Gospel Story Finder

“Bucky, Bucky,” called Mother. “Where is that boy?” she asked Kelly. “He was here a moment ago.”
Kelly looked under the kitchen table. “He’s not under there. Maybe he’s hiding.”
“It’s time for his nap. Where can he be?”
“I’ll find him,” Kelly said. She looked behind the door, but Bucky wasn’t there. She looked in the broom closet, but Bucky wasn’t there, either. Next, Kelly went to Bucky’s bedroom and looked under his bed. No Bucky. This calls for real action, she thought.
Kelly went to her own room, opened her toy box, and tossed toys onto the floor. At the very bottom of the toy box, she saw what she was looking for. Holding the magnifier to her eye, she chortled, “Now I’ll find him!” She replaced the other toys, then went back to the kitchen and asked Mother, “Is this where he was last seen?”
“Yes.”
Kelly looked all around the kitchen. “Aha!” she cried. “The cover is off the cookie jar.” With her magnifier, she followed the trail of cookie crumbs out the door. Oh dear, she thought. Cookie crumbs will be hard to see in the grass.
Some little birds were feeding beside the toolshed. Maybe that’s where he is. Birds can find crumbs anywhere.
Kelly opened the toolshed door. “Bucky,” she called, “are you in here?”
Bucky wasn’t in the toolshed, but he had been there. Kelly found a tiny piece of his shirt caught on the rake. She closed the shed door and looked all around. It had rained, and there was a puddle in the driveway. Bucky loves puddles, she mused.
Wet footprints led from the puddle to the sidewalk. Kelly followed them to the corner. Then there were no more. “Hmmm,” Kelly said, scratching her head.
“Hello, Kelly,” said Mrs. Jones.
“Hello, Mrs. Jones. Have you seen Bucky?”
“He was here just a few minutes ago,” Mrs. Jones replied. “I think that he rode off on the back of some boy’s tricycle.”
“Did you see which way they went?”
Mrs. Jones shook her head. “I was busy in my garden. They were gone when I turned around.”
“Thank you,” said Kelly. As she looked up and down the street, she thought, Mrs. Jones had said “some boy’s tricycle.” If it had been Mike or Tony, she would have said his name. So it must have been the new boy over on the other street.
Kelly ran down the block and around two corners. She didn’t see Bucky. She didn’t see the new boy. And she didn’t see a tricycle.
I think that the new boy lives here, Kelly thought, running up the steps of the pretty brick house and ringing the doorbell.
A lady carrying a baby came to the door. They both smiled at Kelly.
“Hello,” said Kelly. “Have you seen a boy about this big?” She held up the bit of cloth that had caught in the rake. “He had on a shirt this color with a tear in it.”
The lady looked at the cloth. “There was a boy here with a shirt like that, but he’s not here now. And my Charlie is taking his nap.”
Kelly thanked the lady and went back down the steps and headed down the block the other way toward home. Mr. Harvey was sitting on his porch. “Have you seen Bucky?” Kelly asked him.
“Not today,” answered Mr. Harvey.
Mr. Harvey saw everything. He sat on his porch all day. He talked to everyone who went past. If Mr. Harvey didn’t see Bucky, Kelly decided, then Bucky didn’t come this way. Where could he have gone?
Kelly looked back the way she had come. If Bucky had gone back that way, she reasoned, I would have met him. So he had to cut through Charlie’s backyard.
Queenie woofed at Kelly after she had cut through the new boy’s yard and was passing Mike’s house.
Bucky’s afraid of Queenie because she’s so big, but he loves her new puppy! Kelly thought, excited.
She ran as fast as she could around the house. There they were, curled up together in a sunny corner of the porch, fast asleep.

Normally Kylie would rather be playing basketball or watching a cat video—or doing anything besides homework. But Saturn was Kylie’s favorite planet, and she got to do her research project about it! Her eyes scanned the computer screen until she spotted an article about Saturn’s rings. This looks like a good one! she thought.
Click.
Suddenly something unexpected popped up on the screen. It was a picture of a person not wearing clothes. Kylie felt sick and scared. This is pornography! she thought. But the computer was supposed to have a filter that screened out bad things. What happened to the filter?
Kylie turned off the computer. She ran into her bedroom and knelt by her bed. “I didn’t want to see that bad picture,” she prayed. “Please take it out of my mind.”
As the week went by, Kylie kept asking Heavenly Father to erase the picture from her mind. But sometimes when she was reading a book or hanging out with her friends, the picture would pop back into her head. She felt guilty every time that happened, and she worried that Heavenly Father might be mad at her.
Finally, one night after the other kids were in bed, Kylie walked slowly toward the kitchen, her heart beating fast.
“Mom and Dad, I have something to tell you. I saw something bad on the computer. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t be mad at me.” She started crying.
Dad put his arm around Kylie’s shoulder. “Tell us about it.”
Kylie let it all spill out—how upsetting it was to see the picture, how she’d prayed and worried. “We’re so sorry you saw that,” Dad said. “But we’re even more sorry that you’ve felt so scared and guilty.”
“I’m going to check the filter right now,” Mom said, walking over to the computer.
Kylie still wondered about something. “Has Heavenly Father forgiven me?” she asked Dad.
“Heavenly Father loves you, and He knows exactly what’s in your heart and your mind,” Dad said. “He wants us to not look at bad things because they’re not good for us. But He knows you saw it by accident. And even if you’d seen that on purpose, He loves us and He forgives us when we repent.”
“But He hasn’t taken the picture away from my mind. I can still see it!”
Dad stroked Kylie’s hair. “When you see something shocking, sometimes your brain remembers it more. But as time passes, and you fill your mind with good things, they’ll start pushing the bad things away.”
“You mean things like scriptures and Primary songs?”
“Sure,” Dad said. “And things you love, like puzzles and art and friends.”
“What about basketball and cats?” Kylie asked.
“Those are very good things!” Dad said.
Mom joined them. “I fixed the filter,” she said. “But there’s another filter that will never fail. The Holy Ghost helps us recognize when things are bad. He can always help us.”
Kylie nodded. She knew the Holy Ghost was helping her feel warm and peaceful, telling her that Heavenly Father loved her and that her parents loved her too.
“Now can I fill my mind with something good?” she asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “What do you want?”
Kylie thought for a minute. “How about a cat video?”
Mom grinned. “Coming right up!”

It was a beautiful fall morning. “Too nice a day,” Chase thought, “to have to go to school.” As he pedaled his bike, he looked at the clear blue sky and the bright reds and yellows of the newly turned autumn leaves. This was a day for playing tag football, jumping in huge piles of leaves, catching frogs by the stream—not a day for learning about nouns and fractions and presidents. Chase rode past the sign that read “Ridgecrest Elementary,” then parked his bike at the bike rack.
“Hey, Chase!” Derek called.
“Hey, what’s up, Derek?” Chase called back.
“I got a new video game on Saturday,” Derek said. “Do you want to come over to my house after dinner tonight and play it?”
“I can’t. It’s Monday, family night—you know, when we all do something together. Maybe I can come over tomorrow night.”
Chase and Derek got to their seats just before the bell rang. Chase noticed a boy he had never seen sitting toward the front of the room. He had straight shiny hair the color of coal. On the chalkboard in big letters Mrs. May had written Gishi Ren.
“Good morning, class,” Mrs. May said, rising from her desk. “I want to introduce you to a new student.” She motioned for the new boy to come stand beside her. “I’ve written his name on the blackboard. It’s pronounced Yee-she Ren. Let’s all say ‘Welcome, Gishi.’”
Gishi hung his head bashfully as the class repeated the welcome. Chase’s eyes met Derek’s. Derek made a face and rolled his eyes.
“Gishi is from China,” Mrs. May explained. “His father has been living here for a year doing research at the university. Now Gishi and his mother have come to join him.”
Later that morning at recess, Chase and Derek played foursquare with some friends. Bouncing the ball, Derek whispered, “Watch this.” He pointed to Gishi, who stood a few feet away with his back toward them. Derek threw the big red ball hard. It bounced off the back of Gishi’s head.
When Gishi turned around, Derek yelled cheerfully, “Oh, sorry,” and winked at his friends. Gishi smiled timidly.
At lunch, Chase and Derek sat together as usual. Derek was describing his new video game. “It’s really cool. It’s like you’re in a jungle, and you’re looking for a diamond mine, and … hey, look, there’s the new kid.” Gishi spotted Chase and Derek and started walking toward them.
“Oh, no,” Derek said. “He’d better not sit with us.” But Gishi did just that. He smiled, nodded, and began eating.
Derek turned to Chase. “We can’t let him think he’s allowed to eat with us every day. Come on, let’s move.”
Chase felt sorry for Gishi. For a moment, he considered staying at the table. But when Derek got up and walked to another one, Chase followed him. Derek continued talking about his new video game, but Chase was only half listening. He kept glancing over at Gishi eating all alone.
That night, Chase’s parents gathered the family together for family home evening. After the opening prayer, Chase’s father said, “Tonight we’re going to talk about two of your ancestors—your great-great-grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth McGowan.
“I think you older children have heard about them already, but Chase and Emily probably haven’t. I just felt impressed that I should tell you their story. As a young man, Joshua joined the Church in England and soon afterward came to America and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. There he met a lovely young woman named Elizabeth Sanders, who was also a member of the Church. They married and bought a farm with money Joshua had saved in England.
“One night,” Chase’s father continued, “an angry mob came and burned all their crops. They burned the barn and their farmhouse. Everything was destroyed. Elizabeth and Joshua had to start all over. Joshua became a blacksmith, and he did that for the rest of his life. They moved to Nauvoo and then later went to Utah with the Saints.”
“But wait—I don’t understand why those people burned their farm,” Chase interrupted.
“Simply because Joshua and Elizabeth were members of the Church,” Dad explained.
“But they must have done something to make those people so mad,” Chase insisted.
“No, Son, they didn’t do anything. It’s just that back then, being a member of the Church was often dangerous. Many people didn’t like members of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were different. They belonged to a new religion. Most folks didn’t know what the Church was really about. It’s just human nature, I guess, for some people to resent anything that’s new or different.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense, Dad.” Chase frowned.
“No, Son, it doesn’t.”
That night Chase lay awake thinking about Joshua and Elizabeth and Derek and Gishi.
Tuesday morning was cold and cloudy. It wasn’t hard for Chase to go to school on such a dreary day. As he parked his bike at the rack, Chase heard Derek’s voice coming from the playground.
As he walked over, Chase saw Derek pointing his finger and making fun of Gishi. Gishi bowed his head and looked nervously at the crowd forming around him. Some of the boys and girls snickered.
Chase ran up to Derek. “Knock it off!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Derek. Leave him alone.” Chase looked Derek right in the eye so he would know he was serious. Derek stared back at Chase. Finally, Derek shrugged.
“I was just fooling around,” Derek muttered as he walked away.
“Are you OK?” Chase asked Gishi.
“Yes. OK.”
“Believe it or not, Derek’s really not so bad. I think he just needs time to get to know you.”
Gishi said nothing, but nodded.
Then Chase asked, “Do you want to come to my house after school and play video games?”
Gishi smiled shyly. “Yes. Fine. You live where?” Chase wrote down his address and gave it to Gishi.
That afternoon, the two boys played video games for a while, then talked about some of the differences between English and Chinese. They took turns pantomiming various actions and having the other say the word for the action in his language.
Gishi wrote something on a paper and showed it to Chase. “This is you in Chinese.”
Chase looked at the pencil strokes shooting out at different angles. “You mean that’s the word for ‘Chase’ in Chinese?”
“No,” Gishi said. “Friend.”
“Love one another. Be kind to one another despite our … differences.”Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Doctrine of Inclusion,” Ensign, Nov. 2001, 38.

Recently I decided to take my fast Sundays to a new level and really focus on fasting with a purpose. The question was what to fast for. I’m doing pretty well. As a junior in high school, I serve in student government, get good grades, and have a passion for volleyball and the gospel. But as I read my patriarchal blessing, I felt different about myself. I felt like the Lord had so much more planned for me, so I fasted on how I could be a light for the world.
Fasting was a great experience, but I didn’t have any huge personal revelations. On Monday I was back to my normal routine. Then the following Wednesday, ESPN asked if I would be their elite athlete blogger on their high school volleyball website! They wanted me to write about whatever I wanted to for that audience.
Because of this experience, I’ve been able to mix my passion for volleyball with my standards and gospel insights in my blogs. I feel like I’m able to share who I really am in a personal way on a national platform.
When I fasted, I’d hoped that I could be the person my patriarchal blessing said I was, but I didn’t see how it was possible. The Lord gave me a voice and He wants me to use it.
I have a huge testimony of fasting with a purpose, and I know that if we have faith, the Lord will fulfill His promises in His own way.

After the fall harvest, Josiah Stowell and Joseph Knight traveled to the Manchester area on business. Both men knew that the fourth anniversary of Joseph’s visit to the hill was at hand, and they were eager to know whether Moroni would finally trust him with the plates.
Local treasure seekers also knew it was time for Joseph to get the record. Lately one of them, a man named Samuel Lawrence, had been roaming the hill, searching for the plates. Worried that Samuel would cause trouble, Joseph sent his father to Samuel’s house on the evening of September 21 to keep an eye on him and confront him if it looked like he was going to the hill.20
Joseph then readied himself to retrieve the plates. His yearly visit to the hill was to take place the next day, but to keep ahead of the treasure seekers, he planned to arrive at the hill shortly after midnight—just as the morning of September 22 was beginning—when no one expected him to be out.
But he still needed to find a way to protect the plates once he got them. After most of the family had gone to bed, he quietly asked his mother if she had a lockbox. Lucy did not have one and got worried.
“Never mind,” Joseph said. “I can do very well just now without it.”21
Emma soon appeared, dressed for riding, and she and Joseph climbed into Joseph Knight’s carriage and set out into the night.22 When they arrived at the hill, Emma waited with the carriage while Joseph climbed the slope to the place where the plates were hidden.
On the night of September 22, 1827, Joseph and Emma drove a carriage to this hill, where the Book of Mormon plates were buried. After obtaining the plates, Joseph hid them in a hollow log for a time to protect them from treasure seekers.
Moroni appeared, and Joseph lifted the gold plates and seer stones from the stone box. Before Joseph set off down the hill, Moroni reminded him to show the plates to no one except those the Lord appointed, promising him that the plates would be protected if he did all within his power to preserve them.
“You will have to be watchful and faithful to your trust,” Moroni told him, “or you will be overpowered by wicked men, for they will lay every plan and scheme that is possible to get them away from you. And if you do not take heed continually, they will succeed.”23
Joseph carried the plates down the hill, but before he reached the carriage, he secured them in a hollow log where they would be safe until he obtained a lockbox. He then found Emma, and they returned home as the sun began to rise.24
At the Smith home, Lucy waited anxiously for Joseph and Emma while she served breakfast to Joseph Sr., Joseph Knight, and Josiah Stowell. Her heart beat rapidly while she worked, fearful that her son would return without the plates.25
A short time later, Joseph and Emma came into the house. Lucy looked to see if Joseph had the plates but left the room trembling when she saw his empty hands.
Joseph followed her. “Mother,” he said, “do not be uneasy.” He handed her an object wrapped in a handkerchief. Through the fabric, Lucy felt what seemed to be a large pair of spectacles. They were the Urim and Thummim, the seer stones the Lord had prepared for translating the plates.26
Lucy was elated. Joseph looked as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But when he joined the others in the house, he made a sad face and ate his breakfast in silence. After he finished, he leaned his head forlornly on his hand. “I am disappointed,” he said to Joseph Knight.
“Well,” the older man said, “I am sorry.”
“I am greatly disappointed,” Joseph repeated, his expression changing to a smile. “It is ten times better than I expected!” He went on to describe the size and weight of the plates and talked excitedly about the Urim and Thummim.
“I can see anything,” he said. “They are marvelous.”27

When I was 11 years old, my older brother and I each got a sled for Christmas. When the first snowfall finally came, one steep road in our town was covered with ice. It seemed like all the children in town gathered at the top of that hill with their sleds.
My older brother and I had contests to see who could go the farthest. Since he was bigger, he always won. A friend suggested something I could do to beat my brother—he handed me a block of wax and told me to rub it on the runners of my sled.
As I took the block of wax, I could feel the Spirit telling me I shouldn’t use it. I thought it might be cheating, and it was also dangerous. These thoughts gave me an uneasy feeling in my stomach and in my heart. But then I thought, It’s all right just this once. I deserve to win sometimes. No one will know. So I put a thick coat of wax on the runners of my sled.
As I started down the hill, my sled quickly picked up speed. Soon I lost control. I saw that I was headed toward a car parked on the side of the road, and nothing I could do would turn the sled. I rolled off onto the ice, hoping to avoid the crash, but it was no use. My sled hit the front wheel, and my left leg hit the back one.
I spent the next eight weeks in a cast from my mid-chest to the tips of my toes on my left side. I recovered well and have enjoyed a full and active life. But my left leg is just a little shorter than my right leg. This reminds me how important it is to follow the promptings of the Spirit. I learned from this experience that when I get the feeling that I shouldn’t do something, I must follow that inspired feeling without delay.

For Morris Overstreet II, the LDS institute is a place to find answers to his gospel questions. He had only been a member of the Church for a year when he became concerned about being the only black member at the institute. “I wanted to know when and if the gospel was ever going to reach the black community,” Morris says. “Having grown up in a black community, I know they need it.” So Morris talked with Brother McMullin about his worry. “He helped me realize that just by being involved in the Church, I will have a great influence with the blacks around me. It’s made me realize I need to be doing the right things so that I can be an influence.” Morris leaves on a mission this year.

“Call me anonymous,” I scrawled on the inside of my notebook cover. It was geography, my most depressing class, not only because I’m not exactly a scholar in geography, but also because I was sitting behind two somebodies in our school, Beverly Allred and Jenny Banks.
Beverly, who had been voted “Miss Dental Hygiene” just two days after she’d had her braces removed, was beautiful and self-confident. I suspected she would have won the honor even if her dad hadn’t been a dentist. Jenny, a cheerleader, was animated and vivacious. The two were good friends who giggled and spoke secrets and excluded me. Even when they looked toward the back of the room or out the rear door into the hall, they never looked at me. They always looked around me as if I were merely a fixture in the room.
What makes a person anonymous? I didn’t know. I just knew with a gnawing ache that nobody at Jackson knew or cared that I was around except maybe Lucy Price and Jim Wilcox, the only other Mormons. But they were older than I and not in any of my classes.
I knew even before I asked her what my married sister Janet would say, but I asked her anyway.
“Why am I so anonymous at school? Nobody even noticed when I was out with the flu.”
“You’re only anonymous because you think you are,” Janet answered. “Honestly, Martha, you walk around with such a scowl on your face that people are afraid of you.”
“When you’re a dud, why smile,” I said.
“You are not a dud!” she said getting exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you that? Just smile, for goodness sake!”
Other members of my family had been hinting the same thing for the last year. Mom had put a quote on the bulletin board in the kitchen for my benefit. It read: “A smile is a light in the window that says the heart is at home.” Jeff, my brother, didn’t hint, he just called me “the Sphinx.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I said. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just try it.”
“Hallelujah!” Janet said. “Will you try it tomorrow?”
“Okay, maybe I will.” It surely couldn’t hurt me to try, I thought. Besides, I knew I had a nice smile. My teeth were straight, and Dad had told me once I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement.
I meant to try the experiment the next day, but it began with one of those rushed mornings when everything goes wrong. I had spent over two hours on the algebra assignment that I left on my desk. That meant I had to hurry and recopy it between classes. Luckily, I still had the rough draft in my notebook. I was so busy that I didn’t even remember I had teeth until I overheard Jenny and Beverly talking about that very subject.
“I have to get braces next week,” Jenny complained. “I wish I’d gotten them when you did so that I’d be finished with them now. Your teeth really look fantastic.”
“Thanks, I think they turned out pretty good,” Beverly said, obviously pleased. Then she turned slightly.
“Know who else has pretty teeth?”
Suddenly, I was listening intently. The blood rushed to my face. Me, I thought. I do! They were going to acknowledge my existence at last.
“Alice,” Beverly said.
“Alice?” We all turned to look at Alice who sat two rows from us.
“We’re just talking about how pretty your teeth are,” Jenny said when Alice gave them an inquiring look.
“Oh, thanks,” she said happily. I looked at Alice’s teeth as she smiled. They were pretty, but no prettier than mine. I should have been happy for her, but instead I was miserable for myself. Why hadn’t they complimented me instead of Alice?
“Did you have to wear braces?” Jenny asked.
“No, I was just lucky,” Alice answered.
I was lucky too, I wanted to say. Especially considering the fact that I sucked my thumb until I was eight. But, of course, I didn’t say it. It would have been a dumb thing to say—a “notice me” scream. Nor did I say, my dad thinks I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement because my teeth are so straight. There are some things you just don’t say. But, what I did was just as bad. When Beverly turned and happened to glance at me, I was grinning widely, a silly, empty, hopeful grin, so that the girls would see that yes, indeed, my teeth were pretty too. Beverly gave me a “you’re odd” look, shrugged her shoulders at Jenny, who giggled slightly, and the two girls turned to face the front of the room.
Again the blood rushed to my face when I realized how obviously I was shouting “notice me” with that toothy grin. What a fool I am, I thought. What a ridiculous fool, sitting here grinning, hoping that someone will notice that my teeth are nice. They noticed all right. They noticed that I was trying too hard. Well, so much for the smiling experiment. I’m never going to smile again!
For the next few months I scowled. Of course, that wasn’t unusual for me, and nobody noticed much of a change. I retired more deeply into my shell, and things got worse instead of better. By the time spring came, I was more lonely and miserable than I had ever been in my life. I had faded into the scenery. I was not a person, I was part of the hall, part of the woodwork, a nobody with no place at Jackson … until that day.
It was one of those surprising days when suddenly it’s spring. Just the day before it had snowed, and now the sun was shining so brightly into the windows that even I felt the rush of warmth into the normally cold, unfeeling halls. I had gone to the office and was walking down the front hall when it happened.
“Hi!” Nancy Patrick in my home economics class said it first.
“Hi,” I answered. Then a boy in geography said it. And then Margaret, a girl in my gym class smiled broadly at me. “Hi,” I responded. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was everyone so friendly? Was it a special day at school?
“Hi,” said a boy I didn’t even know.
“Hi,” I said in almost a whisper. Then I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said more loudly. It must be “Hi day” or something like that, I thought. Funny, I hadn’t heard anything about a special day. When two more people smiled at me, I studied the situation, and then I studied myself. Suddenly, I knew. The sun was so bright at the far end of the hall that it had created a glare that was causing me to squint and pull my mouth into a grimace. No, I wasn’t smiling. I only looked as if I was smiling. People thought I was friendly. Was that really all it took? No, that couldn’t be all. It couldn’t be that easy. Or could it? I carefully changed my grimace into a smile, a real smile.
“Hi,” said Jackie Rollins. She’d never spoken to me before.
“Hi,” I said with mounting enthusiasm. Then I saw them. Beverly and Jenny had just turned the corner. My smile faded and I felt the enthusiasm slipping out of me. I stopped it before it got away completely. No, just for once, I would not let them defeat me. Just for once, I would let them know I existed and smile at them. But, what if they didn’t smile back? What if they ignored me? Well, that would be their problem. As they approached, I mustered up all my courage.
“Hi!” I said, smiling broadly. The boldness of that hi surprised me as well as the girls. It wasn’t a nobody hi. It was a somebody hi.
“Hi,” Beverly said uncertainly.
“Hi,” Jenny said with more vigor. “See you in geog!” After they had passed me, I was still smiling, inside and out. I did it! I thought. It works! I’m a somebody, a real person! An important person!
I walked into my science class with the broad, brave smile still on my face. Bill, the tall redhead who sat next to me and who had only spoken to me twice all year (once to borrow a pencil), wrinkled his freckled nose and grinned at me. “Hey! You have teeth.”
“What’s wrong with a person smiling?” I asked defensively.
“Nothing. Believe me, nothing. It’s just that I thought maybe Mormons weren’t allowed to smile or something.” I stared at him. Had he really said what I thought he had just said?
“Hey, turn off the icy stare. I’m just kidding.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, coming to my senses. “But how did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’m a Mormon.”
“When you’re different, word just gets around. Everybody knows.”
Still in shock, I opened my notebook and saw the words “Call me anonymous.” I scratched them out. Underneath I drew a window, and inside I drew a smile, a big, toothy smile. Then I wrote “Call me friendly!”

One day I was watching a movie at a friend’s house, and I didn’t feel good about the movie. And then I remembered the article in the Friend magazine about a boy who was at his friend’s house and he didn’t feel comfortable playing a video game, so he played cars instead. This gave me courage, so I told their mom that I didn’t feel comfortable with the movie. Then she changed the movie. I had a warm feeling inside because I knew I did the right thing.

It was the evening of a Friday, pay day, at the U.S. Eighth Army Headquarters in Seoul, Korea. I had been on duty during the day, so I had a free evening to read, write letters, and enjoy some time to myself.
Pay day was always welcome, except that the extra cash available to the soldiers was used unwisely by some of them at the club. About bedtime that particular evening, three soldiers, obviously under the influence of alcohol, noisily came into the barracks.
The peace and quiet of our bare army accommodations built by the Japanese occupational army before World War II was shattered when these soldiers entered the room. I turned my head away from the noisy intruders and continued reading, determined to ignore the change in mood.
Despite these efforts to remain peacefully alone and by myself, one tall, handsome young man seemed determined to bring me into the party. He staggered over to my bunk. “What are you reading?” he said. “The biography of John Stuart Mill,” I replied. Looking up, I instantly recognized Alma Anderson (fictitious name) of our small but close-knit Seoul Korea church group. I could tell that Alma also recognized me.
Deeply embarrassed and distressed, he turned around and started to leave, then fell on my bunk. “I recognize you from our group meeting a few months ago, Alma,” I said.
“Yes, I remember you,” he replied without too much enthusiasm. By now he was in deep distress. “Do you know the Doctrine and Covenants?” he asked suddenly. “Would you read me the Word of Wisdom?”
I took out the Doctrine and Covenants, opened to section 89, and slowly read aloud every word of the revelation known as the Word of Wisdom, including the phrase “strong drinks are not for the belly” (D&C 89:7).
“This isn’t the worst thing I have done,” he said. “You know, my mother thinks I am going on a mission. I can’t go now.”
At this point I interrupted: “Alma, you can still go on a mission. Would you like to know how to do it?”
“Do you really think I could go in spite of what I’ve done? I have done just about everything I shouldn’t do. I think it’s too late for a mission.”
I knew what he meant when he said he had done everything. I watched as many of my army colleagues failed to show up at camp during the night. Their interests were elsewhere. Alma’s pattern of behavior was all too much like his friends’, but on the whole, members of our church group basically were free of these nighttime excursions.
Alma was going home next week. But, nevertheless, knowing of the probable sins he had committed and also knowing the gospel plan of salvation, without which we are all lost, I stated confidently, “Yes, you can go, but it isn’t going to be easy.”
We opened to Doctrine and Covenants 58:42–43 [D&C 58:42–43] and read about repentance. We talked of the need to confess serious sins to his priesthood leader. I suggested he go immediately to his bishop in California when he arrived home. There he could continue the repentance process we had started that evening. I also urged that he commit right then and there to forsake the grave sins of sexual transgression and never again repeat them. I urged that he be patient because time would be required. I suggested that he read Alma 39 to understand how serious his sins were in the eyes of the Lord. Finally, I explained that as a part of his repentance he must plan to serve his fellowmen for the rest of his life. We talked of the Savior, his mercy, and his atonement. I helped Alma understand that, though his sins were serious, he was not lost. “We have all sinned and are lost without the great mission of the Savior,” were my words of comfort. “But we must repent of those sins to be cleansed by the blood of Christ.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday, Alma. Let’s spend the evening together. Then if you would like to go to church services with me on Sunday be here about 8 A.M.” He promised he would be there both days and he was. On Sunday he was very quiet but he stayed with me all day. We enjoyed a spiritual feast, and Alma began to show signs that hope was returning. As our beautiful day of rest from army life came to an end, he returned to his unit.
On Monday, he came to say good-bye. Then he proceeded to the Inchon Harbor and the waiting troop ship, which took him back across the Pacific Ocean to the United States and his proud family. I often wondered what happened to him once he got home. Then one day, this letter arrived:
“Dear John:
“Perhaps you will remember me. Although our associations were short, they will have and have had a lasting affect on my life. I have often wondered what made me talk to you that night, but I was very grateful that I did. Our conversation was a turning point in my life. From then on my life changed for the better.
“I learned the hard way which was the best way to live and am at present very happy with the Latter-day Saint life. Upon my return to California I had a talk with my bishop. Several months later I was interviewed for a mission by [Elder] Hugh B. Brown [of the Council of the Twelve] and he made it quite clear that he expected a lot of me to make up for my past mistakes. The interview ended with a positive decision on my part. I received my mission call Saturday and I enter the mission home soon. I’m not even going out of my home state, but I am very pleased with the call.
“I am very thankful to you for your encouragement and advice given that night. Although I didn’t feel very well I remember your words. Perhaps our meeting was meant to be. I think so. At any rate I send you deepest appreciation for your help and wish you the best of luck throughout your life.
“Please write and tell me how you are and what you are doing. I will be very happy to hear from you.
“With love,“A brother in the gospel.”
As I read these words, I realized that I had been in precisely the right place at the right time to help Alma begin the process of repentance. The Lord’s work is always accomplished through men and women—his sons and daughters. A moment of pure joy was my reward.
The next (and last) time I saw Alma was on a day in the Los Angeles Temple when I was waiting the start of an endowment session. Alma came into the waiting room, and we embraced as old army friends and, more importantly, as eternal friends. He briefly reported on a successful mission. It hadn’t been easy, but he felt a sense of pride and joy in having completed his full-time missionary service. Indeed, although he had thought it was too late for a mission, it was not too late.

Katie rummaged through the storage box, carefully looking through the crumpled packing paper. She still couldn’t find what she was looking for.
She put everything back in the box and went to find Mom.
Katie had looked behind the piano, under the couch, even in Thomas’s crib. It was lost. She had to tell Mom.
“Mommy, the baby Jesus is lost.”
Katie led Mom to the nativity set in the living room. Joseph and Mary and the shepherds were there. The Wise Men–even a camel and a donkey—were there. All of the figures were gathered around the empty manger.
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mom said.
“Yes, I can’t find Him anywhere. I looked and looked.” The nativity would be ruined without the baby Jesus.
Mom went to the bookshelf. “He isn’t lost,” she said as she reached up and took something from the top shelf.
Katie sighed in relief. “There He is!” she said. “I’ll go put Him in the manger.”
She reached for the figurine, but Mom put it back on the shelf. “This year we’re going to put the baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning,” Mom said. “It’s a tradition Dad learned in France.”
“Why? Everyone looks so sad.”
“I don’t know if they’re sad.” Mom said. “To me, it looks more like they’re waiting.”
Katie examined the figures. She could see the empty place in the manger where baby Jesus belonged. Some of the figurines were reaching out to the spot.
“I guess so,” Katie said.
“Remember before Thomas was born how excited you were for him to come?” Mom asked.
Katie smiled at her baby brother, who was playing on a blanket. “Yes, it felt like forever.”
“Did you know that prophets waited for thousands of years for Jesus to come to help us return to live with Heavenly Father?”
Katie remembered seeing a picture in Primary of a prophet writing about the Savior’s birth. “I think so,” she said.
“Prophets like Isaiah thought about and wrote about what the Savior would do when He came,” Mom said. “They spent their whole lives waiting for Him to be born. That’s one of the reasons we set up the nativity like this, to remind us that many people waited a long time for the Savior to come.”
“I would get tired of waiting my whole life,” Katie said, looking at the shepherds who were waiting for Jesus.
“But there’s also another reason we do this,” Mom said.
“What?”
“Do you remember in family home evening when we talked about the Second Coming?”
Katie thought for a minute. “Isn’t that when Jesus comes again?
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“When will that happen?”
“Well, we don’t know. But we’re waiting for Jesus to come, just like the shepherds in the nativity and just like the ancient prophets. That’s the other reason we’re waiting until Christmas to put the baby Jesus in the nativity—to remind us that we’re waiting for Jesus too.”
“Will He come to a manger again?” Katie asked.
“No, He won’t be a baby again. The next time Jesus comes He’ll be resurrected. But the empty manger in the nativity reminds us that just like you’re waiting for Christmas morning, and just like people waited for Jesus to come to earth, now we’re waiting for Him to come back. We didn’t lose the baby Jesus. This is part of the way our family remembers Him.”
“We just need to wait,” Katie said with a smile.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“While we’re waiting, can we make some sugar cookies?”

Elder Kikuchi related how, as a young missionary called to serve in Japan for two years, he was first asked to extend for six months and then for an additional 12 months. He agreed without hesitation but each time asked his mission president to call the future Sister Kikuchi. “She was so happy that the Lord needed her future husband,” he recalled.

The young couple married soon after he returned, Elder Kikuchi continued. Then a Latter-day Saint American general who had been stationed in Japan offered to provide him with a complete scholarship and living expenses at Brigham Young University in Provo. “It was a wonderful, ideal situation,” he said, “but we felt we should stay in our country and serve the Church. We kindly turned down that great scholarship.”

Ten months after enrolling in the Asia University of Tokyo—where he eventually graduated in business psychology and management—“I was called as a branch president, and one year later our first daughter came,” Elder Kikuchi said, recalling he got by on four hours of sleep a night. “Those days were the most profound experiences of our lives.”

Anna Matilda Anderson was a young girl who lived in Sweden in the 1880s. When she and her family joined the Church, they were ridiculed for their beliefs. Anna’s mother decided they should move to America and join the Saints in Utah. Anna was 11 years old when she and her sister, Ida, were sent ahead to earn money and bring the rest of the family. They sailed to the United States, then traveled by train to Ogden, Utah, where Ida left by covered wagon to work for her sponsors in Idaho. Anna was completely alone on that train as it continued to Salt Lake City. She spoke no English and knew no one. Can you imagine the loneliness and terror of her ride?
The train pulled into the darkened Rio Grande station just before midnight. The relative who was to meet Anna was not there. Anna stood watching with dread as the station slowly emptied. Finally, she was alone with a German family who also had no one to meet them. The darkness was thick and threatening, closing in around her. She later recalled: “I started to cry and thought about the last thing my mother told me: ‘If you come to a place where you can’t understand what the people are saying, don’t forget to pray to your Father in Heaven because He can understand you.’” Anna knelt by her suitcase and pleaded with all her might for heavenly help. Haven’t we all said prayers like that?
The German family motioned for Anna to follow them. Having no other choice, she walked behind them, crying. Arriving at Temple Square, they heard rapid footsteps. A woman was hurrying toward them, studying each person she passed. She looked at the German family, then pressed on. Anna caught the woman’s searching gaze. The woman stopped, unbelieving. She recognized the young girl! And with a shock, Anna recognized the woman. She was her Sunday School teacher who had left Sweden a year earlier! Pulling Anna tightly into her arms, the teacher wiped away her frightened tears. She told Anna: “I was awakened over and over again. … Images of the arriving immigrants raced through my mind. I could not go back to sleep. I was prompted to come to the temple to see if there was anyone I knew here” (journal of Anna Matilda Anderson, in author’s possession).
Can you believe it? A Sunday School teacher sent in a pitch-black night like an angel of light! “So you see,” Anna remembered, “my Heavenly Father more than answered my prayers. I only asked for someone who could understand me, and He sent someone I knew.”
Years later, Anna explained how she took that amazing journey alone: Her faith in the Lord assured her that something better was waiting just ahead. This gave her the courage to cross an ocean without her mother, pray to her Father in Heaven when she was lost, and walk toward the safe haven of the temple. Anna moved through the unknown and left a path for others to follow. One of those who followed Anna’s faith-filled footsteps was my husband. You see, Anna was his grandmother.

I hate being sick, but there was a time when I prayed real hard for the chicken pox.
It was about a week before the fifth grade Spring Festival. Our whole class had to dance for the PTA on Saturday night. That was bad enough, but I, Mike Foster, had to dance with Veronica Rose. Veronica was the tallest girl in the whole school. She always wore patched jeans. A short pigtail bobbed on each side of her head. The kids called her Veronica Rose, Patched-Up Clothes. Mr. Beesley must really hate me if he’s making me dance with Veronica, I thought.
“Just stay home,” Bill suggested after school one day.
“I can’t,” I answered. “Mom’s in the PTA, and she already knows about the program. She’ll make me come.”
“I’d rather die than dance with old Patched-Up Clothes,” Jason said.
I felt the same way. I hoped that I’d get kidnapped on the way home and that no one would find me until after the festival, but I didn’t.
When I got home, I found my brother, Ryan, lying on his bed. He had red bumps on his face. Mom said they were chicken pox.
Right then, I knew that I had a way out. I’d get the chicken pox! I always caught everything Ryan had. I guess maybe it’s because we sleep in the same room. I had a whole week. Mom couldn’t make me go to the festival if I had chicken pox. I stayed in our room with him the rest of the afternoon.
When I came out to eat supper, Mom said, “Mike, it’s surely good of you to amuse Ryan. Would you do it after supper too? I want to get the closets cleaned tonight.”
“Sure,” I said. “Do you have something I could put on his pocks? He says they itch.”
“Why, yes, I do,” Mom said with a surprised look.
I rubbed the lotion all over Ryan. I figured that if I touched the pocks, it’d help me catch them faster.
I kept putting my face close to his and breathing deep. Come on, germs, I said to myself, do your stuff. Just to be sure, I prayed hard every night. When Friday came, I looked all over my body but couldn’t find even one little bump. I was starting to get worried. If only Mom wasn’t so smart, I could pretend to have chicken pox. But she always knows when I’m faking.
We had to practice dancing all day in school, and it was pure torture.
On the way home from school, I had to walk past Veronica’s house. Veronica lived with her mom and five younger brothers in an old house that needed painting. Their yard was mostly weeds. As I walked past, I could hear Veronica wailing.
“But, Mom, I can’t go to the festival. I don’t even have a dress, and I’m the only girl in fifth grade with pigtails. Besides, I have to dance with Mike Foster. He only comes up to my waist.”
That isn’t true. I’m almost up to her shoulder, I thought, disgusted. Anyway, I’m the second tallest boy in fifth grade.
I could hear her mother’s voice, but I couldn’t understand the words.
Suddenly it hit me. Veronica had feelings too.
When I got home, I asked, “Mom, you know those clothes that we grew out of? Could we give them to the Rose family instead of Deseret Industries?” I told her about Veronica. “I bet some of Amber’s dresses would fit Veronica, and Ryan’s clothes and mine would probably fit some of her brothers.”
“Why, yes, Mike, that’s a good idea.”
I wrapped the box with colored wrapping paper and tied it with a ribbon. Then I waited until after dark and took it to Veronica’s. I put it on their front porch, knocked on the door, and ran around the corner of the house. When they took the box inside, I went home.
On Saturday morning, I almost hoped I didn’t have chicken pox or that at least they’d be where I could cover them up. What would Veronica do if she didn’t have a partner? I wondered.
That night Bill met me at the school door. “Wait till you see Veronica,” he said.
I looked around at the girls. You couldn’t miss Veronica—she was a whole head taller than the rest. But tonight she looked different. She was wearing a frilly pink dress. It used to be Amber’s, but no one else knew that. Her hair was all in curls, and she actually looked pretty.
The gym was decorated with crepe paper flowers and ribbons. All the kids wore their best clothes.
The festival went smoothly. Our dance didn’t last too long, and not even one of the guys teased me. I think that that’s the day we all decided that Veronica was human.
My prayers were answered the next Friday. I woke up with the chicken pox all over me. There was no way I could cover them up. And wouldn’t you know, it was Field Day at school!
The whole class made cards for me—even Veronica.

Recently I was on assignment in Mozambique. The citizens of this beautiful country are struggling with poverty, poor health, unemployment, storms, and political unrest. I had the honor of meeting with the country’s president, Filipe Nyusi. At his request, I prayed for him and his nation; I told him we were building a temple of Jesus Christ in his country. At the end of our visit, I presented to him a copy of the Book of Mormon in Portuguese, his native language. As he gratefully accepted the book, I testified of the hope and promise for his people, found in the Lord’s words on its pages.

This summer I had the opportunity of attending a high priest group meeting in a small community in southern Wyoming. The lesson that week was on justification and sanctification. It was evident as the lesson was beginning that the teacher was well prepared to instruct his brethren. Then a question prompted a response which changed the whole course of the lesson. In response to the question, the comment of one of the brethren was, “I have listened with great interest to the lesson material. The thought has crossed my mind that the information presented will soon be lost if we do not find application to put the material presented into practice in our daily lives.”

Then he went on to propose a course of action for the quorum. The night before, a citizen of the community had passed away. His wife was a member of the Church, but he had not been. This high priest had visited the widow and offered his sympathy. Leaving the home after the visit, his eyes wandered over the beautiful farm of the deceased brother. He had put so much of his life and labor into building it up. The alfalfa was ready to cut; the grain would soon be ready to harvest. How would this poor sister cope with the sudden problems now falling on her? She would need time to get herself organized for her new responsibilities.

Then he proposed to the group that they make an application of the principle that was being taught—by working with the widow to keep her farm operational until such time as a more permanent solution could be found by the widow and her family. The balance of the meeting was spent in organizing the project to assist her. The principles of the lesson found immediate application.

As we left the classroom, there was a good feeling among the brethren. I heard one of them remark as he passed through the doorway, “This project is just what we needed to get this quorum working together again.” A lesson had been taught, a brotherhood had been strengthened, a service project had been organized to assist someone in need.

Let me tell you of some young people I know who have tried to provide for their missions, to whom you might provide additional help. A mother approached a mission president with this plea: “Could I get my son on a mission somehow? He’s my only hope! Unfortunately, his father is unable to provide well for the family. We have eight children. Our income is very meager. We eat only two meals a day. But this is a good boy. He wants to serve a mission. If we are very, very careful, we can provide a few pesos per month. Isn’t there some way he could serve a mission?”
Another young man lived on the outskirts of a large metropolitan area. There were no lights or water in the thin-walled, modest structure that served both as a home and a small shop. After his family’s conversion he attended seminary and developed an insatiable desire to learn. With great effort he entered the university, working part-time to buy books as well as to help support the family. When the desire to go on a mission became overwhelming, he had to double his efforts to save money for his mission. So he carried his books under one arm and his bag of wash rags, wax, and sponges in the other. Between classes he would go out and wash cars, then return for another class. The Lord blessed him with work. He multiplied his income until his leaders felt he had made the necessary sacrifice to help sustain himself.
There are scores of others, each one a lesson to all in the principle of obedience and sacrifice. A young lady with a great desire to fill a mission was counseled to buy ingredients, make cookies, and sell them at school during lunchtime. She did so. Then she bought more flour, baked more cookies, and continued this process for weeks, making a small amount of money each day to help toward her mission.
Are there not thousands of you listening today who are ready to match these two precious years of a young man’s life with sufficient additional funds from your abundance so that he can have the privilege of service? In this way, could you not become “nursing fathers and mothers” to these children of promise?
I call this matter to your attention for two reasons: First, time is of the essence! We need to get moving with the things of real import. The world must hear the gospel. Paul asks: “How shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach, except they be sent?” (Rom. 10:14–15.) And I ask, how shall they be sent today without sufficient means?
The second reason is the Lord counsels rather specifically about the wise use of property. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.)
Jacob counsels:
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves, and be familiar with all and free with your substance, that they may be rich like unto you.
“But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.
“And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches … to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted.” (Jacob 2:17–19.)
How blessed we would be if we could pattern our conduct after the Nephites described by Alma:
“And thus, in their prosperous circumstances, they did not send away any who were naked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon riches; therefore they were liberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church.” (Alma 1:30.)
In our day the Lord has warned us sternly, “And again, I command thee that thou shalt not covet thine own property, but impart it freely.” (D&C 19:26, italics added.)
My brethren, we have been too casual about these matters in the past. There is work to do. We need your help to do it. The word is urgency and the time is now. Many of you have the power to open doors of opportunity for the service of others. May you see this opportunity as a means to wisely use the property with which the Lord has blessed you to help His work and to save your souls. I know many of you already contribute. I know He will keep His promises to you if you will keep your promises to serve. I testify that God lives. Jesus is the Christ. This is His church. This is His earth—and all things in it. We are but stewards over His goods. May we delight to share them, and may we realize the promise that “he who doeth the works of righteousness shall receive his reward, even peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come.” (D&C 59:23.) In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

by Barbara Steffensen
They filtered into the room as they always had on Sunday mornings—greeting friends and gathering together to visit and laugh a little before the meeting began. But this particular Sunday was different. On the Sunday of their ward conference, each of the young men and young women in the Blackfoot Idaho South Stake had brought an item to church—pictures, basketballs, scriptures. All the youth had been asked to bring one item related to their Church activity and to stand before the group and explain what kept them active in the Church.
To introduce the activity, the first to stand in each ward was stake Young Men president, Joe Dayle. Many snickered when he held up an empty beer can, but they listened to his words. “As I watched my friends get involved in these kinds of things, and the problems that came along with them, I gained a testimony of the Word of Wisdom. I knew it was true.”
Many aspects of Church activity were evident as each stood and shared feelings. A young woman holding a Personal Progress book told of her testimony of goal setting. Another, holding a basketball, shared her love for the sports program. A Scouting manual showed the importance the program held to a young deacon. Many brought their scriptures and told of their gratitude for them and for the seminary program which helped them learn and better understand God’s word. The power of family influences was represented by the many pictures brought of parents, grandparents, and brothers and sisters.
As each meeting in each ward progressed, the Spirit grew stronger. Testimonies were borne of the love felt for the Savior and the sacrifice he made.
In the fall, after all ward conferences were completed, a stake activation night was held as a culmination of the year’s program. Each young man and woman in the stake—active and inactive—was contacted and asked to write his or her testimony on a card. The theme for the night was “Let Your Testimony Soar.” That evening, hundreds of helium balloons with the testimony cards inside were filled and released.

After recovering from three major surgeries which have prevented me from speaking in the past two general conferences, what a joy it is to be able to stand in this beautiful Conference Center today to teach and bear testimony to those who desire to hear the word of the Lord.
In the past two years, I have waited upon the Lord for mortal lessons to be taught me through periods of physical pain, mental anguish, and pondering. I learned that constant, intense pain is a great consecrating purifier that humbles us and draws us closer to God’s Spirit. If we listen and obey, we will be guided by His Spirit and do His will in our daily endeavors.
There were times when I have asked a few direct questions in my prayers, such as, “What lessons dost Thou want me to learn from these experiences?”
As I studied the scriptures during this critical period of my life, the veil was thin and answers were given to me as they were recorded in lives of others who had gone through even more severe trials.
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (D&C 121:7–8).
Dark moments of depression were quickly dispelled by the light of the gospel as the Spirit brought peace and comfort with assurances that all would be well.
On a few occasions I told the Lord that I had surely learned the lessons to be taught and that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to endure any more suffering. Such entreaties seemed to be of no avail, for it was made clear to me that this purifying process of testing was to be endured in the Lord’s time and in the Lord’s own way. It is one thing to teach, “Thy will be done” (Matt. 26:42). It is another to live it. I also learned that I would not be left alone to meet these trials and tribulations but that guardian angels would attend me. There were some that were near angels in the form of doctors, nurses, and most of all my sweet companion, Mary. And on occasion, when the Lord so desired, I was to be comforted with visitations of heavenly hosts that brought comfort and eternal reassurances in my time of need.
The experiences of the last two years have made me stronger in spirit and have given me courage to testify more boldly to the world the deep feelings of my heart. I stand before you today with a resolve to teach the gospel principles like the prophets of old—without the fear of man, speaking clearly with plain talk, and teaching simple gospel truths.

We had just moved to Maryland. A big semi truck came to our new home to deliver all of our things. My sister and I were outside, playing in the front yard and watching the moving people unload the truck. We listened to them when they said, “Stay on the porch.”
Suddenly our van came crashing out of the truck, and three men were hurt. Mom was really afraid that we were hurt, because one of the moving people came inside to ask her to call 911 and told her that someone had been run over. But we were OK because we were on the porch. The moving people said, “It was a good thing that you listened to us. You could have been hurt really badly.”
I’m glad that I’m obedient. I want to obey Heavenly Father, and I know that I get blessings when I do.Amy Pearson, age 5, and her sister, Rachel, age 3Eldersburg, Maryland