Gospel Story Finder

When I was about twelve years old, my family was involved in a serious car accident. We were driving my oldest sister, Maurine, to meet her husband in their new home in Washington. As we drove through Oregon, it was raining and the roads were slippery. For some reason, my mother, who was driving, lost control of the car, and it started sliding into the ditch along the side of the road. Mother turned the steering wheel sharply to bring the car back onto the road, but the angle was too steep. Before we knew what was happening, the car had flipped over and rolled two and a half times.
When we came to a standstill, my father and I, who had been sitting in the front seat, were able to crawl out the passenger side. We went around to the other side to see if everyone else was all right. My sister Maurine and her baby daughter, Joy, were fine, but both my mother and my youngest sister, Ruth Ann, were pinned underneath the car. We were twelve miles from the nearest town, and no one was around to help us.
Then something happened that I will never forget. I watched my father, who always had a great deal of faith, bow his head in prayer and ask for the Lord’s help. Then he placed his hands on the side of the car and lifted our big, heavy car all by himself. Ruth Ann was able to crawl out, but Mother was too seriously injured to move. Father told us to pull her out, and I can only imagine the pain she suffered as we did.
We thought Mother was going to die. Her collarbone and six of her ribs were broken, and her pelvis was crushed. She even said that she felt herself going, and she was telling us all good-bye. I’ll never forget how she looked at me and said, “Mary Ellen, always be a good girl.”
But my father gave her a blessing, and she survived. She was even able to walk again, despite the doctors’ predictions that her legs would never again be normal. Later, she told us that she had asked the Lord to let her live just long enough to see all six of her daughters married the right way, in the temple. She died of cancer about fifteen years later, but not before she attended her youngest daughter’s wedding in the temple, the last of six.

On Friday, July 6th, as we concluded a week of an incredible, wholesome recreational activity with 50 of the 74 in our posterity at Lake Powell, we were taking the houseboat back to Wahweap Marina. Suddenly there was a mother’s frantic scream: “Stop! Stop the boat!” As I hurried down the hall, I saw that the back gate of the houseboat was fully open, and Londyn—an angelic, blonde, five-year-old granddaughter—was nowhere to be seen. Everyone on board jumped into action. Her mother, Krista, was trying to explain through her sobbing that she had heard a scream and a loud thud noise that she thought was Londyn bumping off the boat or hitting the water. Everyone was searching frantically. I reached the back and searched the visible area.
All that I could see were the three small, dinghy boats and the ski boat in tow behind us, but that was all that was there. There was no blonde hair in the water, no tiny body struggling. Every mother there was in tears, her own mother repeatedly screaming out for Londyn. Every second was agonizing as panic seemed to grow towards certain fatality. The mother collapsed to her knees in a state of utter despair, disbelief, and instant sorrow: “Oh, please, God, do not let this be real! Do not let this be happening! Please! Please, oh Londyn!” Her words rent my soul with anguish.
Krista is my lovely, tender daughter-in-law. My thoughts went to my son John, who had gone in on another boat. I wondered how we could possibly explain to him that Londyn was gone, that our sorrows, no matter how deep and real, could not bring her back. O ye fair one, how is it that ye are gone?[1]
This was a scene of anguish and sorrow that I have seldom felt: tears and groans and such a desire for the ability to turn back the clock just five minutes, to not have this be our reality.
Suddenly, life changed. We thought the entire boat had been searched, but my angel-inspired daughter Kim shouted through rejoicing tears that she had found Londyn.
She had found her in a small bathroom with a faulty doorknob that was very difficult to open. The mother and daughter were reconnected, and the painful heaviness of what seemed to be, melted slowly as everyone clutched each other in tearful, relieved embraces.

When Sister Grassli was about eight years old, she was asked to give a talk in Sunday School. She practiced and practiced her talk about pre-earth life. “I talked about how Jesus Christ and Satan presented their plans and about how Christ’s plan was chosen. Satan got mad and said, ‘I’ll get them!’ I thought at the time, Well, he’s not going to get me! Even now I remember that decision. That feeling of determination that I had as an eight-year-old girl has stuck with me.

“That’s an important decision for adults as well as for children to make,” said Sister Grassli. “And giving talks and doing the things we are asked to do in the Church helps us grow and gain stronger testimonies.

“My message to the children of the world is that the teachings of Jesus have all the answers to all the problems of life. If we always follow His teachings, then no matter how hard life gets, we will be safe and happy. Even if there is unhappiness in our lives, we can have inner peace by living the gospel.”

As we faithfully seek information about ancestors with the purpose of performing temple ordinances, we’ll be exposed to events and impressions that will perceptibly show the Lord’s hand in this work. During the 1960s my wife’s grandfather, who served as a branch president in the southernmost part of Brazil, had collected many ancestors’ names, which were all in paper documents as there were no computers then. He was afraid that one of his 16 children would damage or lose those precious records, so he decided to keep them in his branch presidency’s office at the local chapel. But one day that meetinghouse was caught on fire and he lost all his family history. Years of work vanished in minutes! He and his family were deeply saddened but felt impressed to visit his relatives in Argentina in an attempt to recover some of the lost information. During those visits he was describing what happened and one of his uncles (who was not a member of the Church) asked to be excused for a moment and then came right back from another room with a stack of papers full of names, dates, and documents concerning all those that had been lost in the fire. For years, he said, “I felt compelled to keep this information without knowing why, but now it all makes sense. You can have all this!!”
Not only were all the names recovered but also many new ones were added. This event has caused all in the family to clearly discern that there was direct guidance from the Holy Ghost and that God knows the end from the beginning!

With so much to see and do at The Ranch, it’s hard to say what was the most memorable part of this youth conference. Perhaps it was Thursday evening’s spiritual activity. It began with an invitation after dinner to take a hayride to a meadow for homemade peach cobbler and whipped cream. It was a perfect day: billowy clouds in a beautiful blue sky. When the young men and women arrived at the meadow, they enjoyed running around in the knee-high grass. And the tall pine trees on the hills that circled the meadow were surpassed only by the spirit of togetherness shared by the youth and adult leaders. When they finished eating, everyone sang songs. Suddenly, three men dressed in white came walking down the hill. As previously planned by the adults, but unknown to the youth, these three men represented the Three Nephites (see 3 Ne. 28).

“It was breathtaking, watching those white figures walk down from the hill,” said Sharon Frazier. “At first, we were all quiet, not knowing what to think. And then we started to sing, ‘I am a Child of God’ as they came closer. They told us that we are a choice generation, and very special spirits reserved especially for this time period.”

The youth were split up in groups, each accompanied by one of the three guests. Each group discussed a beatitude from the Sermon on the Mount (see Matt. 5), then discussed a particular question. One of the questions was, “If you could change something, what would it be?” Norma Nerdin, 15, said, “I’m going to make my Church habits more steady. You know, things like prayer and scripture study. And I need to talk about my problems more. Everybody has difficulties. It’s important that we let others know when we are having a hard time.” Norma said that it was a moment she would remember forever.

Heather Baxter, 16, was in another group. Her question was, “What would make you happy?” “I would want to have a pure testimony,” she said. “If someone asked me if I knew the Church was true, I would be able to know for sure and answer them without having any doubts.

And that’s what it was all about at The Ranch: doing rather than just talking. The results were service rendered and lots of smiles, and a feeling that the high point of Idaho is really at a small ranch outside of Freedom.

During my senior year in high school, I realized that I wouldn’t be seeing my family very much. With homecoming activities, honors classes, and my job, the hours I spent at home were few and far between. In the mornings I would kneel with the family for prayer. Then with a quick amen and hugs all around, I’d rush out the door to the bus. A foil-covered dinner would greet me each evening when I arrived home late. The rest of the family was asleep, so a textbook propped up against my glass of milk was my only company as I ate.
Later, I’d tiptoe upstairs and whisper good night to my sleeping parents. Mama would prop up a little on her elbow, “How was your day?”
“Fine.” The standard answer, but one they accepted.
I’d feel my way down the hall into the dark bedroom where my five other sisters slept. I always made sure I kissed them each on their cheeks and whispered, “I love you.” I wonder if my words ever entered their dreams. Then, setting my alarm clock, I’d say my prayers and crawl into bed.
Life continued like this for several months. I was just too busy.
Then one morning I was awakened by a flashlight shining directly into my eyes. Startled and peering past the bright beam, I was surprised to see my Papa clad in pajamas and robe with a big grin on his face.
“What time is it?” I asked, yawning.
“4:00 A.M.,” said Papa, his face never losing the grin.
“You’re kidding. Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, “follow me.”
I crawled out of bed and sleepily followed him downstairs. As I rounded the corner, I was surprised to see the living room light on and a small table pulled up to the couch. On the table were two dishes of ice cream with chocolate cookies stuck in the top. It looked very inviting.
“What’s this?” I asked incredulously.
“Have a seat,” Papa said. He took me over to the couch and sat me down. “All right, let’s talk.”
“Papa, you’re kidding. No one gets up just to talk and eat ice cream at this hour.”
“I know, but I haven’t seen you for a while, and I wanted to know how things are going in your life.” He hugged me and handed me some ice cream.
As we ate, we talked, really talked, for the first time in many weeks. Papa wanted to know about everything: How’s school? Work? Grades? Are you okay for money? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you healthy? How are you doing spiritually?
One by one I answered his questions, told him my concerns, and asked for advice. My heart thrived on the love I felt from him. With 10 other children in the family, how could he possibly care so much about my life? But he did. Momentarily all the bills, work, Church callings, and the interests of a dozen other people he had to care for were forgotten. He was concerned about me. On that couch, side by side, giggling, laughing, and sharing the deepest feelings and thoughts within us, we passed the early morning hours. We talked long after the ice cream was gone.
It has been many years since that morning. I don’t live at home anymore, and now it’s normal not to see Papa or the family for a few weeks or months. But that four o’clock morning is engraved on my soul, a memory sweeter than ice cream. That morning I really knew someone cared—my father.
Many times since then, when life gets rough, I have been awake at 4:00 A.M., wishing for someone to talk to, wishing for someone who cared enough to ask me those questions. Papa cannot drive the many miles to shine a flashlight in my face. And most people are too practical to serve up ice cream at four in the morning.
However, even when my papa isn’t there, I know from his example of another Father who also watches over his daughters and his sons. A Father who is willing to listen about school, about problems, about life; one who knows us so well that He can see into and feel our hearts; a Father who understands perfectly the world we are facing, our fears and hopes, and asks all the right questions.
That morning reminds me of Heavenly Father, a Father who is omniscient and omnipresent. This Father, too, is always willing to talk, no matter what time it is. And that’s even better than 4:00 A.M. ice cream.

It is July 1984. The men’s gymnastics all-around competition of the Los Angeles Olympics is in its final round. Li Ning, the Chinese gymnast, has just completed a near-perfect routine on the horizontal bar with a score of 9.85 out of 10. That means the next—and final—competitor, a young American from Los Angeles, must score even higher to win the gold medal.
Peter Vidmar quietly rubs chalk on his hands, takes a deep breath, and walks onto the mat. He thinks of the World Cup meet in Zagreb, Yugoslavia, where Li Ning beat him in the horizontal bar and the all-around. Then he thinks of the first time he, Peter, ever received a perfect score of 10. The event was the horizontal bar. And at the meet, in Saarbrücken, West Germany, he won four gold medals.
Another deep breath. There’s not time now to think of the past. Nothing to think of but the routine. Concentrate! He signals his readiness to the officials.
Back uprise, free hip circle, California hop, front Stalder, into a giant swing. The fluid, nonstop circling revolves around the wooden bar. Hecht half turn, straddle regrasp, immediate flyaway with half turn regress, kip change, another giant swing to build momentum. Drop to a dislocate, hit an immediate giant, now the straddle front flip and recatch. There’s electricity in the audience! Kip change, giant, pirouette, another giant. Don’t slip on the Stalder! Two more giants now, nice and big and easy. A smooth arch into a half-in, half-out layout. Come on, Peter! Stick the landing!
His feet plant deep in the cushioning mat and momentum almost topples him forward. But he stands firm, then stretches his arms out wide. A smile as big as the world stretches across his face. And the crowd—the crowd goes crazy! “Vidmar! Vidmar! Vidmar!” the fans are shouting. The score is posted: 9.9! Vidmar wins the gold medal for the USA!

At one time the Lord said that He was “well pleased” with Joseph Wakefield. He was stalwart and faithful and taught hundreds about the prophetic work of Joseph Smith. But from 1833 to 1834 he was influenced by some dissidents in Kirtland. He was once in the home of Joseph Smith. Joseph came out of the room where he had been translating the word of God and immediately began to play with some children. “This convinced [Brother Wakefield] that [Joseph] was not a man of God and that [therefore] the work was false.” In due course, Joseph Wakefield apostatized, was excommunicated, and became a persecutor of the Church and of the Saints.

A few months ago I had the opportunity of attending a ward fast and testimony meeting. One who stood to bear his testimony was an Aaronic Priesthood adviser. His testimony provided me with a new appreciation of what it means for an Aaronic Priesthood bearer to hold the keys of the ministering of angels.
This adviser described some of his experiences with the ward Aaronic Priesthood that morning. As he was walking to church, he noticed two young deacons with fast-offering envelopes going to the homes of the members. He was impressed with the way they were dressed in their Sunday best and how they approached their assignment with quiet dignity. He then accompanied two priests to administer the sacrament in a residential home for physically and mentally disabled men. This was the first opportunity for these two young men to visit this home, and their adviser noted the respectful and caring way in which they approached their priesthood assignment.
Then the adviser shared a brief experience that deeply touched his heart, because one of the priests reminded him of what it really means to be a true minister of Jesus Christ—literally a ministering angel. The young priest who was passing the water to the congregation came to a man who appeared to have Down syndrome. The man’s condition prevented him from taking the cup from the tray to drink from it. This young priest immediately assessed the situation. He placed his left hand behind the man’s head so he would be in a position to drink, and with the right hand he took a cup from the tray and gently and slowly lifted it to the man’s lips. An expression of appreciation came to the man’s face—the expression of someone to whom someone else has ministered. This wonderful young priest then continued his assignment to pass the blessed water to the other members of the congregation.
The adviser expressed in his testimony the feelings he had at that tender moment. He said he wept silently with joy, and he knew the Church was in good hands with these young, caring, obedient bearers of the Aaronic Priesthood.

Another example: We once had a major decision to make. When our prayers left us uncertain, I went to see Elder Harold B. Lee. He counseled us to proceed. Sensing that I was still very unsettled, he said, “The problem with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.” Then he quoted this verse from the Book of Mormon: “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6).
He added, “You must learn to walk a few steps ahead into the darkness, and then the light will turn on and go before you.” That was a life-changing experience from one verse in the Book of Mormon.

I would like to share an incident which took place during the Vietnam War. There were some who were convinced that the United States was engaged in a noble and justifiable war. However, public opinion was changing, and there was opposition which argued that the United States should pull out of Vietnam.
President Harold B. Lee was the President of the Church at the time. While at an area conference in another country, he was interviewed by reporters from the international news services. One reporter asked President Lee, “What is your church’s position on the Vietnam War?” Some recognized the question as a trap—one which could not be answered without a very real risk of being misunderstood or misinterpreted. If the prophet answered, “We are against the war,” the international media could state, “How strange—a religious leader who is against the position of the country he is obliged to sustain in his own church’s Articles of Faith.”
On the other hand, if President Lee answered, “We are in favor of the war,” the media could say, “How strange—a religious leader in favor of war.” Either way, the answer could result in serious misunderstandings both inside and outside the Church.
President Lee, with great inspiration and wisdom, answered as would a man who knows the Savior: “We, together with the whole Christian world, abhor war. But the Savior said, ‘In me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation’” (John 16:33). President Lee then explained, “The Savior was not talking about the peace that can be achieved between nations, by military force or by negotiation in the halls of parliaments. Rather, he was speaking of the peace we can each have in our own lives when we live the commandments and come unto Christ with broken hearts and contrite spirits” (see Ensign, November 1982, page 70).

I used to get upset at church when I was distracted by children making a noise or by people whispering together. One Sunday I prayed fervently to my Heavenly Father that I would be in tune with the speakers and feel the Spirit. I concentrated on what was said, and somehow the usual distractions seemed to disappear. I was so involved with the messages being delivered that I cried even through the closing prayer. I learned an important lesson that day.

Maria Espinoza AlvealChillan Chile Stake

Last semester in my University 101 class, on day three or four we had a student who didn’t show up for class. I got the attention of our peer mentor and mentioned that we were missing a student. I learned that six students had already reached out to text this student to simply say, “Hey, we miss you.” When we build a community in which we love God and we love all those around us, we are becoming a truly Christ-centered campus where belonging naturally follows.

The first car we owned as newlyweds was what is affectionately known as a “Laie car”. It had spent many years on campus being passed through numerous owners by the time we bought it for a whopping $250. If you own a car with that sort of price tag, please understand the reason they call them “Laie cars” is because they should not be driven outside of Laie, if at all. However, one morning Brother Brothers and I were driving to pick-up a new student arriving from Tahiti at the airport. Half-way through the Wilson Tunnel on the Like Like Highway, we heard a loud bang under the hood immediately followed by torrents of white smoke streaming out from the engine. We feared it was about to ignite and we would be going out in a blaze of glory. However, we made it to the top of the tunnel and pulled over to find it was a radiator hose which had exploded and spewed the contents of the radiator all over the engine thus creating all the smoke.

This was still in the BC years “before cellular” so we had no phone and no idea what to do. So we did the only thing we could, we prayed a mighty prayer then tried to turn the engine back on. It worked. We pulled the car around, took a deep breath, and headed back into the tunnel with the car in neutral and our faith on turbo the whole way down the mountain. At the bottom intersection, the light which was always red was miraculously green despite no other cars coming down before or after us. We coasted through the intersection and turned into the first neighborhood we could where suddenly the car’s engine just stopped. Then we finally exhaled and said a prayer of gratitude.Conveniently, there was a man standing in the carport right where we stalled who was wrapping lau lau at 6 am on a Sunday for some reason. He let us use his phone and get the help we needed to get our Laie car repaired and back home. The new student waiting at the airport caught a ride with someone else and we had a great laugh about it later.You would have thought we learned our lesson about trusting a Laie car but we were poor desperate students and had to put our trust in the Lord several more times with that car before it was towed off into car heaven. We were blessed over and over because of our faith and trust in the Lord.

When I was a junior in college, I married my high school sweetheart, Clea. After three years of serving in the Navy as an officer on a destroyer and attending graduate school, I moved with my wife to Detroit, Michigan. I worked there for many years for Ford Motor Company, and that’s where we raised our four children. Once I had to travel to Asia for my work. There was a cholera epidemic in Asia at the time. Before I left, I got a shot to protect me from getting cholera, but the doctor forgot to record on my passport that I’d had the shot.
When it was time for me to return home, I gave my passport to the government official. He noticed that it did not show that I had had a cholera shot, which was required. He said that I could not go home until two weeks after I had the shot. I told him that I had already had one. He said that if I gave the emigration officials fifty dollars, they would let me leave without having the shot. I knew that it is dishonest to bribe officials, so I went to the United States ambassador and asked him to call the doctor who had given me the shot. With his help, I was allowed to leave.
Someone I know once said, “Wrong is wrong, even though everyone is doing it. Right is right, even though no one is doing it.” This is a concept you need to use all your life. You don’t have to lie. Don’t get into the habit of telling fibs. Honesty is a good habit.

The first prophetic statement regarding the temple as given by Elder Cowley was recorded by a missionary to the Northern Far East Mission, Elder Harrison Ted Price in his journal in 1949. It was given on the site where the completed Tokyo Temple now stands, 5-8-10 Minami Azabu, Minato-Ku, Tokyo, Japan, the former location of the Northern Far East Mission and later the Tokyo Mission offices. Elder Price reported that a special dedicatory service was held in the library and foyer of the mission home, Sunday, July 17, 1949.
“In the dedicatory services for the mission home at 4:30 P.M., this afternoon, President Edward L. Clissold gave a fine talk summarizing the establishment of the mission here in Japan. This was followed by the dedicatory prayer given by Elder Cowley, which was one of the thrilling prayers that I have heard. In this prayer, he told of countless blessings from the Lord that have been enjoyed here to date, and went on to prophesy—‘there will someday be many church buildings—and even TEMPLES built in this land.’ I gave the closing prayer in this meeting.
“I was sitting on the front row in this gathering and clearly heard these words. The above quote is I believe the exact words that this great prophet said, for this prophetic prayer so impressed me at the time that I went to my room shortly after and wrote these words in my diary that I now have before me. This same day, I remember asking Elder Cowley specifically about his statements on buildings and temples in Japan, and he surprised several other elders and me by answering that he didn’t remember saying that, ‘But if I said that—that’s the way it will be.’ Other experiences with Elder Cowley have convinced me that when the Spirit of prophecy was upon him, he was sometimes as surprised as his listeners at the marvelous things that he said.” (Elder Harrison T. Price, Missionary Journal No. 3, p. 149, July 17, 1949, as recounted in a letter to President Paul Andrus, Northern Far East Mission, 1958.)

“Before speaking at a Primary devotional recently in Anchorage, Alaska, I asked some of my grandchildren what I should share with other children around their age.
“‘Pa, tell them that you know Jesus and that He loves them,’ they responded.
“I took their suggestion to heart and made sure to promise each of those children that they are known by name by Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost. I also shared with them that God loves them.
“The truths I shared with these precious children are the same truths I share with each of you.
“Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love us so much. We are God’s children. We should share this important truth with everyone we know. We are never really alone. In Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, we have constant friendship and support.”
Elder Ronald A. Rasband, Facebook, July 12, 2022, facebook.com/RonaldARasband.

It happened every Sunday in church. No matter how hard Jeremy tried, he always got the wiggle-waggles. He tried very hard to sit still during Primary. He kept his arms folded as long as he could and sang all the Primary songs. Jeremy listened to the lesson in his class and tried to answer questions. But sometimes, even when he tried his very hardest to sit still, they still came—those bothersome wiggle-waggles!
It usually happened toward the end of Primary and carried on through sacrament meeting. Jeremy would start to fidget, then he’d play with his tie. He’d rattle his papers from Primary, then twist around in his seat. He tried talking to his best friend, Thomas, but Thomas would put a finger to his lips to tell Jeremy to be quiet. Thomas never seemed to get the wiggle-waggles.
Sometimes Jeremy would untie his shoes. When the wiggle-waggles were really bad, he would slip off his shoes and kick his stocking feet back and forth.
“Sit still, Jeremy,” his Primary teacher whispered to him.
“Shhh, Jeremy, I want to listen to Sister Bernard,” Thomas said quietly when Jeremy tried to tell him about his new toy dump truck.
“Put your feet down,” his mother cautioned in sacrament meeting.
“Leave your shoes on, son,” his dad told him.
Jeremy tried to sit reverently and quietly. He really did! But he still had those wiggle-waggles every Sunday.
One night at family home evening, Jeremy’s mother brought up the wiggle-waggle problem.
“I try to sit still, Mom. I really do!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“It seems to me that we need to figure out a way to stop those wiggle-waggles from bothering Jeremy,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Let’s all think about it, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution.”
On Sunday morning, just before the family left for church, Jeremy’s mother gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she said, “Jeremy, I want you to write down a sentence about your lesson in Primary, and a sentence about the talks that you hear in sacrament meeting. Do you think you could do that?”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll talk about what you wrote on your paper for family home evening,” his mother added.
All through Primary, Jeremy sat very still. He listened carefully to the talks and scripture and wrote down the scripture reference. Jeremy sang with his best voice during singing time, and even wrote down a verse to one of the Primary songs. Then he wrote a sentence about sharing time. Jeremy didn’t talk to Thomas once. During the walk to their class, Thomas commented on how reverent Jeremy was. During his Primary class, Jeremy quietly wrote down a sentence about the lesson. Before he knew it, Primary was over.
“I didn’t get the wiggle-waggles once!” Jeremy proudly reported to his parents as they sat down for sacrament meeting.
During the next hour, Jeremy tried very hard to sit quietly. But after a while, he started to feel the wiggle-waggles creeping up on him. He glanced down at his paper and read the words of the Primary song he had written down: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still and think about Jesus, his cross on the hill, and all that he suffered and did for me; it shouldn’t be hard to sit quietly.”*
Jeremy thought about the song. That was the secret! He should think about Jesus. Jeremy knew that Jesus would want him to sit quietly and listen.
Jeremy listened as Elder Vasquez, one of the missionaries serving in his ward, related an experience about a 10-year-old girl who had recently been baptized. He listened when Elder Brown, the other missionary, told the congregation that he was from England and had been on his mission for only three months. As Jeremy listened to the missionaries, he decided that he would like to be a missionary, too.
Jeremy was surprised when the closing hymn was announced. He looked down at his paper and noticed that he hadn’t written anything about the missionaries. He had been too busy listening to them! And the wiggle-waggles hadn’t bothered him once!
As they were leaving the church after sacrament meeting, Jeremy’s parents told him how happy they were that he’d been so reverent. Jeremy told them how the Primary song had taught him to think about Jesus and what He wanted him to do.
Just then, Sister Harper came up to Jeremy’s parents and said, “Jeremy is so quiet! I wish my Kerry would learn how to be quiet and reverent like Jeremy. She gets so wiggly!”
Jeremy’s mother winked at him.
“It looks like the wiggle-waggles found someone else to bother,” she said.
“Yes.” Jeremy smiled and held up his piece of paper. “And I know just what she can do to fix it!”

Brisbine Italian Chili
What do you do when there are chili beans and tomato sauce in the cupboard but no chili powder? The only spice in sight was Italian spice when Elder Ted Brisbine from Wenatchee, Washington, was making chili one night in Houlton, Maine. The answer was (you guessed it) Italian chili. He liked it so much that he made it that way from then on. People from New Mexico and Texas get upset when they hear this recipe, but don’t let that stop you from trying it.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
How come you’re my friend?
Huh?
Well, I can’t run or ride bikes and stuff. And some people have trouble understanding me when I talk.
Yeah, I had trouble at first. But—I dunno—when I listened, it got easier. I guess I like your funny jokes. And we like a lot of the same stuff.
Game time’s over. How about a sandwich?
So how come you’re my friend?
I guess it started when those guys were picking on me and you stood up for me.
Then we talked. And I got to know you. And, well, I figure anybody who has a rubber chicken for a pet …
… needs at least one real friend.
I’m his pet?! I thought he was mine.