Gospel Story Finder

Under the direction of Bishop Stephen Gregory and ward JustServe specialist, Brother Anson Bentley, the members of the Bridlington Ward in the York Stake, have all worked together in setting up a soup kitchen for the homeless at the chapel. The soup kitchen runs every Thursday evening. Bishop Gregory said, “It’s been quite an experience really, we have got the attention of local councillors who come and help us, we have members who have not been active for many years, who have decided that would like to come and help at the soup kitchen and they haven’t been near the building in years. Because of the current COVID-19 restrictions we have had to turn offers of help away and limit it to five volunteers each week, otherwise we would have the chapel full of people wanting to help.”
Brother Bentley said, “We have had pretty much the whole of the ward’s active membership participate in the soup kitchen in one way or another. Thanks to the Bridlington Ward membership, the soup kitchen has been very well supported.”
Brother Joshua Dixon-Harrison, assistant to Brother Bentley, has been key in getting members organised, communicating to many other volunteer organisations, making lots of phone calls and reminding everyone what’s happening each week. Joshua was himself homeless for a time and so knows firsthand the needs of someone who is homeless. Joshua has also been encouraging the ward members to register with JustServe, and to regularly check what are the service opportunities, and get involved in them. Joshua said, “The idea of JustServe is to work with others in our community and to serve our local community.”
The ward has had tremendous support from Bridlington town councillor Andy Walker, who was really excited about the service being offered by ward members. He comes to the soup kitchen most Thursdays to help and has promoted the project in council meetings, helped put ward members in contact with other organisations in the area, and has become a good friend to Brother Bentley. Most of the members of Bridlington Ward have been able to meet and get to know Councillor Walker and to become friends with him.
The Kingfisher Cafe, a local group which looks after the homeless in Bridlington, has been a great help in getting the word out to those in need, and has also mentioned JustServe and the Church on its Facebook page, which has resulted in a lot of positive feedback. Other nonprofit organisations, Emmaus Hull & East Riding, and East Riding Voluntary Action Services have also helped get the word out about the soup kitchen. These friendships and connections have enabled ward members to offer their services to the community as a resource for future service projects.
The soup is usually made by members. When I visited, Brother David Richmond had made the most delicious butternut-squash soup that I have ever tasted. The Community Cookery School in conjunction with The Haven in Bridlington have also provided excellent soup on several occasions.
Bishop Gregory said: “At the end of 2019 I gave a talk and spoke about the lawyer who tried to trick the Saviour, asking which was the greatest of all the commandments. The Saviour replied, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“‘This is the first and greatest commandment.
“‘And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ (Matthew 22:37–39).

“These words have sunk deep into my heart, and this is the reason I decided to support and push and cajole people into the JustServe programme, and I think this is why it has been a success, because people have captured the vision.”
The soup kitchen is simply a place for vulnerable people to come and have a hot cup of soup and chat with people who want to support them and make friends.

One faithful sister shared a special spiritual experience in the Salt Lake Temple. While in the confirmation room, after a vicarious confirmation ordinance was pronounced, she heard, “And the prisoner shall go free!” She felt a great sense of urgency for those who were waiting for their baptismal and confirmation work. Upon returning home, she searched the scriptures for the phrase she had heard. She found Joseph Smith’s declaration in section 128 of the Doctrine and Covenants: “Let your hearts rejoice, and be exceedingly glad. Let the earth break forth into singing. Let the dead speak forth anthems of eternal praise to the King Immanuel, who hath ordained, before the world was, that which would enable us to redeem them out of their prison; for the prisoners shall go free.”

I grew up in a large family, and I always believed that motherhood would be my greatest contribution to building the Lord’s kingdom. However, my husband and I recently learned that our chances of adding children to our family in this life are small. Our infertility journey has been excruciatingly painful, but the uncertainty of treatments and the emotional load of making difficult decisions have been especially soul crushing. At times I have wondered, What will my influence and role be if I can’t be a mother in the way I had planned?
During this journey, I’ve been grateful for other faithful women in my life whose experiences have also turned out differently than they had planned. And through their examples, Heavenly Father’s message to me has been this: “Don’t wait. Don’t second-guess if you could or should have done more or chosen differently. Be where you are now. Take opportunities to love and serve those around you.”

My father had an idea that his boys ought to learn to work, and so he bought a five-acre farm which eventually grew to include more than 30 acres. We lived there in the summer and returned to the city when school started.
We had a large orchard, and the trees had to be pruned each spring. We learned a great truth—that you could pretty well determine the kind of fruit you would pick in September by the way you pruned in February. Further, we learned that new, young wood produces the best fruit. That has many applications in life.

My spirit seemed to resonate with the exposure I had as the missionaries taught my sister, but my parents concluded that as a 10-year-old boy, I was too young to make important decisions and was forbidden to join the Church. However, through the constant efforts of my sister Carol and her husband, David Dellinger, in March 1978, my father, mother, younger sister, and I were all baptised. A year later my older brother, Leon, and his wife, Elizabeth, entered the waters of baptism. All my immediate family were now members of the Church.

A few days before our oldest granddaughter was born, her parents were wondering if the baby would be a boy or girl. At church the following Sunday, they sang these words: “There is hope smiling brightly before us” (“We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” Hymns, no. 19). With sudden knowledge they turned to each other and said, “It’s a girl!” When the baby was born, they named her Hope.
Hope, who is so appropriately named, is now five years old. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. She is in her first year of school, and she has so much she wants to learn. The “brightness of hope” shines from her eyes (see 2 Ne. 31:20).

Time passes. The hand of a bride becomes the hand of a mother. Ever so gently, she cares for her precious child. Bathing, dressing, feeding, comforting—there is no hand like Mother’s. Nor does its tender care diminish through the years. Ever shall I remember the hand of one mother—the mother of a missionary. Some years ago at a worldwide seminar for mission presidents, the parents of missionaries were invited to meet and visit briefly with each mission president. Forgotten are the names of each who extended a greeting and exchanged a friendly handshake. Remembered are the feelings that welled up within me as I took in my hand the calloused hand of one mother from Star Valley, Wyoming. “Please excuse the roughness of my hand,” she apologized. “Since my husband has been ill, the work of the farm has been mine to do, that our boy may, as a missionary, serve the Lord.” Tears could not be restrained, nor should they have been. Such tears produce a certain cleansing of the soul. That boy continues to be very special to me, as he does to her. A mother’s labor sanctified a son’s service.

Eleven-year-old Hatty pulled the last stitch through the apron. “It’s finished,” she said, tying the knot. “Now can I please make Pa’s birthday shirt?”
“Are you sure you want to try something so difficult?” Ma asked.
“Yes! His birthday’s next week, and I’ve been mending as fast as I can so I’ll have time to make it. Besides, you said his old one was ready for the quilt bag.”
Ma laughed. “All right. You’ve convinced me. There’s some cloth in the box by my bed.”
Hatty hurried to the box and pulled out a large piece of newly woven cloth. “How about this?”
Ma nodded. “That will be fine, but be careful not to use more than you need. It has to last us all year.”
“I’ll be careful.” Hatty spread it on the table.
“The first thing we need to do,” Ma said, “is cut out the pieces. Usually I measure your pa first, but since this is a surprise, we’ll have to rely on my memory.” Ma measured, outlined, and pinned. “It’s your turn,” she said, handing Hatty the scissors.
Hatty cut out the sleeves.
“Good,” Ma said. “I’m going outside now to put fresh straw in the mattresses. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” Hatty started on the next piece. This is so exciting! she thought. I can hardly wait till Pa sees—“Oh, no!” she wailed out loud.
Ma ran through the door. “What’s wrong?” Then she saw the large gash. “Oh, Hatty, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you so soon.” She folded the ruined cloth and put it into the box. “Perhaps we can use it later.”
Hatty wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“I know.” Ma quickly traced another pattern, and Hatty tried again. This time she was extra careful.
It wasn’t until the next morning that Hatty had another chance to work on her gift.
As she started sewing the first seam, she thought, This isn’t so hard. But after a solid hour of stitching, her hands were sore, her shoulders ached, and her fingers had been pricked five times.
“Let’s see how you’re doing,” Ma said, examining the stitches. “Hmmm, … most of it’s perfect. But see these big stitches? You’ll need to make them smaller, or they’ll come undone while Pa is working.”
Hatty looked at her pricked fingers. “Maybe this project is too hard for me.”
“It is difficult, but I believe that you can do it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You’ve already done many difficult things. Remember when we crossed the plains? You had to keep our milk cow walking, even when all you wanted to do was sleep.”
Hatty nodded.
“And what about our garden? You planted it all by yourself.”
“Pa helped a little.”
“And I’ll help you with this.”
Hatty looked again at her sore fingers. “Show me what to do,” she said.
The rest of the week, Hatty spent every spare minute working on the shirt. Sometimes she had to unpick her stitches and sew them again, and sometimes she felt like giving up. But, finally, on the morning of Pa’s birthday, she finished it and wrapped it in brown paper.
“There’s a new company of Saints coming through the canyon today,” Pa said after breakfast. “I’ll be spending most of my day helping them.”
“But it’s your birthday!” Hatty cried.
“And I can’t think of a better way to spend it! You know that we’ve always been helped when we’ve needed it, so I’m glad to help others when they need it.”
“What about your present?” Hatty asked.
Pa laughed. “I’ll be home in time for dinner. You can give it to me then.”
When he was gone, Ma said, “Aren’t we lucky? Now we have the whole day to prepare for his party.”
“His party?”
“Yes. We need to make a cake, fix his favorite dinner, and—”
“String wildflowers around the room! Can I do that?”
Ma laughed. “Go ahead.”
That evening, Pa, Ma, and Hatty sat around the table and ate dinner. There was a flower next to each place.
“Happy birthday to you,” Hatty and Ma sang after dinner.
Pa stuck his finger into the cake. “Mmmm. Let’s eat.”
“Presents first,” said Hatty, reaching under her chair.
Just then someone knocked on the door.
“I wonder who that could be.” Pa picked up the candle and went to the door.
Hatty stood on her tiptoes, trying to see who it was, but Pa was too tall. She could hear a man’s voice, though.
Finally Pa closed the door and faced his family. “It’s one of the new settlers,” he said quietly. “He’s out of money, and his clothes were so torn that he didn’t want you to see him. He hid in the bushes all afternoon.” Pa looked at Ma, his eyes pleading. “I have another pair of pants, but …”
Slowly Hatty handed her father the brown paper package. “Happy birthday,” she whispered. “It’s a shirt.”
Pa pulled Hatty into his arms. “Thank you,” he said. Then, he gathered the clothing and gave his gift to the man outside.

In my high school media class, we heard about a video contest where a popular music group would come and perform at the winning high school’s prom. Some other students and I made a video and entered it on behalf of a neighboring high school that was recently destroyed by a tornado. Even though the other school is our rival in sports, we wanted to help give something special to those students who had lost so much.
Our video won the national contest. It felt amazing to help this school. It made me feel good to know that my classmates and I could make a difference in others’ lives.
Luke G., Indiana, USA

Christy peeked excitedly through the curtains. Snow glistened in the moonlight.
“Ready to go look at the Christmas lights?” Mommy asked. “You need to put on your hat, coat, and mittens.”
Christy skipped to the closet and pulled her coat off a hanger. She found her hat and mittens. Soon she was wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
Outside, Christy made footprints in the snow. Her breath came out like steam. Mommy helped her into her car seat.
Their van crunched through the snow, making new tire tracks. Christy looked at her house. It looked like a twinkling gingerbread house! She giggled. The whole neighborhood looked magical.
“Look at that one!” Christy squealed, pointing to a house covered in pink lights. “Oh!” she said, pointing to a giant Christmas star sparkling with tiny white lights.
Mommy drove farther and farther. Christy grew sleepy watching the colorful lights. Soon it was time to go home. Mommy drove onto a small road to turn around. The road was piled with snow.
Mommy tried to back up. The tires spun around.
WHIRR, WHIRR!
Snow flew up, but the van didn’t move.
Mommy tried to go forward. The tires spun around again.
WHIRR, WHIRR!
More snow flew up, but the van still didn’t move. Mommy tried to go back again and forward again. The van didn’t budge. They were stuck. Mommy got out of the van and looked down the road.
Christy couldn’t see any cars. She began to feel nervous. What if they had to stay here until morning?
Then she remembered something. Heavenly Father always knows where we are. She felt better.
Mommy got back in the van. She looked worried.
“Mommy, it’s OK,” Christy said. “Heavenly Father knows where we are. We can pray and ask Him to help us get unstuck.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mommy said.
Christy folded her arms and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “would you please send someone to help us get home?”
Christy felt warm inside. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” she thought.
“It’s all right, Mommy. We’ll be OK now.”
Mommy smiled and nodded her head. She still looked worried.
Bright lights lit up the back of the van. A man climbed out of a big truck. He waved as he waded through the snow. “You look like you could use some help,” he said. “I’ll have you out in a jiffy!”
The man hooked a big chain to the back of the van. His truck pulled the van right out of the snow. Mommy could drive again. She thanked the man and started for home.
“Christy, you taught me a lesson tonight,” Mommy said. “Heavenly Father always cares about us. I love you.”
Christy felt thankful and happy. “I love you too, Mommy.”

One night shortly after his baptism, Don was tending the ship’s engines and reading the Book of Mormon in his spare time. One of the crew came up behind him and asked what he was reading.

“It’s the Book of Mormon,” Don replied.
“Are you Mormon?”
“Yes, I am.”
Burt ground out his cigarette and said, “So am I.” He had been brought up in the Church but had stopped participating when he joined the military. Don convinced him to join the others at sacrament meeting the next Sunday. Burt began the process of repenting and getting his life back in order.

Just before Don was released from military duty, he wrote to my wife and me.
“As you know,” he said, “I am the only member of the Church in my family. I had been saving part of my paycheck so that when I get out I would be able to pay cash for a new car. But now I’ve decided to use the money for something better—to support myself on a mission.”
Ken also decided to serve a mission. After their missions, both Ken and Don were married in the temple, and both have served faithfully in many Church callings.
We asked Ken and Don what it was about the gospel and the Church that attracted them most. Without a moment’s hesitation they each said that it was Willis’s life, his example.

The rodeo chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat on the horse in perfect form, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild animal.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.
Now Zane is serving a mission in Brazil and teaching the gospel to people in Portuguese. And he says, “I wouldn’t trade this mission experience for anything—even a national professional rodeo championship.”
It was in June of 1990 that Zane Davis secured the award as the national collegiate all-around cowboy of the year in the College National Finals Rodeo in Bozeman, Montana. Although only a freshman at the College of Southern Idaho, Zane didn’t get to the number-one spot by simply riding a few wild horses and winning a few competitions. Zane’s training started before he could walk, when his father, Shawn Davis (a three-time National Finals Rodeo saddle bronc world champion), took him along to rodeos across North America.
At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the eight- to twelve-year-old cowboys. But since he was too young to compete, he was only allowed to demonstrate his riding skill. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs and climbed aboard a rather angry calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the time limit before falling off.
He entered his next rodeo when he was only five, and this time a pony bucked him off. But he still walked away with third-place honors. Hundreds of rodeos later, Zane had earned an impressive array of saddles, belt buckles, trophies, and cash prizes. The success came as a result of hard work.
Each day at his parents’ ranch in Idaho, Zane exercised by doing eighty sit-ups, twenty pull-ups, and four hundred push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping ten to twenty calves and practicing once a week for each riding event. Also, before each rodeo, Zane asked his father for a father’s blessing. Zane says, “I feel that these blessings kept me from getting injured on many occasions; and when I was injured, I recovered remarkably fast.”
Zane adds that obeying the Word of Wisdom has been a great blessing in his life. “Other cowboys who drink and take drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is that he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo, he had to ride a bull that had thrown off all the college-age riders who had tried to ride it. But Zane, only thirteen years old, got on the bull and rode him in three out of five attempts. “I don’t remember ever being really frightened at a rodeo,” said Zane. “A little fear is always good for you, but too much fear is not good. If you have a little fear, you plan better. If you have too much fear, you may get out of control.”
One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. Colleges all over the United States were recruiting him. Although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane wrote home from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three times at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”
In his life, Zane has ridden a thousand wild horses and roped a thousand calves. Rodeo became easy to him. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father—who was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
Zane’s mission in Brazil was not easy. He underwent the shock of learning a new language and living in a different culture. But Zane improved daily. And on his mission he learned firsthand that his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

Randy was in my math class in ninth grade, but on the first day I waited for him to pick a desk and then I sat on the opposite side of the room. Darren McCoy, a tall red-headed kid, sat in front of him, and I watched to see what would develop.
After Mr. Washington passed out the first exam, and we all bowed our heads to our papers, I saw Randy mouth the familiar words to the back of Darren’s head.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?”
I knew Darren heard Randy, because his pencil stopped moving, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge the voice behind him.
Randy leaned closer and whispered again. This time Darren turned quickly and gave him a haughty look; then he put his pencil back on his exam and defiantly began to add numbers.
Randy tried one more time, this time he flicked one of Darren’s ears with his finger. Darren made an annoyed, contemptuous grunt and shuffled his desk forward. About that time Mr. Washington stood up and began walking around the room. Randy reluctantly gave up and hunched over his own paper.
Darren came to class the next day with a big black eye, but when the midterm exam came up, Darren stonewalled Randy again. I’m sure ninth grade was the longest nine months of Darren McCoy’s life, but he didn’t break. He said nothing to Randy, who was forced to make it through the class on his own merits.

When I was younger, I had trouble falling asleep each night. It was frustrating to be so tired and still not be able to rest.
I talked to my parents about my struggle, and they suggested I switch out my pillows, move my head to the other side of the bed, and not be near any electronic devices before bedtime. But even after following their advice, I still couldn’t sleep!
Then my dad gave me one more suggestion that changed everything. He said, “When you say your nighttime prayers, just talk to Heavenly Father.”
So night after night, I began talking to Heavenly Father about my day. I would start with when I woke up and talk about everything that happened until right when I was in my bed. I told Him about people I saw, blessings I was grateful for, how pretty it was outside, and things that made me feel happy. I also told Him about things that were sad, like if I hurt my leg or made a mistake.
I wasn’t able to fall asleep right away, but I noticed that my relationship with my Heavenly Father was strengthening. He listened to me. He understood my high points and my low ones. He helped me feel calm enough to eventually fall asleep each night.
I am so grateful I could talk to Heavenly Father during those sleepless nights. I know He loves me and helps me, even with small things like helping me sleep.
Alyssa B., 19, Virginia, USA

Plan surprise activities. If Dad comes home from work tired and worn out, falls into his chair, and doesn’t get up until dinner, we know it’s time to plan another surprise activity. We love to kidnap Dad when he leaves from work or steps out of the car at home and take him on a family outing. Our activity might be as simple as going to a park for a picnic dinner. Sometimes we make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, throw in a bag of chips, kidnap Dad, and drive to a local point of interest. Even though they aren’t elaborate, our activities are always fun and spontaneous—and Dad loves being the center of everyone’s kidnapping scheme.

I was sitting on Mom and Dad’s bed, missing them an awful lot, when the phone rang.
“Hey, Levi. Guess what?” Dad said. “Your sister Nora was born this afternoon!”
I could tell Dad was happy, but his voice also sounded weird—like he was worried.
“How big is she?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.
Dad was silent for a moment. “A little more than two pounds [0.9 kg],” he said. Now he definitely sounded worried. Nora was supposed to be born during Christmastime, but it was still September. “She’s tiny, all right,” Dad continued. “Remember to pray for her, Levi. And pray for us too so we can trust that Heavenly Father knows what’s best for our family.”
After I hung up the phone, I went into the kitchen and picked up a bag of beans that Mom was planning on making into soup. The package said it weighed almost as much as Nora did right now. I held it in my hands, trying to imagine what a baby that size would look like.
“Her spirit was just with Heavenly Father,” I thought, remembering what I had learned about the pre-earth life and the plan of salvation. I knew that even if Nora died, we would get to see her again because we were all sealed together as a family. But I also hoped she would stay with us here on earth.
Over the next few months, Mom and Dad were at the hospital a lot. Grandma and Grandpa came to our house to help take care of me and my younger brothers and sisters. The ward fasted and prayed for our family, and nice ladies from the Relief Society brought dinners for us sometimes. Everyone wanted to know how Nora was doing.
One evening, Mom and Dad called all of us into the living room. They told us that Dad was going with the bishop to give Nora a blessing. After Dad left in his suit and tie, Mom gathered all of us around the couch to say a prayer.
“Please bless Dad as he gives Nora a priesthood blessing,” Mom prayed. Her voice grew soft. “And please, if it is Thy will, allow her to come home and be healthy.”
As we prayed, I could feel the Holy Ghost fill the room with peace and love. It was like Heavenly Father was telling me that, no matter what happened with Nora, it was all part of His plan.
Later that night, Dad came home and told us that something wonderful had happened at the hospital. Usually Nora’s room was loud and noisy. There were lots of machines and monitors with alarms and flashing lights, and nurses and doctors were always hurrying around to help the tiny babies there. But when Dad and the bishop arrived, things were different. All of the machines were quiet. The nurses were sitting by the babies, reading or watching over them. Dad and the bishop were able to give Nora a blessing without any interruptions.
I don’t know whether Nora will grow up here on earth or return to live with Heavenly Father soon. But I do know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, and I feel peace when I remember that He has a plan for every member of my family.

Having home evening is something that my son and I look forward to every week. We used to have members, friends, and missionaries over at our house often. Then things changed drastically because of the pandemic. Now we have home evening with our friends over the phone. Through this time together we have been able to do many things that have brought us closer.
I am very grateful for our dear prophet, who invited us all to fast. Many of us were able to feel the power of unity and peace through that experience. In times like this, the peace we need comes from the Savior Jesus Christ.
Roshene McKenzie, Kingston, Jamaica

Occasionally I visit nursing homes, where long-suffering is found. While attending Sunday services at one facility, I noticed a young girl who was to play her violin for the comfort of those assembled. She told me she was nervous and hoped she could do her best. As she played, one called out, “Oh, you are so pretty, and you play so beautifully.” The strains of the moving bow across the taut strings and the elegant movement of the young girl’s fingers seemed inspired by the impromptu comment. She played magnificently.
Afterward I congratulated her and her gifted accompanist. They responded, “We came to cheer the frail, the sick, and the elderly. Our fears vanished as we played. We forgot our own cares and concerns. We may have cheered them, but they truly did inspire us.”

When my wife was a young girl, her grandpa took the grandchildren with him to the farm to put powder on the potatoes to kill the bugs. It was fun doing it together. What’s more, they got to ride the old workhorse after they were finished.
It was fun to help get the cows into the barn so they could be milked. Although the children didn’t do much milking themselves, they watched and heard the milk splatter into the bucket. Sometimes a well-aimed squirt would fill the open mouth of a waiting cat. The children laughed even more when Grandpa squirted the warm milk toward their open mouths, and the giggles increased when he missed and splashed their faces.
The children helped harvest the corn and, when canning started, they helped the adults cut off kernels. Everyone had a feeling of accomplishment and they felt secure just knowing that they were adding to their year’s supply of food.
After the children had helped with the picking and pickling of cucumbers, they received a reward of some large ripe ones to cut open, hollow out, and sail as boats down the ditches.

Soweto seminary students know the Lord helps them through the scriptures. Lucky Ndhiela knows his faith spared him a severe beating.
“One day our school teacher was very angry with our class,” says Lucky. “He said he had explained a science principle to us, and the other students said he had not. A still, small voice whispered in my ear, ‘You know it, Lucky—the teacher did teach us that.’
“So I raised my hand and said in front of the whole class, ‘You did teach us that.’ I felt so happy to say it.
“But the whole class shouted, ‘He did NOT!’ The teacher became very angry and started to give them all hidings, one by one. I sat near the back of the class, and while he was busy punishing the students in front, I bowed my head and began to pray.
“I remembered my scripture mastery, Proverbs 3:5–6, and said to myself, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’ [Prov. 3:5–6]
“When the teacher came to my desk, his voice changed. His face changed. He said, ‘Lucky is praying to his God. I forgive him.’ He did not punish me, nor any others that day. That is how I know it is important to apply the scriptures in my life. My prayer was answered!”