump. Come and see!” But what Sarah thought were slippers sitting on the stump were really soft leather moccasins with beaded embroidery down the front.
12 Agnes quickly looked toward the river. On the opposite bank she saw a tall, leather-shirted Indian man moving forward out of the trees. Then another figure came into view, an Indian girl waving in a friendly gesture and holding up Agnes’s shoes by their long laces.
It took a minute before Agnes understood. Then she smiled and held up the beaded moccasins and waved back.

If we had lived on a farm, I guess the pear tree wouldn’t have been such a big deal. But we lived in town, so when we moved to a new house with a pear tree in the backyard, Mom was really pleased.
So were my brother, Jimmy, and I. The pears were kind of hard and didn’t have much taste, but we used a little salt to give them zing. By picking time, we had eaten every last pear on that tree.
Mom wasn’t a bit happy about it. She had wanted to make pear preserves. So the next year, she laid down the law: Under no circumstances were we to pick even one pear from that tree! Mom said that she knew that she could trust us because we were Boy Scouts and had promised to be honest and trustworthy. And that meant no lying.
She had us there. We hadn’t told a lie since we’d become Boy Scouts. Maybe we stretched the truth a mite, but we didn’t do any real lying. Anyway, we promised not to pick any pears.
But as those pears got bigger, they became more tempting. Every day Jimmy and I stood under that tree with our mouths watering.
“You know something, Bill?” asked Jimmy one day as we stood craning our necks up at the tree.
“Yeah?”
“I know a way we can keep our promise and eat a few pears too.”
“I’ve already thought of shaking the tree,” I said. “I tried it, too, but it’s too big.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Jimmy said. “Why can’t we shin up that tree and eat all around the cores of the pears? We didn’t promise not to eat the pears—we just promised we wouldn’t pick them.”
I looked at Jimmy. His eyes were all lit up just thinking about biting into those pears. “Eat around the pears and leave the cores?” I asked.
Jimmy nodded, chuckling.
I didn’t feel too good about it. Still, it wouldn’t be lying, and those pears did look awfully good.
The next day Mom had to take our neighbor, Mrs. Garrett, to the doctor. We shinned up that tree as soon as the car was out of sight. We ate pears until we thought Mom’d be bringing Mrs. Garrett back. Then we climbed down and were sailing boats in a tub of water on the back porch when they got home. They sat down by us and started talking about a book they were both reading.
“That’s funny!” Mom said suddenly. “It looks like the birds have been into my pears. How strange—they’ve eaten the whole pear and left the core! You’d think they’d just take a few bites from each pear.”
Jimmy and I found another game to play real fast.
The next day Mom had to go to her sewing club. We knew we were safe for a long time. We climbed the pear tree and ate and ate until I started feeling funny. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was my stomach or my conscience hurting, but soon there was no doubt. I climbed down, went in the house, and lay moaning on my bed. Jimmy came in right after.
We tried to stop groaning when Mom came in the front door. Dad got there about the same time, and I heard her tell him that the birds had been working on her pears again. She said it was mighty strange to see those brown pear cores hanging all over the tree like that.
I tried to keep quiet, but I thought I was going to die. I think Jimmy thought the same thing, the way he was carrying on. We finally groaned so loudly that Mom and Dad heard us and came tearing in.
Dad called the doctor, who told him to bring us right in. It might be appendicitis, he said, though it wasn’t likely we’d both get it at the same time.
After examining us, the doctor said, “It looks like a good case of green-apple stomachache.”
“Would green pears do the same thing?” Mom asked, glaring at us.
“Yes, they would,” said the doctor. He gave us some stuff to drink and sent us home.
After we got home and our stomachs had settled down, Mom asked us about the pears.
Well, when she asked us point-blank like that, there was no way around it, and we told her what we’d done.
“Well, boys,” Dad said after hearing the story, “you can’t separate actions from words. The truth is the truth, no matter what words you use.” He didn’t even raise his voice, but I felt awful.
I was starting to sniffle by then, and Jimmy was bawling up a storm. We could hardly choke out that we were sorry. After agreeing to use our allowance to buy more pears for Mom to preserve, we put on our pajamas and knelt for family prayer. Mom and Dad hugged us extra tight after the prayer, gave us good-night kisses, and said they loved us. I was feeling much better after that.
The next year we had pear preserves practically coming out of our ears. I can’t say that I liked them much, but I sure liked myself a whole lot better!

A priesthood quorum that is looking for ways to give service can combine the right plan with the right place and really make a difference.

Adapt to conditions.
Sam Welsh, 14, of the Wellington Ward, West Palm Beach Florida Stake, had his teachers quorum organized in a food drive for the homeless. Then things blew apart—literally. Hurricane Andrew hit southern Florida with a fury that tore homes apart, uprooted trees, and displaced thousands of people. The service project suddenly became a way for Sam’s quorum to give relief to hurricane victims.

“Our quorum or any other teenage groups weren’t allowed into the hurricane area to work,” said Sam. “We only got to go work with our parents.” But one way teens could help was working for organizations funneling supplies into the area. Sam’s food drive expanded beyond his quorum and ward to include the entire stake, other Scout troops, and his performing arts school. The school officials asked that students donate money instead of goods. Sam used the money to purchase items the food bank had run short of, such as baby formula and bottles, diapers and wipes. The quorum helped collect donations and deliver them to a central collection point. Because the quorum had experience working together, they were able to keep the drive organized and on schedule.

Adapt to needs.
But chances for service don’t always come on such a large scale. Paul Brown, 16, of the Fort Pierce Ward, West Palm Beach Florida Stake, was severely injured in an automobile accident. His recovery will be long and slow. Mark Settle, a friend and member of the same priests quorum, explained what the quorum did after hearing about Paul. “We wanted to go see him, but we weren’t allowed in intensive care, so we had a group prayer. And we remembered Paul in our personal prayers and in our family prayers.”
“Every Sunday,” Mark said, “we have our priests quorum meeting at his house so Paul can be with us. He’s a good person to be around.”
And they have plans for Paul’s return. “When he feels good enough to go to Church, we’re going to get a microphone so he can bless the sacrament even if he can’t break the bread yet.”

When our children were young, we lived in the country of Kazakhstan. There were no missionaries there at that time. When friends or neighbors wanted to hear about the gospel, we got to be the missionaries!

Our daughter Marné shared the gospel with her friend Alyona. Alyona decided to be baptized with permission from her mother, who was later baptized with Alyona’s younger sister. Recently Alyona married a righteous young man in the Manhattan New York Temple, and Marné got to be there! She was so happy that she had helped her friend learn about Jesus Christ.

Learning not to judge was one of the most important lessons I learned in seminary. I saw people in every class who were there because they didn’t want to take a “real” class at school, and seminary was a great opportunity to catch up on some zzz’s. But then a guy would stand up and bear his testimony, and it would be the most beautiful thing. Never in a million years would I have expected some of these people to even know what the scriptures were, and they would stand up and tell you how true they are and how much they loved them and the Church. It was amazing.

Dwight (center) with his mother and friend Jeff on his baptism day.
Photograph courtesy of Dwight G.
I grew up learning Christian values. I knew I was created by God and that He would protect me as I kept His commandments. But eventually I drifted away from my faith and was filled with doubt. In 2020, my friend Jeff, who is a member of the Church, explained BYU–Pathway Worldwide to me, how it can help students learn English and earn a bachelor’s degree online.
I wanted to learn more!
In my country, most young people can’t afford to go abroad for a better education. BYU–Pathway was the solution I didn’t know I needed. My fear of the future was replaced with a new hope that blazed within me, and I knew God hadn’t abandoned me.
I learned many valuable habits and skills in my classes, like how to manage my finances, improve my English, and be a proactive employee. I quickly discovered that BYU–Pathway is not only an educational journey but a spiritual one too. In my classes, I also learned about Nephi and modern-day prophets and came to know that their teachings were true. And I realized that, if I wanted to fully grasp what I was learning, I needed to learn more about the Church.
I shared my feelings with Jeff, and he immediately contacted the full-time missionaries. Each day of study I had with the missionaries filled me with a light that brightened my view of the world. I was like a lost child who was finally coming home. I discovered I am a son of God, I have a purpose, and there’s another book (the Book of Mormon) written by ancient people who recorded the miracles that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ provided for them.
Eventually I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. And my faith in Jesus Christ has reached a height I never thought possible.
Dwight G., Maritime, Togo

“You should go talk to a mental health counselor.”
This advice came as a huge surprise. I had just told a close friend about how stressed I was about getting into a prestigious accounting program, maintaining relationships, and dating as a recently returned missionary. I had never even considered the idea of therapy, and I felt like talking to a counselor was only for people who had big problems or were too weak to deal with challenges on their own. My friend had only good things to say about his own experience talking to a counselor, so I began to consider it.
Soon my anxiety got worse. After sleepless nights of worrying, I decided to schedule an appointment. I was nervous about what other people might say or think if they knew I was going to see a counselor, but at that point my anxiety was affecting my ability to function, so I went.
At the appointment, the counselor asked lots of questions that helped me come to answers on my own. The counselor didn’t give me a magic solution to my struggles. He also didn’t treat me like I was crazy—he had seen a lot of people with struggles similar to mine. In some ways, it felt like going to a medical doctor. He was a professional with experience in diagnosing the problem and had the expertise to teach me how to prevent and treat anxiety.
Along with other suggestions, the counselor suggested that I write my feelings and thoughts in my journal. This was a huge help in overcoming my anxiety. I also kept exercising, spending time with friends and family, eating healthily (or as healthily as a guy in college who was cooking for himself could), studying the scriptures, attending church, and praying.
After meeting with the counselor a few times, two things changed for me: First, I had new, healthier perspectives on my anxieties, myself, and other people; and second, I felt like I had helpful tools I could use in future anxiety-provoking situations. I wasn’t completely cured of anxiety, but I felt like I could deal with it better when it flared up again. Since then, I haven’t had to go back to the counselor, but if I ever needed to, I wouldn’t be worried about getting help—I’ve learned that there’s no reason to suffer in silence or be embarrassed of seeking professional help for a mental health issue.

One day there was a conference in our city. My parents were excited and grateful when they learned we would have Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles among us.
On the day of the conference, the chapel was overflowing. My mother could not get close to Elder Ashton. When my six-year-old brother saw my mother’s despair, he managed to get through the human barrier and reach him. He asked Elder Ashton to bless his brother who was very sick and insisted that he come to where we were. But Elder Ashton couldn’t come at that moment. We prayed for an opportunity to meet him at the end of the conference.
To our surprise, at the beginning of his talk Elder Ashton said, “When I got here, a little boy asked me to bless his brother who is gravely ill, and I would like to say to all within the sound of my voice that your brother will get well and fulfill his mission here on earth.”
For my parents, this was the balm they had prayed for, a relief from their days of pain and sadness. We began a new treatment, and with confidence in the power of Elder Ashton’s promise, I found my life changed completely.

Brother Khanakam served in the Thailand Bangkok Mission, where he had “many good experiences.” One of these experiences involved his mother and his sister. They were visiting in Bangkok, and Brother Khanakam invited them to a fireside where Elder Jacob de Jager of the Seventy was speaking.
“I was asked to be his interpreter. I knelt with him and prayed for my family. In his talk, Elder de Jager made some complimentary comments about my family. I looked at my mother, and she was crying. Even my sister, who had been so opposed to my joining the Church that she almost shot me, was crying, too. After the fireside my mother said if there was anything she could do to support me on my mission I was to let her know. I know that she was touched that day by the Spirit.
“My relationship with my family is good now. They love me, and they love my wife and children. My mother lives in a house close to us.”

EZRA: So what am I doing here? I was walking down Main Street in Salt Lake City one day when Brigham Young, President of the Church, happened by. “Afternoon, Brother Cooper,” he said. “The Lord wants you in Long Valley.”
“Long Valley! What’s down there?”
“Nothing,” he said. “That’s why. But you won’t be on your own. We’re settin’ up the United Order. Settin’ it up all over the Church. Got to make the Saints one—start developin’ a perfect society.”
When I got my teeth back in my mouth, I said, “Brother Brigham, that’s impossible! There must be some mistake!” “There’s no mistake,” he said. “But don’t take my word for it. You go home and pray about it.”
So I went home and prayed about it. And here I am!
[He starts off again, then stops and smiles.]
Over seven hundred people, working, living, eating together—everybody equal, sharing the good and the bad. Oh, there are problems. Some say the meat cuts aren’t all the same size. But by and large [with pride], it’s working. And all because we try with our whole hearts—weak as they are—to live the greatest of all commandments—love!

Our influence is surely felt in our respective families. Sometimes we fathers forget that once we too were boys, and boys at times can be vexing to parents.
I recall how much, as a youngster, I liked dogs. One day I took my wagon and placed a wooden orange crate in it and went looking for dogs. At that time, dogs were everywhere to be found: at school, walking along the sidewalks, or exploring vacant lots, of which there were many. As I would find a dog and capture it, I placed it in the crate, took it home, locked it in the coal shed, and turned the latch on the door. That day I think I brought home six dogs of varying sizes and made them my prisoners after this fashion. I had no idea what I would do with all those dogs, so I didn’t reveal my deed to anyone.
Dad came home from work and, as was his custom, took the coal bucket and went to the coal shed to fill it. Can you imagine his shock and utter consternation as he opened the door and immediately faced six dogs, all attempting to escape at once? As I recall, Dad flushed a little bit, and then he calmed down and quietly told me, “Tommy, coal sheds are for coal. Other people’s dogs rightfully belong to them.” By observing him, I learned a lesson in patience and calmness.

One day at school before I was eight, they were inspecting our hands and nails to see if they were clean, and the principal saw my CTR ring. After the principal checked the rest of my row, she came back to me and said, “Rebeca, come with me to the principal’s office.” Then she said to my teacher, “Can I take Rebeca for a while?”
In her office, she asked me what the ring meant. I said, “Choose the right.” I explained that at church they teach us to do good, pray, and read the scriptures. She asked which church I went to, and I said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Then she asked me what that church was about, and I told her about Joseph Smith going into a grove to pray and seeing the Father and the Son. I told her about going to the temple to be sealed to my parents and that I would be baptized when I was eight. She said, “You can tell me more later because you need to be in math class right now.”
Later I took the principal a copy of the Book of Mormon with my testimony inside.
I have a goal to be a missionary when I grow up. But right now I am trying to share the gospel with my friends.