Gospel Story Finder

Desiree Wallace, 15, interviewed Virginia Gjevres about her life. Desiree found out about Virginia’s first teddy bear and her longing for a dog. And she learned that while Virginia was growing up she was so accident prone that everyone called her Calamity Jane.
“I didn’t really know Sister Gjevres before I interviewed her. I had only seen her at church. But now I just have this love for her, and I want to adopt her as my grandma,” says Desiree, who doesn’t have any grandparents living nearby.

In February 1853, to the pioneer congregation huddled in shawls and wraps against the chill, Brigham Young recalled, “I scarcely ever say much about revelations, or visions, but suffice it to say, five years ago last July I was here, and saw in the Spirit the Temple. … I have not inquired what kind of a Temple we should build. Why? Because it was represented before me. I have never looked upon that ground, but the vision of it was there. I see it as plainly as if it was in reality before me.”

According to Wilford Woodruff, President Young’s address was “a most thrilling speech of about thirty minutes” that was “heard distinctly in all parts of the vast assembly.” It is clear that Brigham Young could hardly contain his joy as he began: “We have assembled on one of the most solemn, interesting, joyful, and glorious occasions, that ever has, or will transpire among the children of men, while the earth continues in its present organization, and is occupied for its present purposes; and I congratulate my brethren and sisters that it is our unspeakable privilege to stand here, this day, and minister before the Lord, on an occasion which has caused the tongues and pens of prophets to speak and write for many scores of centuries.”

Then Heber C. Kimball, First Counselor in the First Presidency, struck the frozen ground “with a pick … and President Young took out the first turf.” He closed the meeting with a triumphant blessing of the Saints, to which all assembled responded, “Amen!” The congregation then “rushed to the hole to get a chance to throw a little dirt out.” Some “one hundred and fifty laborers, I should judge continued the work,” wrote Lorenzo Brown, another participant in the events.

Aaron burst through the front door after school and ran straight upstairs to his bedroom. He began searching for something while his little brother Jared curiously watched.
“Where are you? Where are you?” Aaron mumbled to himself.
“What are you looking for?” Jared asked.
“I’m looking for …” Then Aaron spied the very thing he needed up on the corner shelf in his closet, next to his scriptures. “Here it is!” Aaron exclaimed as he reached up and plucked his journal from its hiding place.
Aaron’s mind was buzzing with thoughts from his day. He wanted to begin writing as soon as possible so he wouldn’t forget about all the things he had heard and seen. He sat at the desk and carefully opened his journal to a blank page. He began to write.
Jared watched his big brother, wondering why he was so determined to write in that book. “What are you doing?” he asked. Aaron continued to concentrate on his journal. He wrote down the date, time, where he was, and how he was feeling. Jared became impatient and asked again, “What are you writing in that book?”
Aaron stopped writing and turned to Jared. “I’m almost finished,” he said. “Then I promise I’ll tell you what I’m doing, OK?” Jared nodded and sat patiently on his bed.
After writing some more, Aaron finally closed the book. Then he grabbed his scriptures and carried them with his journal to where Jared was sitting.
Aaron held up the Book of Mormon. “This book is kind of like a journal,” Aaron explained to his little brother. “It’s written by prophets and tells what they did and taught.”
Aaron told Jared about some of the stories he remembered reading and learning about in Primary: the Lord teaching Nephi to build a ship, the brave Lamanite Samuel standing on the wall to preach, Jesus Christ coming to the Americas and teaching the little children.
“Mormon and his son Moroni finally finished writing their people’s history on gold plates. Then Moroni hid the plates as God had commanded,” Aaron said. “The Book of Mormon was left for us to read today. Someday, someone in our family will read my journal too.” He smiled. “My journal is not scripture, but it will tell about all the important things that happened in my life and about the people I love, like you, Jared. It will be my testimony of the love Heavenly Father has for me.”
Jared thought about what Aaron had told him, then sprang off the bed and ran out of the room. He soon returned with a piece of paper and some crayons. He began coloring. Now Aaron was curious. “What are you doing?”
“I’m almost done,” Jared said. This time Aaron waited patiently. Jared put down his crayons and lifted up the paper for Aaron to see. He had drawn a picture of himself and his big brother. And he had drawn a journal and a Book of Mormon in Aaron’s hands. “I’m writing my journal now!” Jared said. “This is where I put down the time, the date, and where I was.” Then Jared pointed to the cartoonlike picture he had drawn of his big brother. “And this is where I put the person I love.”
At that moment Jared remembered he had forgotten something. He reached for a bright yellow crayon and drew a big smiley face on the top of his paper. “And this is how I am feeling inside!”

A number of years ago a young man who is an excellent skier went with friends to the wilds of the Yukon to experience the ultimate in deep-powder skiing. A helicopter took them high into the mountains, far away from safety, ski patrols, and hospitals. They were virtually hundreds of miles from anywhere with nothing but 8,000 feet of vertical drop before them. Their guide was a 70-year-old man, small and seemingly fragile. He told them to stay directly behind him and he would get them down safely, but if they veered off to the right or left, chances were they would fall into a crevice or onto the sharp rocks at the bottom of unseen cliffs.
Suddenly my friend realized that his life was in the hands of this old gentleman whom he hardly knew and who certainly didn’t look like a man who could ski long miles through heavy powder to safety. The young man felt his stomach knot up. But suddenly the old man dropped over the edge, and one by one his friends followed. There was no other way down, and he quickly forced his muscles to move him over the edge and onto the path of the guide now moving quickly away from him.
The descent was awesome. His doubts about the guide were dispelled as he followed a path that led him past sheer cliffs he would not have seen until it was too late. As he noticed these death traps out of the corners of his eyes, he clung even more desperately to the path his guide was making some distance in front of him.
His confidence in the old gentleman was complete when he suddenly stopped them from crossing a seemingly wide-open snowfield. It looked like some of the finest powder he had ever seen, but his first impulse to reject his guide’s words was replaced by the realization that his guide had brought him this far in safety and now was no time to stop trusting him. So he followed as they labored through heavy snow to climb up and around the snowfield, finally arriving below it. Stopping, they turned and looked behind them. What they saw made him take a deep breath. The snowfield wasn’t a snowfield at all, but a crevice several hundred feet deep with a snow bridge two or three feet thick. Had they attempted to cross it they would have surely broken through and plummeted to their deaths on the jagged rocks and ice below.
By the time they had reached the bottom, my friend was humbled by the ability of his “fragile” guide. Through years of preparation, the guide had gained a knowledge that went much deeper than the eye could see. His life was dedicated to keeping people like my friend from serious harm. Over the next few days they would ski some of the most beautiful country in the world, dangerous country with disaster hidden in its deep snow. But their guide was ever vigilant in protecting them, and they were able to relax and really enjoy the marvelous, once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Many people who lived in those former colonies have joined the Church. Church members say this may be because the retornados are more open to new ideas. They were also humbled by their change in life-style and the loss of most of their material possessions when they left Africa.
“We lost everything we had,” recalls Arnaldo Teles Grilo, patriarch of the Lisbon Portugal Stake. “And it was a good thing.”
Involved in banking in Angola, he had owned four houses and several cars. Now he and his wife, Eugenia, live in a small apartment in a suburb of Lisbon. They have a few artworks as mementos of Africa and, in one corner, a small portion of the fine library they once owned. “Life was very hard here when we returned from Africa, because we lost so much,” Brother Teles Grilo says. But, he explains, their situation compelled them to consider the greater importance of eternal blessings when the missionaries taught them the gospel.
The Teles Grilos were baptized in 1977 and sealed later in the Swiss Temple. He dreams of the day when there could be a temple in Portugal. The cost and the rigors of the trip now keep some worthy Portuguese from traveling to Switzerland to partake of sacred ordinances in the temple there. It is approximately 2,500 kilometers, and the trip takes two days and a night on the bus.
“But at the end of the journey, when we see the temple,” Brother Teles Grilo says, remembering their feelings, “what’s the sacrifice? What’s the journey?” More than 250 Portuguese members went on last year’s temple excursion.

He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.

Sister Afton Pettigrew was one of the best Primary teachers I ever had! In many ways, she changed my life. Even today I still remember one special lesson she taught about the Holy Ghost when I was about eight.
I was a pretty lively child. I didn’t like having to sit reverently through a whole Primary lesson. On this day, she couldn’t get me to understand what or who the Holy Ghost was. To me, a ghost was a scary thing, and I thought the Holy Ghost was something to be afraid of.
Then Sister Pettigrew said, “Ronnie, I’d like to have you stand in front of the class and read a scripture for us. It’s 1 Kings 19:11–12.”
I didn’t want to stand in front of all those Primary kids and read a scripture. But I took the Old Testament she handed to me and began to read what the Lord said to the prophet Elijah:
“Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.”
I finished reading and looked up. Sister Pettigrew could tell I was a little confused about what I’d read, so she explained. ”That means that when the Lord speaks to you, He won’t speak in big, loud ways, like wind storms or earthquakes or fires. You’ll hear Him speak very quietly, like a still, small voice in your heart.”
Then she said, “By the way, Ronnie, you have a very pleasant voice. You read and speak very well.”
I couldn’t believe it! Not only did Sister Pettigrew teach me about the Holy Ghost, but she also helped me see one of my talents!
I was a changed boy after that. I learned that the Holy Ghost speaks to us through thoughts in our mind and peaceful feelings in our heart. I tried to remember to listen inside me for those thoughts and feelings. If I was doing something wrong, like not being reverent in Primary, I listened. Or if I had to make a decision about something, I listened. Sometimes the voice was very soft. I had to be quiet on the inside and on the outside to recognize it. And if I didn’t listen the first time or the second time, it became softer and softer until I couldn’t feel it anymore.
Listening to that still, small voice also helped me find and improve the talents Heavenly Father blessed me with.
Today as a grownup, I still think of Sister Pettigrew and how she helped me. How grateful I am for her and for all our Primary teachers all over the world who teach children how to bring Heavenly Father into their lives and how to grow their talents.

Chris had a hard time with his diabetes when he was a teenager. Living the lifestyle of a teenager—eating out at 2:00 a.m., having a crazy sleep schedule—was hard on his body. For most of his teenage years, he tried to deny that he even had a disease.
At college, a good friend helped Chris make some big changes in his physical and spiritual health. “Up to that point,” Chris says, “I had never really taken the gospel or my life seriously. As I started to read the Book of Mormon for the first time, I felt my whole life changing. Not only did I feel the enlightening effects come into my life that one feels when reading the Book of Mormon, but I also started to feel more concern for my body and my life.”
Chris says his decision to read the Book of Mormon led to other decisions that helped him become healthier. For the first time in his life, he started testing his blood-sugar level not just several times a week like he used to, but several times a day. He says, “I began to feel so much better as I started to take care of myself.”
After Chris finished reading the Book of Mormon and received an answer that it is true, he decided to serve a mission. “Serving a mission can be tough,” Chris says. “Every day brought something new for me and my diabetes to try and conquer.” But he believes the Lord blessed him to maintain control. “Constant fluctuations in schedules, modes of transportation, and eating would lead most diabetics to out-of-control blood sugars, but the Lord was watching over me as I served my mission.” Since Chris started taking better care of himself, his health has been almost perfect.
Chris is grateful that he was not only able to serve a mission but that he was able to serve with all of his strength. “The work never suffered as a result of my having diabetes. I saw God’s hand in my missionary work every day, and I still see it now.”

I have spoken here of heavenly help, of angels dispatched to bless us in time of need. But when we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with—here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. Some of them gave birth to us, and in my case, one of them consented to marry me. Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind. Elder James Dunn, from this pulpit just moments ago, used that word in his invocation to describe this Primary choir—and why not? With the spirit, faces, and voices of those children in our mind and before our eyes, may I share with you an account by my friend and BYU colleague, the late Clyn D. Barrus. I do so with the permission of his wife, Marilyn, and their family.
Referring to his childhood on a large Idaho farm, Brother Barrus spoke of his nightly assignment to round up the cows at milking time. Because the cows pastured in a field bordered by the occasionally treacherous Teton River, the strict rule in the Barrus household was that during the spring flood season the children were never to go after any cows who ventured across the river. They were always to return home and seek mature help.
One Saturday just after his seventh birthday, Brother Barrus’s parents promised the family a night at the movies if the chores were done on time. But when young Clyn arrived at the pasture, the cows he sought had crossed the river, even though it was running at high flood stage. Knowing his rare night at the movies was in jeopardy, he decided to go after the cows himself, even though he had been warned many times never to do so.
As the seven-year-old urged his old horse, Banner, down into the cold, swift stream, the horse’s head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on the horse would have been safe, but at Brother Barrus’s tender age, the current completely covered him except when the horse lunged forward several times, bringing Clyn’s head above water just enough to gasp for air.
Here I turn to Brother Barrus’s own words:
“When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me. But it was already dusk, and I didn’t know for sure where I was. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid.
“I climbed down from old Banner, fell to the ground by his feet, and began to cry. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, repeating over and over to my Father in Heaven, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!’
“I prayed for a long time. When I finally looked up, I saw through my tears a figure dressed in white walking toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move or make a sound as the figure approached, so overwhelmed was I by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
“Then a familiar voice said, ‘Son, I’ve been looking for you.’ In the darkness I recognized the voice of my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me tightly, then said gently, ‘I was worried. I’m glad I found you.’
“I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but only disjointed words came out of my trembling lips—‘Thank you … darkness … afraid … river … alone.’ Later that night I learned that when I had not returned from the pasture, my father had come looking for me. When neither I nor the cows were to be found, he knew I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark and time was of the essence, he removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam a treacherous river to rescue a wayward son.”

I was born on a farm in Iowa, USA. When I was three, my parents traded some old windows and doors for two goats. The goats were so small. A woman brought them to my house in a dog crate. They were beautiful. I named the white, black, and red one Alice. My mom named the tan and black one Tawny.
Mom and Dad helped the woman load the doors and windows into her truck. She was going to turn them into artwork. I watched the goats nervously look around our yard. All of a sudden Alice took a running leap and jumped right over our pasture fence. Tawny looked from us to Alice and decided to leave too. She sprang over the fence like she could fly!
We tried to round them up by bribing them with sweet feed. But the two goats just trotted down the road. They disappeared into a cornfield. We were all scared that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to their new home. I thought they would be lost in the hundreds of acres of corn that surrounded our house.
I told my mom that we should pray. We had read in the scriptures where Amulek said to “cry over the flocks of your fields” (Alma 34:25). I knew Heavenly Father was watching over our goats.
After I took a nap, I woke up and looked in our yard. Alice and Tawny were there. They had found their way back! I know Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers. Sometimes it’s even quickly and in the way we hope!

During a spelling test I looked at someone’s paper and saw that I had spelled the word tease wrong. I changed my answer. During lunch that day my mom took me to my violin lesson. I felt bad about cheating, and even though I was scared to tell my mom about it, I did. She said I needed to tell the teacher what had happened. When we got back to school my mother asked if I needed her to come with me to tell my teacher. I told her no. I was scared for the rest of the school day. I kept walking up to my teacher to tell her and then going back to my desk because I was too scared. Finally at the end of the day I told my teacher what happened. She marked the answer wrong but then gave me a hug and told me, “Thank you for being honest.” I’m glad I told my teacher even though it was very hard. I felt much better afterward. I will never cheat on a test again. I will always try to be honest in everything I do.

It is worth noting the way the Lord prepares our spirit and mind, without our realizing it, to obtain this high level of understanding.

When we were still visiting the Church as investigators, in the second week we received a phone call from the branch president, Brother Antonio Landelino Barros, who asked if it were possible for him to come visit us the following night. At the assigned hour, President Barros arrived, accompanied by two men, all formally dressed. Before the family gathered in the living room, President Barros asked permission to offer a prayer. His words were a simple but inspiring supplication to the Lord asking for the guidance of his Spirit and special blessings upon the family, for us to understand the purpose of that visit and to benefit from it thereafter.

Briefly, President Barros presented a discussion on the home teaching program and introduced his companions, Brothers Nelson Bezerra dos Santos and Alfredo Orlando Torres Lima, as our home teachers and from then on our first and most direct contact with the Church.

What a great experience! What a great opportunity and privilege to serve! Those brothers were around our family during the whole time we lived in the branch area.

Every Sunday, those brothers received our family when we arrived at the chapel. They sat next to us during meetings. They taught us the hymns. They taught us about the standards of the kingdom. They called to inform us about the passing away of President Joseph Fielding Smith and later about the calling of the new prophet, President Harold B. Lee.

They were interested in the well-being and the progress of our family and our eventual needs. After our baptism, postponed for two months, and even after we had moved to the Tijuca Ward, these dedicated home teachers and President Barros took turns during the following three months, approximately, in regular phone calls to know if our family was well adjusted in the new ward, if everything was all right, if any help was needed.

In spite of the change of residence, the home teachers did not feel totally released of their duties of taking care of and giving attention to our family.

Even being sure we had new shepherds, they continued as our brothers in Christ.

What a magnificent attitude! They no longer had the assignment, but they kept the Christian interest. What an extraordinary bond was established. Almost twenty-three years have passed since then. Many other home teacher companions have succeeded those first ones. Their names, with few exceptions, are vaguely remembered, but the names and images of those first servants are forever in our memories since they served as true shepherds.

Those brothers were, in fact, guardians, keepers, and very supportive. It is also worth mentioning that they fulfilled their stewardship with happy countenances, which reflected a happy state of spirit.

It seemed as if it were an honor and a privilege for them to serve so. They seemed to understand the duties of the eldest and youngest alike, as taught by the Apostle Peter:
“Feed the flock of God which is among you, taking the oversight thereof, not by constraint, but willingly; not for filthy lucre, but of a ready mind” (1 Pet. 5:2).

The example of those dedicated brothers served as the foundation for the future conduct of a new priesthood holder. As I recall these experiences, myself being a home teacher now, I have a pattern very close to the model of Jesus Christ to follow.

Ever since then I have devoted myself with all my might, with my best efforts, to the care of assigned families, and some of my most significant experiences as a priesthood holder were lived as a home teacher.

My family and I were introduced to the Church in May 1979, and I knew immediately that this was where we belonged. We were baptized in June, and at first we were all active, but it wasn’t long before I stopped attending and returned to old habits. I never really had any doubt about the truthfulness of the gospel and the Restoration, but I did not think I had what it took to be a good member of the Church.

In 1982, because of my continued alcohol abuse, my wife, who had never failed in her faith, filed for divorce. At the time my family was living in Oklahoma, USA, but I had returned to Illinois, USA, where I had been raised. I had reached the point where I was about to lose the only thing that truly mattered to me: my family.

I began praying on my knees morning and evening to a God who I was no longer sure existed or, if He did, I figured He had long ago forgotten me. Yet for three months I prayed faithfully. Early one morning, while I was deep in prayer, a feeling of great relief came upon me and I knew that God lived, that He knew me, and that He loved me. I also knew I would never touch another drop of alcohol.

That very evening I received a call from my wife to let me know she was going to mail me the divorce papers to sign. During that conversation she suddenly said, “There is something very different about you. I don’t believe you are ever going to drink again, and I am going to tear up these papers.” We reunited, and two years later she gave birth to our third son.

One would assume that I would have returned to full activity in the Church, but I am a stubborn man. I returned for a time and even received a calling as an elders quorum instructor. But I soon began to feel inadequate to teach and again became inactive.

In 1991 we moved into a small branch. Several months before our youngest son’s eighth birthday, my wife, the Primary president, asked him who he wanted to perform his baptism. Of course he wanted his father to perform the ordinance. My wife told him that probably was not going to happen. He did not accept that answer and set about the task of activating his father. He was quite relentless, and in short order I found myself serving as the Scoutmaster, and I later baptized and confirmed my son.

The eight months following my activation were eventful. We were sealed as a family in the Chicago Illinois Temple, and I was again called to serve as an elders quorum instructor, only this time I didn’t quit. I was then called as a counselor in the branch presidency, and five months later I was called to serve as the branch president. A month or so after my call, I remember thinking, “I’m the branch president?”

I have told many struggling Saints over the years that if I can progress in the gospel, anyone can. It is just a matter of understanding the true power of the Savior and His Atonement and taking the steps to come unto Him.

I will be eternally grateful to my wife and children and all the faithful home teachers, quorum leaders, bishops, and other faithful Saints who set such a marvelous example for me. It has been a privilege to serve the Lord and the Saints these past 20 years. My life has been blessed beyond anything I could have imagined.

Born to George and Antonia Foote in October 1947 in Alexandria, Louisiana, USA, she was the only sister to six younger brothers. After graduating from Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas, with a degree in English literature and secondary education, she moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she worked as a secretary at Harvard University. There she met David Cannon Marriott, who told her, “I have some friends I want you to meet.” He soon brought the missionaries to teach her and her roommates.
As she listened to the missionaries, she said, “the lessons filled in the missing pieces of my gospel understanding.” After her baptism in May 1970, she and David remained friends; after a year they began dating and were married in June 1971 in the Salt Lake Temple.
Working together with her husband, Sister Marriott stayed home with their 11 children while he pursued a career in business. They have served in many Church callings. She served with him as he presided over the São Paulo Interlagos Mission from 2002 to 2005, and she has served as an ordinance worker in the Salt Lake Temple, a stake and a ward Relief Society president, a ward Young Women president, a Gospel Doctrine teacher, and a food storage specialist.
In her new assignment, Sister Marriott hopes to share the same testimony she received as a young woman. She wants young women to know that “they are loved by their Heavenly Father with the deepest, most glorious love.”

Seven is Christie Kight’s favorite number these days. She recently took second place in the National Junior Olympics for the heptathlon, in which athletes compete in seven track-and-field events. Christie, a Laurel in the Auburn Washington Stake, says that after all her practice and hard work, the most important thing she did was pray to do her best.
And her best is exactly what she did, setting personal records in high jump, javelin, and shot put.

Learning how to work hard is essential while in your youth. Hard physical work is a part of life. I learned that lesson early when I was called on a special Church-service mission to help build meetinghouses. I was only 16 years old and had just graduated from my school. I was assigned to the bricklaying crew. It was hard work, but I loved it.
We were put in groups and traveled from Sweden, where I lived, to several other countries close by. At each location we would make arrangements to stay with a member from the local ward. I was struck by the willingness of good, solid Church members to open their homes and contribute whatever they could. Even if their own finances were not in abundance, they desired to serve.
When I received the call to serve this mission, I was a little bit nervous, but I did not hesitate to accept it. I had been taught from a young age to say yes when asked to serve in any capacity for the Lord’s work. So, more than nervousness, I felt excitement. It had been a great experience to help build meetinghouses for the Church.

What happens when what we have been imagining actually occurs? Let me tell you about one young man that I know personally who got that kind of attention and made an appropriate response.
Not long ago and not far away a boy entered a pharmacist’s shop, told the proprietor that he was Bob Brown, son of Mrs. Helen Brown, and inquired if there was any possibility for him to work at the pharmacy to pay for medicine which the store owner had supplied the family but for which he had not yet been paid. Mr. Jones didn’t really need any additional help, but he was so impressed by the unusual conscientiousness of this seventeen-year-old high school boy that he made arrangements for Bob to work at the store part time on Saturdays.
That first day of diligent work greatly impressed the businessman, who at the completion of it handed the young man an envelope containing twelve dollars—the agreed-upon wages. The boy took two one-dollar bills from the envelope and asked Mr. Jones to give him change for one of them. Bob put the other dollar bill and twenty cents in his pocket, deposited the eighty cents change in the envelope with the ten-dollar bill, and handed that money to Mr. Jones to apply to the family account, asking if that division of wages was agreeable to the pharmacist. Well, Mr. Jones tried to insist that Bob keep a larger portion of the money. “You’ll need some money for school,” he said, “and besides, I’ve already decided to increase your pay in the future. Why don’t you keep at least half of the twelve dollars?”
“No, sir,” said the seventeen-year-old. “Maybe later I could keep a little more, but today I would like to pay the ten dollars and eighty cents on our bill.”
At that moment some of Bob’s friends came by and asked him to attend a movie with them. He said he couldn’t, that he had to go home. They continued to tease him to go with them until finally he informed them firmly that he didn’t have any money and couldn’t go with them. Mr. Jones, observing all of this, was about to intervene again to offer money to Bob when one of the boys who had playfully jostled him heard the twenty cents rattle in Bob’s pocket. The bantering began again, because obviously he did have some money. Quietly Bob finally said, “Look, guys, I do have a little money but it isn’t mine; it’s my tithing. Now take off, will you please. I need to get home to see how Mom’s doing.”
When Bob and the others had left the store, Mr. Jones went to the telephone and called a physician friend. “Doctor,” he said, “I have been filling your prescriptions for years and have long admired your reputation as a fine surgeon. I’ve also known you are a Mormon bishop, but I have never had any interest in your religion. But I now have one of your boys working for me who is so different that I need to learn about a religion that can produce a young man like that.”
Arrangements were made, and the pebble dropped into the life of Mr. Jones by Bob Brown began the extending circles that to this point have gently washed the druggist and members of his family and many others into a warm, loving life as fellow citizens with the Saints in the household of God.
Somehow early in his life Bob has mastered principles and developed character that set him apart from most others. He is a regular boy in every choice sense of the description. Can anyone doubt that he will be an equally fine man, a good husband, a regular dad, a concerned leader who will help many others?

As soon as Kathy handed out the invitations to her birthday celebration, a buzz of excitement spread through Mrs. Clyde’s second grade classroom. Up till then, the girls weren’t sure that their mothers had OK’d the kind of party that Kathy had asked her mother for. The girls could hardly wait for recess, when they could fully discuss plans for the upcoming slumber party.
Once outside, the girls clustered around the jungle gym and chattered enthusiastically about the games they’d play and the goodies they would eat at Kathy’s party.
Outwardly, Trisha appeared to be as excited as her friends. She nodded her blond head and giggled with the rest about how much fun they’d have. But on the inside, Trisha wasn’t feeling very happy. With the news of Kathy’s party, a little seed of worry had formed in the pit of her stomach. The more she thought about the party, the bigger the worry grew.
A slumber party meant spending the night—the whole night—at Kathy’s house. And what Trisha didn’t want any of her friends to know was that she was afraid of the dark. Trisha didn’t know any other seven year olds who were afraid to go to sleep in the dark, and she was sure that Kathy and her other friends would laugh at her.
On the walk home from school Wednesday afternoon, talk turned once again to Kathy’s party. Trisha didn’t say much, thinking and wishing with all her heart that Friday would never come. When she entered the bright, yellow kitchen at home, she was greeted by the warm smell of her mother’s peanut butter cookies. She didn’t feel much like eating, though.
Noticing with a bit of concern that her daughter didn’t go for the usual finger tastes of the sweet dough, Mom said, “I’m sure Kathy will love the gift you got for her. Are you all ready for the party?”
All of Trisha’s worry erupted into anger, and her blue eyes flashed as she responded. “Party! Party! The only thing people can think about is Kathy’s party!” With that, she stormed up to her room. Flopping onto her quilted bedspread, Trisha released the cascade of tears that she had held back for the past couple of hours.
Soon she heard a soft knock at the door, accompanied by her mother’s voice. “Trisha, don’t you want to go to the slumber party?”
Trisha rolled over to look at her mom standing in the doorway. “I do want to go,” she said as she wiped away her tears. “It’s just that …”
“It’s just that what, honey?”
“It’s just that we’ll have to sleep in Kathy’s dark basement.”
A look of understanding came over Mrs. Campbell’s face. “So that’s what’s been bothering you,” she said with a gentle smile. “Well, I’m sure that Kathy’s mother won’t mind leaving a small light on like Daddy and I do. You have nothing to worry about.”
But Trisha thought that she had a lot to worry about. It was one thing for her parents to leave the hall light on until she fell asleep—they never teased her about it—but what would her friends say?
Despite Trisha’s wish, the time for the party did come, and it was a big success. Trisha laughed with others as they got all tangled up in a game of twister, and she even forgot to worry as she ate birthday cake and watched Kathy open her presents. About midnight the girls paraded along the fireplace hearth for a nightwear fashion show. Then it was time to settle down with their blankets and pillows.
Trisha’s heart began to beat faster and faster. She was OK as long as a few girls continued to whisper, but one by one they fell asleep. Trisha felt completely alone in the inky blackness. She stared at the fearsome shapes that seemed to crowd around her. Kathy’s piano in the far corner had grown huge goblin-like appendages, and Trisha was sure that a rustling sound she heard was made by some creepy creature lurking in the shadows, just waiting to pounce on her.
Trisha tried everything she could think of to will herself to sleep. After squeezing her eyes tightly shut and silently reciting the ABC’s backward, she began to think about the Primary lesson Sister Patterson had given last week on prayer. She remembered her teacher saying, “Our prayers can bring comfort and peace when we are troubled.”
Knowing now what she should do, Trisha sat up. She knelt on her green checked sleeping bag and asked Heavenly Father to help her to not be frightened, so she could get to sleep.
Trisha was filled with a warm, calming feeling as she slipped back into her sleeping bag. The next thing she knew, she felt someone tugging at her nightgown sleeve, and she heard Kathy’s voice. “Come on sleepyhead. My mom has breakfast ready.”
Trisha opened her eyes, and a big grin spread across her face as she realized that it was morning and that her mom had been right. She really didn’t have anything to worry about.

To help explain what the Savior has done for us, President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told the story of a man who borrowed a great deal of money. He bought something he had always wanted. But when the bill came due, he could not afford to pay it. He knew that his creditor would take away his possessions as payment and throw him in jail.
Then the man’s friend came to rescue him. The friend asked, “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?” The man gratefully agreed, and his friend told him, “You will pay the debt to me and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible.”
Because the friend was willing and able to pay, the creditor received the money that was fairly owed him. At the same time, the man was able to keep his possessions and not go to jail. (See Ensign, May 1977, 54–55.)

That happened to Jerry, a Protestant gentleman in his mid-60s who lives in Mesa, Arizona. Jerry’s father was a Baptist minister; his mother, a Methodist minister. One day Jerry’s close friend Pricilla shared with him the pain she felt from the death of her child during childbirth and a bitter divorce that occurred shortly thereafter. Struggling as a single mother, Pricilla has four children—three daughters and a son. As she opened her heart to Jerry, she confessed that she was thinking of taking her own life. With all the strength and love Jerry could muster, he tried to help her understand that her life had value. He invited her to attend his church, but Pricilla explained that she had given up on God.

Jerry did not know what to do. Later, while watering trees in his yard, this man of faith prayed to God for guidance. As he prayed, he heard a voice in his mind saying, “Stop the boys on the bikes.” Jerry, a little bewildered, wondered what this meant. As he reflected on this impression, he gazed up the street and saw two young men in white shirts and ties riding bicycles toward his home. Stunned by this “coincidence,” he watched them ride by. Then, realizing that the situation required him to act, he shouted out, “Hey, you, please stop! I need to talk to you!”

With a puzzled but excited look, the young men stopped. As they approached, Jerry noticed that they wore name tags identifying them as missionaries in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jerry looked at them and said, “This may sound a little weird, but I was praying and was told to ‘stop the boys on the bikes.’ I looked up the street, and here you are. Can you help me?”

The missionaries smiled, and one said, “Yes, I am sure we can.”

Jerry explained the worrisome plight of Pricilla. Soon the missionaries were meeting with Pricilla, her children, and Jerry. They discussed the purpose of life and God’s eternal plan for them. Jerry, Pricilla, and her children grew in faith through sincere prayer, their study of the Book of Mormon, and the loving fellowship with members of the Church. Jerry’s already strong faith in Jesus Christ grew even stronger. Pricilla’s doubts and thoughts of suicide turned to hope and happiness. They were baptized and became members of Christ’s restored Church.8