Gospel Story Finder

Whether we accept the fact or not, we are different from the world if we are living what we believe. Let me tell you about two of our missionaries.
It was the dinner hour, and it was raining without any sign of stopping. In spite of the rain, these two missionaries continued tracting. But let the father in one of these homes tell what happened that night:
“I had come home from work tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I might also add that I dislike ‘door knockers’ and salesmen.
“I had just sat down to my dinner when the knock on the door came. I don’t know what I expected to find at the door, but I didn’t intend to be very pleasant about the disturbances at this particular hour.
“Perhaps I was too stunned at first to be angry, but for some reason or other I did not slam the door in their faces. There in the doorway stood two young men, smiling from ear to ear and literally beaming as they told me that they had a special message for me and my family. I still don’t know what prompted me to invite them to come in, except that there was something very special about them. There was a certain quality about them that I had never experienced before.
“I can tell you that when I invited them to come into our home. I also invited the greatest blessings that have ever come into my life and the life of my family. Yes, we were all baptized into the LDS church.”

Bryan stared at his cereal and twirled his spoon around. “I can’t eat, Mom. My stomach hurts.”
“Bryan,” said Mom. “I know that it’s hard to move and go to a new school, but you’ll do just as well here as you did before.”
“But, Mom,” said Bryan, “all my friends are in my old school. I won’t know anyone here.”
“You’ll make new friends,” Mom reassured him.
“But the school year’s half over,” Bryan complained. “The kids know each other and have chosen their friends. They won’t have room for me to fit in.”
Mom put her arm around Bryan’s shoulders. “Remember last week in family home evening when we talked about how we can find answers to many of our problems by reading the scriptures?”
“I remember,” Bryan answered. “But I don’t remember any scriptures about kids having to make new friends in a new school.”
Mom smiled. “Maybe not,” she agreed, “but I can think of a scripture that will help here.”
“What scripture?”
“It’s about the Savior. John wrote, ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ * In other words, Jesus didn’t wait for people to be friendly to Him. He just loved them and was a friend first. It’s like the song in the Children’s Songbook, ‘Kindness Begins with Me.’ If you take the first step, I promise you that you’ll soon have lots of friends.”
“I’ll try, Mom,” Bryan told her. “But it’s not easy when you’re new.”
“I know,” Mom answered, “but by lunchtime you should feel better. I packed your favorite lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Bryan. “I’ll see you later,” he added as he kissed her good-bye.
Mrs. Bishop, the teacher, was expecting him. As soon as the bell rang, she said, “Class, we have a new boy this morning. This is Bryan Wright. Bryan, we’re glad to have you with us.”
Although the children smiled, as the morning went on, Bryan could tell that they had already settled into groups. Then, after recess, he found a note stuck in his desk! Bryan was surprised. Who would write a note to him? Bryan unfolded it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND. BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM. I’LL GIVE YOU A CLUE EACH DAY TO HELP YOU. HERE IS YOUR FIRST CLUE: I AM A BOY.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
The children were working on an assignment, and no one was looking at Bryan. As Mrs. Bishop called on children that afternoon, Bryan listened carefully, trying to learn each child’s name. On the way home, he caught up with a group of boys, and as he walked with them, he wondered, Could it be Jason? Larry? Maybe it’s Tony? Or Jeff?
The next morning, Bryan gobbled down his breakfast.
“Slow down, Bryan,” Mom laughed. “Yesterday you couldn’t eat a bite, and now I’m afraid you’ll swallow the spoon!”
But Bryan couldn’t wait to get to school. As soon as he arrived, he checked his desk. Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR NEXT CLUE? HERE IT IS: I HAVE BLOND HAIR AND BLUE EYES. GOOD LUCK!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan looked around the room carefully. About half the boys had blond hair. During the day, Bryan tried to talk to as many of them as he could so that he could see what color eyes they had. He learned more names and discovered that there were many friendly children in the class. But he still did not know who his mystery friend was.
The next day was Friday. Bryan was anxious to solve the mystery so that he would not have to wonder about it the whole weekend. But Friday’s clue was more mysterious than ever:
DEAR BRYAN,
YOUR CLUE FOR TODAY IS: I LOVE TO PLAY BASEBALL. IF YOU CAN’T SOLVE THE MYSTERY TODAY, DON’T WORRY. HERE’S AN EXTRA CLUE FOR YOU TO THINK ABOUT OVER THE WEEKEND: SHOELACES.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Shoelaces? Bryan was confused. Not only did he still have a mystery—nearly every boy in his class loved baseball—but now he had to figure out what shoelaces had to do with it. Again he talked to as many children as he could, including the girls, hoping that someone would give the Mystery Friend away. But in spite of getting to know many children better, Bryan still did not solve the shoelace mystery.
The weekend seemed long. Mom and Dad were really happy that Bryan was excited to go back to school, and they did their best to keep him busy. Finally Monday came, and Bryan found another note stuck in his desk:
DEAR BRYAN,
THIS IS THE LAST DAY OF THE MYSTERY. REMEMBER THE FINAL CLUE: SHOELACES. SEE YOU SOON!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan thought about shoelaces so much that when Mrs. Bishop asked him what five times nine was, Bryan answered, “Shoelaces.”
During art, when everyone was supposed to draw some type of transportation, Bryan drew a train riding along shoelace tracks. When lunchtime came, he walked down the line of waiting children, looking at their feet. He saw white shoelaces, black shoelaces, and blue-and-white-striped shoelaces. He saw brown shoelaces, pink shoelaces, and even purple polka-dot shoelaces.
And then he saw them—yellow shoelaces covered with black question marks! Question marks are for things you don’t know, he thought. And things you don’t know are mysteries, so these are the mystery shoelaces! He looked up to see a smiling face with blue eyes and curly blond hair. “So you’re my Mystery Friend, Jim,” he said.
“Yep. You figured me out. Now we can be friends!”
“I think we already are,” Bryan told him. “And you did me a real favor too.”
“What favor?” asked Jim.
“I was so busy trying to figure out who you were that I forgot to be shy and I got to know everybody in the class. My mom was right. By being a friend first, now I have a whole classroom full of friends—and one very best one, besides!”

His deep empathy for the feelings and problems of others has also helped him reach out and bring people into the Church or back into activity.
One of them, a nurse in the hospital where Si lives, remembers, “I first heard about the Church during my 3 A.M. discussions with Si. He gave definition to many basic feelings I’d had all my life. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to listen to the missionaries, and I did. I was baptized in August 1983.”

Christmas away from home. My favorite gift was my first Christmas away from home, when my parents, sister, and I went to visit my brother and his family.
We were used to family Christmases at our house, but this year my other siblings were going elsewhere, and we decided to visit my brother, Josh, and his family because they couldn’t come home. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I thought that if we weren’t home for Christmas, it wouldn’t be fun. It seemed that Christmas just wouldn’t be the same. My parents, sister, and I had already opened our presents to each other before we left home.
When my brother picked us up at the airport, my four-year-old niece, Kialey, started to sing Christmas songs, and I started to feel better. On Christmas morning I enjoyed watching the faces of my nieces and nephews light up as they opened their presents. It was nice, instead of focusing on what I got, to look at others opening their presents and to feel their joy.Hannah S., Montana

I was only 45 minutes late getting home with the Ford, and that was only because Darrell, who is my best friend, wanted to be dropped off at his girl friend’s house in Cupertino. If I had known what was going on at home, I would have hurried. What was going on at home was the end of my peace and happiness.
“Shhh,” said Anne, my younger sister who is 16 and had been driving for three wonderful months of parking tickets and running out of gas in odd places.
“What’s up? Somebody having a surprise party?” I asked.
“No,” said my brother Todd. “At least, we’re not. But Mom and Dad seem to be having some kind of party.”
“What’s wrong? Everybody looks so serious.”
“What’s wrong?” asked my older sister Val in tones of righteous indignation. “What’s wrong?”
“Yeah. I mean, what’s wrong?”
And then they told me. All at once, in loud whispers. When I had finally sorted out all the different stories, this is what I got:
When Anne got home with the Pinto, it had a new dent in the door from opening it hard into a light pole in a parking lot. But Mom and Dad weren’t angry—they just smiled and took the car keys from her and went into the bedroom and locked the door. When Todd got home with the car, it was nearly out of gas, and he didn’t have enough money to fill it up; but Mom and Dad didn’t complain, just took the keys and went back to their bedroom and locked the door. And when Val came home four hours late from a “quick trip to the store to get more shampoo,” Mom and Dad didn’t complain about the Volkswagen being gone so long—just took the car keys, and you know what happened then.
And no sooner had they finished telling me their stories than out of their bedroom came Mom and Dad, chortling and smiling. “Hi, Jerry,” said Dad.
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry I was late getting back, but I had to take Darrell to his girl friend’s house in Cupertino.”
“That’s fine,” said Mom.
“Is the car nearly out of gas?” asked Dad.
“I didn’t have any money to fill it up,” I said.
“Oh, fine, fine,” Mom said, giggling a little. “Could I have your car keys?”
“How come?” I asked.
Father just grinned a little broader. “We want to press them and put them in your baby book.”
I handed over the keys.
“Come into the living room, children, my loves,” sang Mother, and I swear it looked like they were prancing as they led the way.
As we followed them, Anne looked at me with a frightened expression on her face. “I think Mom and Dad are going crazy, Jerry,” she said. Her voice was trembling.
When we got into the living room, Mom and Dad were playing catch with the car keys.
“Definitely,” I told Anne. “Bonkers. Bananas. Out, so to speak, of their minds.”
When we had all settled down, looking at our once-stable parents with expressions that ranged from concern to near panic, Father began a little speech.
“Perhaps you children have never counted, but we, a middle income family, have four cars. Four cars is an unusually large number of automobiles for a middle income family, but then we have an unusually large number of drivers at home. Six, to be exact. Six drivers and four cars. One could reasonably suppose that this would be enough cars to go around, but not so. Today your mother had an appointment at the dentist’s. The appointment was at 2:00, but at 2:00, even though there were supposed to be three cars at home, there were none. Mother missed her dental appointment. Does your tooth hurt, Mother?”
Mother nodded, holding her jaw. “My tooth hurts, Father.” She laughed.
“And I today received three pieces of mail. One was the insurance bill. One was the bill from our gasoline credit card. And one was the monthly statement from the bank on the two cars we are still paying for. I added them up and reached a sobering conclusion.”
He did not look particularly somber.
“My dear children, I believe we are the largest single mainstay for the automobile and insurance and oil business in America today. If we did not use our cars for one week, Ford Motor Company stock would drop three points and there would be a coup in Saudi Arabia. If we did not use our cars for a year, our country would be plunged into a major depression. We are supporting the economy of the United States of America.
“We are honored. This is a privilege for us, and we don’t plan to shirk our responsibilities. However, some of this privilege ought to be shared. Mother, will you get the documents?”
Mother left the room. While she was gone, Father asked each of us in turn how much we made at our jobs. None of us was making a fortune, but we were doing surprisingly well. Even Anne, who worked in a hamburger drive-in after school, pulled down about a hundred a month. No wonder she always looked like she stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
And then Mother came back and handed each of us a piece of paper with the words LEASE AGREEMENT at the top of the page. I won’t give you the legal language. Boiled down, it went this way:
Each of us who planned to drive any car at all during a given month had to pay a basic fee of $8.00 to cover part of the insurance costs. If our grades fell below a B average, we had to pay $20.00 a month.
“That’s quite a jump,” said Anne, who often did not have a B average.
“So is the jump in insurance rates when your grades go down,” answered Mom.
The agreement also called for us to pay all traffic fines, the deductible on the insurance in case of collision, and all the gas we used.
“What?” asked Val, turning white. “All the gas?”
“The car is to be returned home with the tank full, every time,” Dad said.
There was also a mileage fee. For the LTD, 10¢ per mile. For the Pinto, 8¢ per mile. For the Volkswagen, because it was old, 6¢ per mile, and for the Galaxy, commonly known around the house as “the Ford,” 12¢ a mile.
“Twelve cents a mile!” I shouted. That was the car I preferred to drive.
“It’s the newest car. It has the greatest depreciation,” said my father, smiling.
“You will keep track of the mileage,” said Mother, “on these handy little Automobile Record sheets, which we will have printed up and placed in the glove compartment of every car. After every use of the car, you will write down your mileage and the number on the odometer. When you come home, you will give your Automobile Record sheet to the leasing company—your father or myself.”
And the final clause of the contract was the stinger. “Permission for use of the cars will automatically be suspended until all dues and remunerations are paid in full.”
“You mean we can’t even be late?”
“Not even by a day,” Father said, smiling.
Anne was outraged. “I thought we were a family, not a business!”
Mother only smiled her if-you-get-upset-it-will-only-make-it-worse smile. “Every family is a business, dear. There are income and expenses and cash flow. We just think it’s time that your father stopped supplying all the income and you stopped monopolizing the expenses. There’s the contract. You will all please sign.”
“And if we don’t?” asked Todd, already cringing because he knew the answer before he asked.
Father held up all the car keys—quite a bundle of them—and said, “The cars will no doubt miss you, and you will probably wear out your shoes faster, but the walking will be good for your health.”
Anne didn’t get it. “You mean if we don’t sign, we don’t drive?”
“That’s what he means,” said Val.
“Here are the pens,” said Mother.
“Sign or walk,” said Father. We signed.
“After all these years,” I said, “I never knew that my parents were so greedy.”
“Think of it this way,” Dad said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “By saving money on the cars, we can go on putting food on the table. It’s a fringe benefit that isn’t written into the contract. Your parents won’t go broke.”

A couple of years ago, my bishop asked our ward to read the Book of Mormon. I did not want to do it because I thought it would be too hard. The next year I decided to try to read it before my birthday to prepare for my baptism. I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting about this goal, and my bishop asked the ward to do my goal with me. I’m already beginning to see a change in my life from reading the Book of Mormon.
Emma G., age 7, Florida

I met Paulo on a hot day in southern Brazil. Church meetings had ended, and the meetinghouse was almost empty except for a few members sitting in the hallway. My husband, then serving as president of the Brazil Curitiba Mission, was meeting with Edson Lustoza Araújo, the district president from Guarapuava, in Paraná.
“Sister Paulsen,” said Brother Jason Sousa, who was serving as a counselor to my husband, “did you notice the brother sitting in the hallway with mud on his boots?”
Many roads in southern Brazil are made of red dirt, so mud on shoes is common.
“You mean the thin, dark-haired man in his late 20s?” I asked.
“Yes, his name is Paulo Tvuarde. He walks to church almost every Sunday, except when the mud is so thick that he can’t make it. He’s been doing that for 14 years—since he was 15.”
“How far does he walk?” I asked, unprepared for Brother Sousa’s response.
“Oh, 40 kilometers,” he said matter-of-factly. “He leaves at 3:00 a.m. to make it to church on time. It takes him eight hours.”
Quickly converting kilometers to miles, I realized that Brother Tvuarde walked 25 miles to attend church in Guarapuava!
“Why would he do that?” I asked incredulously.
“Because he believes that the Church is true.”
“Well, of course,” I said, a little embarrassed at the obvious answer. “What I meant was, why does he have to walk that far?”
Brother Sousa explained that Paulo lived in the country, taking care of the family farm so that his 74-year-old mother, who had a heart condition, could live in Guarapuava, where she received medical attention. President Lustoza was her cardiologist.
“Paulo lives by himself, plows the fields, and feeds the few animals that they have,” Brother Sousa said. “There is no electricity or running water. The farm is eight kilometers from the nearest bus stop. Worse than that, the bus doesn’t run on Saturdays or Sundays. So he walks to church.”
President Lustoza, who had entered the room with my husband, said Paulo usually attended three out of every four weeks. “He doesn’t miss unless the roads are impassible,” he said. “He stays overnight on Sundays so he can take the bus back on Monday.”
If Paulo attended church three out of every four Sundays, then he spent more than 300 hours walking nearly 1,600 kilometers (1,000 mi) each year just to attend church!

In September 2020, with the declining health of our parents and the instability of the COVID-19 pandemic, we relocated my sweet 83-year-old parents from their home of 45 years in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Cedar Hills, Utah, to be closer to family, making it easier for us to help care for them.
As you can imagine, this move was difficult for them on many levels. Residing in Las Vegas for most of their married years, they enjoyed their independence and the relationships they built there. They owned a lovely home and prided themselves on having an open door when family passed through. Giving up home ownership after 66 years and downsizing into a small rental home in a new state was challenging. Now they had to say goodbye to everything familiar to them, including friends they’d shared years of memories and experiences with and people they’d grown close to while serving in various callings.
At the time of the move, Church meetings were held remotely. Our parents worried how they would be able to get to know the people of their new ward when there was no opportunity to go to church and build new friendships. How could they possibly feel at home in these circumstances?
We found them a small rental home in a neighborhood in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward, unaware of what a special place it would turn out to be.
Because we had simplified their belongings for the move and didn’t need assistance with moving bulky items, we hadn’t contacted the ward leadership to announce their arrival. That didn’t matter. Within five minutes of our pulling in with the moving van, neighbors arrived at the door, gloves on, asking how they could help. Homemade muffins were delivered and cold drinks offered to our family members helping with the move.
On Thursday of that week, members of the Relief Society presidency visited to introduce themselves and welcome our parents to the ward. On Sunday the bishop came to meet them and inquire whether they needed anything. He spent almost an hour with them, genuinely getting to know them and asking if they’d be willing to take ministering assignments.
Within two weeks of their arrival, they had ministering brothers and sisters assigned to them and were contacted by both. They also received ministering assignments and were introduced to their assigned families. Even with Mom’s late-stage dementia, her ministering companion made the effort to invite her and bring her along as they visited the sisters they were assigned to. The ministering brothers were consistent, loving, and genuine. They immediately found a commonality with roots from Wyoming, and my parents felt loved from the first visit.
Later that month the youth of the ward secretly covered their front door with notes of welcome and love. The first week of November, some deacons asked if they could come by and meet Mom and Dad. About seven young men and their leaders spent time with them, introducing themselves through get-to-know-you topics such as favorite foods, where they went to school, and what they did for after-school activities. The deacons followed up by asking our parents questions about how things were when they grew up and how they met.
These youth continued to come by at least monthly, sometimes just to drop off a treat or to check in. They caroled at Christmastime and brought a lovely holiday basket of food and treats. Because of these simple kindnesses, Dad could call the boys by name when he saw them and had a sense of familiarity with the ward, even though they weren’t able to meet in person for Sunday meetings.
A girl in the ward was invited in her home evening to say hello to someone new, and she chose Mom and Dad. She proceeded to build a relationship with them, coming over almost every day with a treat or to drop off a flower she had picked from her yard.
Our parents were asked to create a short video introducing themselves that was shown at the ward Christmas party. Every time there was a ward activity or gathering, our parents were reminded and offered a ride by someone. Special treats and hand-colored cards were delivered on their birthdays and holidays, and kind neighbors shoveled their driveway, sprayed the lawn for dandelions, and pulled their trash cans in every week. The ward members made a special effort to call them by name, recognized them at the grocery store, and helped them feel like they belonged.
Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.
With Mom’s dementia, one activity she was drawn to was sweeping. A kind neighbor recognized this and allowed her to come and sweep around them as they pulled bushes from their front yard, all the while making Mom feel like she was the one providing the service.
Dad was invited to participate in the ward choir and made to feel he was a valued addition. At age 84, he was called to work in the Young Men organization as a specialist with the deacons, gaining a feeling of relevance and contribution.
After only a year, they felt at home, that they mattered, that they could still make a difference. They were never made to feel like they were a burden or just “another renter” in the neighborhood. My heart is full as I contemplate the Lord’s words in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Well done, Cedar Hills Sixth Ward!

World leaders are recognizing the need to learn more about the Church as they become aware of the presence of a growing religion in their area or notice the good works the Church is doing through its humanitarian arm. Two leaders recently made separate visits to Salt Lake City to tour Temple Square and learn more about the Church.
Chile’s First Lady
Chile’s first lady, Luisa Durán de Lagos, visited Salt Lake City on September 21, 2004, to personally thank the Church for the many humanitarian efforts taking place in her country.
Mrs. Durán de Lagos met and talked with the First Presidency before touring the Humanitarian Center. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave the tour, ending it with the presentation of a gift: 600 computers donated by Brigham Young University to be used by schoolchildren in Chile.
“I came here because I wanted to personally thank the Church for what it has given us,” she said. “We have received from the [Church] assistance with ‘Chile Solidario,’ a program designed to help Chile’s poorest families arise from poverty.”

When I was younger, I had trouble sleeping at night. Then I had a rare experience. It was Christmas Eve, and I was having trouble sleeping. I was awake for hours, and I wanted to get to sleep! I began to cry. My mom heard me and came into my room. I told her that I couldn’t sleep. She asked me if it would help if she said a prayer. I told her that I hadn’t thought of that and that yes, it would help. She asked Heavenly Father to help me. When the prayer was over, I felt very relaxed, and I thanked her.
The next morning, my mom told me that she had gone back to my room five minutes after her prayer, and I was already asleep. I learned that because of my faith, I was able to get over my trouble with sleeping.
Maren Sargent, age 11Fruit Heights, Utah

Jennifer Bezzant, a Beehive from Rigby, Idaho, also tells of the time she spent before writing her message. “I was really unsure as to what to write. No thought seemed to come. The Sunday came when we were to write our messages down in church, and I still hadn’t thought of anything. I was getting desperate. My Young Women president let me take my card home to pray about it over the week. On Tuesday of that week, when I knelt by my bed, I asked Heavenly Father to help me write a suitable message that would help someone. As I got up from my knees, I felt impressed to get my pen and write. The words just seemed to come, and I kept writing until I was finished. When I read over what I had written, I was surprised. It sounded so good, I couldn’t believe I wrote those words.”

Years after my family and I joined the Church, I received a call to serve in the Nigeria Port Harcourt Mission. On a sunny day shortly after I arrived in my first area, my companion and I set out for our usual proselyting and contacting.
As we passed through a populated street, we heard a faint voice calling to us from a low-fenced compound. We looked over the fence and saw a middle-aged man lying flat on his stomach by the gate.
He bade us come in, but there was no way we could enter the compound. The gate was locked and we thought that scaling over the fence would be unethical. I was prompted to check the padlock on the gate again. After a few minutes we managed to remove the padlock from the outside and open the gate. We could see that the man had been sick and unattended to. He explained that he had been ill and felt intense pain that prevented him from standing up.
After talking with him, we followed him as he crept back into his house. He asked that we pray for him, and we offered to give him a blessing. When we laid our hands upon his head, I felt a lump in my throat and couldn’t utter a word. Fear came over me, I began to shake and sweat, and tears flowed down my cheeks. I struggled to pray aloud, so I began to pray in my heart that Heavenly Father would loosen my tongue according to His will.
Suddenly, my tongue gained utterance. I knew I was speaking, but I wasn’t in control of the words. I just heard my own voice asking Heavenly Father to heal this suffering man. Before we said amen, the man had fallen asleep. We left him and went to our other appointments but planned to come back on our way to our apartment to check on him.
We returned and to my great astonishment, the man came running toward us, shouting, “It worked! It worked!” We were so overwhelmed with joy I couldn’t hold back my tears.
In sacrament meeting the following Sunday, the bishop suddenly paused at the pulpit and looked straight at the chapel door. We looked back and saw the man we had blessed. The bishop knew him and was surprised at his entering a church. From then on, the man attended sacrament meetings and other classes regularly. I was eventually transferred out of the area.
It is amazing to me how God provided a miracle that day, and I am humbled that Heavenly Father found me worthy. I know we were instruments in God’s hands. The blessing of healing belonged to that man, but the blessing of testimony and joy belonged to me.

First flight is as breathtaking an experience for eagles as it is for people, and the proud lords of the skyways start out as bumbling, incompetent aviators. They too often crash and break a wing on the first flight and become easy prey to starvation or some four-legged predator. Kent once saw a ten-week-old eagle make its first flight and remembers: “He hopped off the nest as if he knew what he was doing, but all of a sudden he was speeding down toward the opposite cliff and losing altitude fast. You could see the shock in his eyes. His wings were spread out, his primary and secondary feathers flapping back and forth in the breeze. His head was moving back and forth watching the ground and looking back up at the nest—looking everywhere at once. He looked as if he was wondering what he had gotten himself into, whether he had really blown it, but you could also feel his exhilaration and the thrill of his first flight. He dropped down to the mouth of the canyon and hit an updraft that just pushed him right up out of sight. I found him the next day sitting on a tree unhurt.”

I want to do something really nice for Halloween, Mary Kathleen,” Samantha said to her doll as she laid her on the bed. “It’s only Saturday. We ought to be able to think of something to do by Monday that would surprise everyone.” Samantha thought and thought as Mary Kathleen seemed to stare at her with big blue eyes. “It’s harder to think of nice tricks to play on Halloween than bad ones,” Samantha moaned.
Samantha wandered down to the kitchen, where her mother was baking cookies. “Mmmm, they smell good, Mom. Can I help?”
“Sure, honey. I’ve rolled out the dough. Will you cut out the cookies?” As Samantha placed them on the cookie sheet, they reminded her of faces. Suddenly she smiled brightly and held up a big round cookie. “Mom, can I make some witch cookies and take them to all our neighbors on Monday? It could be a Halloween family home evening treat for them.”
“I thought that you wanted to go trick-or-treating,” Mom said.
“I can do that, too, if I have time. But I want to do something nice for our neighbors first.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Mom. “Let’s get started. I’ll make an extra batch of cookie dough.”
While the extra cookies were baking, Samantha made white icing for the witches’ faces, red for their eyes and noses, and chocolate for their hats. Then she started decorating the faces. She had to work as fast as she could to be finished by bedtime.
Monday after school, Samantha took a stack of paper lunch sacks, wrote “Happy Halloween” on each sack, and placed ten cookies in each one. Then she put on her witch costume and made up her face to look like her cookies. Mom laughed. “I don’t know which looks scarier,” she said, “you or your cookies.”
It looked like a storm was on its way, so Samantha quickly put her sacks into a small laundry basket and started down the street. First she went to the Porters’. They answered the door so fast that all she could think to say was, “Happy Halloween.” She giggled and waved as she left. Samantha decided to go to the fire station next. Brother Sanchez, her Primary teacher, worked there. I’ll really surprise him, she thought as she headed for the station. On the way Samantha saw a group of her friends from school.
“Hi, Sam,” one of them yelled. “What do you have in your basket?”
“Witch cookies to give out for Halloween.”
“You must be kidding! You’re supposed to get treats on Halloween, not give them away. Think of all the fun and goodies that you’re going to miss.”
“I’ll go trick-or-treating as soon as I get these delivered,” Samantha explained. But as the other girls headed for the new subdivision, Samantha thought, Maybe I will miss out on a lot.
Just then Samantha felt a big drop of rain. Then another and another. Suddenly the rain was pouring down. Samantha looked for a place to get out of the downpour. The nearest building was a shelter for the homeless. Samantha ran through the front door.
“Look what the storm blew in,” a kind-looking man said. “A real live witch with a basket full of tricks.” Samantha looked around. The room was small but warm. Several people, including children, were sitting around a long table, eating crackers and hot soup. Some of them were shy, but most smiled at her. “Would you like a bowl of soup to warm you?” the man asked.
Samantha was cold and starting to get hungry. “Could I call my mom first to let her know where I am and ask her if it’s all right?” she asked.
“Sure. There’s a phone over there.”
Samantha called her mom, who said she could stay. “I’ll come and pick you up in a half hour. Then you might still have time to go trick-or-treating before family home evening.”
Everyone teased Samantha about her laundry basket of tricks as they ate their soup. The more they teased, the more she smiled, because she knew what she was going to do. When they had all finished eating, Samantha felt warm and comfortable. Everyone else there seemed to enjoy having a Halloween witch with them. She got up and picked up her basket.
“Before I go, I want to show you what’s in my basket. Instead of tricks, I have treats for you.” She passed out the cookies until everyone had some.
“Oh, look—witch cookies! Real witch cookies, just for us!” exclaimed a little five-year-old girl as she smiled at Samantha. Everyone thanked Samantha, and she felt happy about what she had done.
When her mom came to pick her up, it was still raining hard, and Samantha knew that she would be doing no trick-or-treating that night. But it didn’t matter to Samantha—it had still been the best Halloween ever!

One night I was hanging out with a group of friends. We were talking and they started gossiping about my other friends who weren’t present. I felt uncomfortable about what they were saying. I then got a prompting from the Spirit that I should stand up for what I believe.
Without further hesitation, I told them I didn’t feel very comfortable about what they were saying and asked if they would not gossip when I was around. They said it’s just a part of life and it didn’t matter. Without getting upset about it, I listened to their point and then explained what I believe. Then I got up and walked away.
My experience that night made me think about what Joseph Smith went through. When Joseph Smith retrieved the gold plates, he experienced a lot of persecution. No matter how much persecution there was, Joseph Smith still stood tall and didn’t falter. God was with Joseph Smith and helped him, and I knew that God was with me too when I stood for what was right.
I did lose a couple friends that night for defending my beliefs, and I was sad about that. But I felt peace and comfort for doing what was right. A little later, one of my friends thanked me for what I had said. Because of that, I gained a friendship back that was stronger than it was before.
Andrew F., Utah, USA

When our daughter was five years old, she had a battery-powered model car and loved to drive it around the house. One evening, she came to me and said, “Daddy, my car no longer drives. Could we get some gas from your car to put in it so it can drive again? Perhaps it needs gas like your car to drive.”

I later observed that the battery power was down, so I said we would get it to drive in about an hour. With so much excitement, she said, “Yes! We will take it to the gas station.” I simply connected the battery to an electric source to charge, and after an hour she was able to drive the car, powered by the charged battery. She thereafter learned that it is important to always recharge the battery by connecting it to an electric source.

I first heard the wonderful story of The Little Engine That Could when I was about 10 years old. As a child, I was interested in the story because the train cars were filled with toy animals, toy clowns, jackknives, puzzles, and books as well as delicious things to eat. However, the engine that was pulling the train over the mountain broke down. The story relates that a big passenger engine came by and was asked to pull the cars over the mountain, but he wouldn’t condescend to pull the little train. Another engine came by, but he wouldn’t stoop to help the little train over the mountain because he was a freight engine. An old engine came by, but he would not help because, he said, “I am so tired. … I can not. I can not. I can not.”

Then a little blue engine came down the track, and she was asked to pull the cars over the mountain to the children on the other side. The little engine responded, “I’m not very big. … They use me only for switching in the yard. I have never been over the mountain.” But she was concerned about disappointing the children on the other side of the mountain if they didn’t get all of the goodies in the cars. So she said, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.” And she hooked herself to the little train. “Puff, puff, chug, chug, went the Little Blue Engine. ‘I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can.’” With this attitude, the little engine reached the top of the mountain and went down the other side, saying, “I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could.”

This story happened in Australia.
“Bye, Saría! I know you’ll do great today,” Mom said.
Saría hopped out of the car. “Thanks!”
Today Saría wanted to invite her friends to her baptism. Mom had helped her practice inviting them on the way to school.
Saría skipped to the big double doors to her classroom. She went to a Christian school. That meant they all learned about Jesus Christ together even though not everyone went to the same church. Her teacher had put different names for Jesus on the classroom doors. They said things like “Miracle Worker” and “My God.” Today, Saría noticed the one that said “Promise Keeper.”
Saría grinned with excitement. When she got baptized, she would be a promise keeper too!
At lunchtime, Saría sat by Katy and Jenny on the stairs outside the classroom. As they ate, Saría thought now would be a good time to do what she had practiced.
Saría took a deep breath. “I’m going to be baptized soon. Would you like to come?”
“Why are you getting baptized now?” Katy asked.
Saría tried to remember the things she’d practiced with Mom. “Because I want to make a covenant. A covenant is a promise with God. After I am baptized, I will get the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Katy reached for her sandwich. “I was baptized when I was a baby.”
“Me too,” Jenny said. “I thought everyone was baptized when they were babies.”
Saría felt confused. She didn’t know what to say.
After school, Saría told Mom what happened. “Why did Katy and Jenny get baptized when they were babies?”
Mom sat beside her. “Other churches do things differently. In some churches, babies are baptized by sprinkling water on them. But we believe that when we’re baptized, we make a sacred covenant. And we need to be old enough to understand the promises we make.”
Saría thought about the other differences she’d noticed at school. Her friends worshipped in many ways that were different from what she was used to.
Mom hugged her. “You did a good job today.”
Saría felt better. She hadn’t known how to answer her friend’s questions, but she had done her best. She still wanted to invite them to her baptism.
The next day, Saría and Katy walked to class together. Katy dropped something, and Saría picked it up for her. It was a necklace with a cross on it.
“Thank you!” Katy took the necklace. “I’d be really sad if I lost this. It reminds me of Jesus.”
Saría grinned and held up her CTR ring. “This reminds me of Jesus too! It stands for ‘choose the right.’ It reminds me to do the things that Jesus would do.”
“I like that,” Katy said.
Saría and Katy reached their classroom door. Katy pointed to the name for Jesus on the door that said “Way Maker.”
“That one is my favorite!” Katy said.
“I love it too.”
A happy feeling spread through Saría’s chest. Her teacher had told her that “Way Maker” meant Jesus made a way for things to happen. Jesus had made a way for Saría to make friends with kids from many different churches! They had differences, but one thing was the same. They all loved Jesus and wanted to follow Him. Saría knew that made Jesus happy.

“Wow,” Danny Stevens said, just loud enough for those around him to hear. “My prayers have been answered.”
It was his first day at institute class. Most of the other LDS men on campus were enrolled in a missionary preparation class. By taking the Book of Mormon class scheduled at the same hour, he ended up as one of only three guys in a class full of girls.
“Maybe your prayers have been answered, but some of us are wondering about ours,” a green-eyed girl sitting in the back joked. She was cute, and he noticed the desk next to her was empty so he sat down and leaned toward her. “Hi, I’m Danny, and I think I’m the answer to your prayers.”
“I’m Alicia,” she said, “and I guess I’ll have to be more careful what I pray for.”
“Very funny.”
“Thank you.”
Danny didn’t know if he’d like having to read the Book of Mormon—he was still trying to decide how serious he was about all this religion stuff. But he definitely liked the idea of meeting girls.
“So what’s this teacher, Brother Spencer, like?” he asked. “Judging from all the sisters here he must be some kind of hunk or something, huh?”
“Well, I think he’s very handsome, and the best teacher I’ve ever had. But I also know that he’s happily married.”
Just then a tall, thin, balding man about 50 years old walked in. He was wearing an oversized suit and carried an old briefcase that looked more like a suitcase. It took him a while to get organized and he talked to himself as he went.
“Remind me to ask what his secret is,” Danny whispered.
“Shhh,” she said, obviously intent on hearing everything Brother Spencer said.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “I want you all to hold up your copies of the Book of Mormon. Come on, hold ’em high. Good, everyone has one. As you know, you are required to purchase an inexpensive copy just for this class. Now, I want you to look through them and notice how nice and white and clean they are.”
Danny leafed through his dark blue covered copy and came across one of the illustrations. He still couldn’t figure out how the Nephites developed those huge arms.
“Your grade this semester depends on three things: one, your performance on the Friday quizzes; two, your participation in our class discussions; and three, the degree to which your beautiful, white Book of Mormon has become used. I want you to study it thoroughly—to write in the margins, to underline important verses, to read and re-read and wear it out with your searching. Your Book of Mormon may look like this after you have completed your class with me.” He held up a book that had been used so much it was tattered.
“Now, the student who owned this Book of Mormon received an A for my class last year. I expect you to put the same kind of effort into your study—not to wear out the pages, but to read it, use it, and love it as I do. Oh, and no putting it in the dishwasher the last week of class and expecting that to fool me. I can tell the difference between a book that’s been used and one that’s been abused. Now let’s get to it. First Nephi, chapter one, verse one. ‘I Nephi …’”
After class, Danny turned to Alicia. “This Brother Spencer is a good teacher. I can see how he might be a favorite of yours, but I don’t know where you get the idea he’s handsome. He’s tall and skinny, and looks a lot like a bird, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, maybe you’re right. I might be a bit biased. But I’ve got to talk with him for a second—come with me?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Danny said as he quickly gathered up his books.
Brother Spencer was putting his lesson manual and scriptures back into his briefcase. When he saw her, he broke into a big smile. “Hi, Alicia, how’d I do?”
“Perfect as always,” she said. “Dad, I’d like you to meet my newest friend, Danny. Danny, this is my dad.”
“Dad?” Danny nearly choked.
“We’re going to be study partners for this class, is that okay?”
“Sure,” Danny and Brother Spencer said in unison.
Brother Spencer paused, “I don’t know, Dan; she’s pretty sharp. Do you think you can keep up?”
“She’s sharp all right. She was just helping me understand the finer points of repentance and forgiveness, but I think I can keep up.”
“Then get to it, kids. Make it count.”
The next four months went by in a blur for Danny. Brother Spencer’s class was wonderful. Every class was filled with new information. His excitement was contagious, and the discussions were so engrossing he often forgot to give the promised Friday quizzes, which was fine with the members of the class. Danny learned a lot about the Book of Mormon in Brother Spencer’s class. Then there was Alicia’s class. At first he thought that the idea of studying with her was just a good excuse to spend time with a girl he liked, but she had different ideas. They would take turns reading the chapters aloud, several verses each. Then they would compare, cross-reference, research, and learn all the important points of the chapters they were assigned. He loved the class, and he loved being with Alicia. By the end of the semester, they had read to the end of Alma 30, and Danny was in love.
After Christmas vacation, Danny announced that during the holidays, he had met with his bishop and was preparing the paperwork for a mission call. Alicia threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. “I’m so happy for you!” she said, then quickly pulled away and grabbed his hand in a formal missionary handshake. “Oops,” she said, “I forgot. Now that you’re going to be a missionary, I’ll have to keep my distance.”
“But I haven’t received my call yet,” he protested.
“I don’t know. We can’t be too careful,” she said with mock seriousness. “Oh, all right,” she smiled and hugged him again.
Winter semester was even better than the fall for Danny. He’d enrolled in a missionary preparation class, and Brother Spencer’s class on the second half of the Book of Mormon was just as good as the previous semester. But this time, when they would study together, instead of holding a highlighter, he and Alicia held hands.
Near the end of the school year, the class was discussing the last few chapters in Moroni. Brother Spencer made the comment that according to Moroni 7, verse 6 [Moro. 7:6], it’s not enough just to do something right; it’s important to do things for the right reason as well.
The comment struck a chord with Danny.
Since he met Alicia, he had read the Book of Mormon, eliminated some bad habits, and decided to serve a mission. But what if I did all those things just because I love Alicia, he thought. He thought about it for several days and finally went to speak with Brother Spencer.
“If I’ve done all these things just because I care for Alicia, what good are they?” he asked.
Brother Spencer thought for a moment and then replied, “Sometimes you have to do the right thing for a while before you begin to feel the right motivation. I know I’m always quoting scriptures to you, but remember Alma 32:27, where it says, ‘if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you?’ and then it goes on about planting the seed and testing it? And think about John 7:17: ‘If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine.’ The fact that you are struggling with this question demonstrates to me that your intent is righteous. Think about what your motivation is right now. Then you can decide if your intent is good and your actions will be accepted of the Lord. Tell me, Dan, do you love Alicia enough to spend two years in the Lord’s service to make yourself worthy of her?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“There is nothing wrong with your interest in Alicia leading you to do what is right. But I think your willingness to serve a mission comes from your testimony and faith.”
By the last day of class, Danny’s and Alicia’s books looked wonderfully worn. Nearly every page was painted in colorful highlighter with neat little notes and comments in ink jammed in the margins. The bindings were broken and tape kept the covers from falling off. Brother Spencer went to each student’s desk for an “inspection” of their copies of the Book of Mormon.
“Well done, Brother Stevens,” said Brother Spencer when Danny showed him his copy. “Do you think you deserve an A?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“I do too. Congratulations, and congratulations on your mission call. Where are you going?”
“The Netherlands. I enter the MTC in three weeks.”
“Wonderful. You’ll be a terrific missionary. I’ll look forward to seeing you in my classes in two years then.”
“Sure, Brother Spencer, I’ll be here. Thanks.”
After class, Alicia was waiting for him just outside the classroom. It was the last day of finals, and Danny had to leave to return to California that afternoon.
As soon as they got back to Danny’s apartment, his ride was waiting outside. Alicia helped him carry his things out to the car. After everything was loaded, Alicia handed him a package, gift wrapped and tied with a bow.
“This is a thank-you gift for being my study partner and making this year so wonderful. Promise me you’ll wait until you’re on the road before you open it,” she said.
“Sure. See you in two years.”
They gently kissed good-bye.
As soon as they were on the road outside of town, Danny opened his gift. Inside was a new copy of the Book of Mormon. On the first page was the inscription: Your grade, Elder Jones, depends on how much it looks used, worn, and marked up when you return. Now get to it. Make it count. I love you, Alicia.
He thought about her and the mission that would start in a few weeks as he turned the first few pages. He retrieved a highlighter from his backpack. “First Nephi, chapter one, verse one,” he said aloud.
“I Nephi …” and began reading again.

Having my long lockdown locks chopped off and donating them to a charity has been very rewarding. The charity to which I donate my hair makes quality, real-hair wigs, free of charge for children and youth suffering from the effects of cancer.
I first heard about hair donation through my congregation on Preston New Road. A charity called locksoflove.org was asking for hair so it could carry on its amazing work. That was over 22 years ago and I have been growing, cutting and then donating my hair every 2-3 years ever since. This will be my eighth donation.