Gospel Story Finder

The first meetinghouse built by the Church in Mérida was very significant for members who helped build it—and, as was the policy then, pay for it—recalls Saidy Castillo de Gaona of the Zacil-Ha First Ward, Mérida México Stake. “The members paid our half with our work—pure hard labor,” she says. Young Saidy learned to operate the brick-making machine while she worked on the project. And it was there that she met her future husband, Noé, a labor missionary helping to construct the building.

“When they knocked that building down, it was very emotional for me,” Saidy continues. “But the important thing was that they built something of greater value.” The Mérida México Temple now occupies that site.

As a teenager, Saidy had seen herself in a dream in a temple in Mérida. “I knew there was going to be a temple. I asked the Lord to let me live long enough to see it.”

She and her husband were married more than 35 years ago. They were sealed in the temple in Mexico City shortly after it was dedicated. Through the years they supported the Church faithfully in a wide variety of priesthood and auxiliary callings. When the Mérida temple was dedicated in 2000, the Gaonas were prepared to serve there too; they were the first two temple workers set apart.

He was serving in the temple on the day he died suddenly in late 2002. Saidy says it was only her knowledge of the eternal nature of marriage that allowed her to cope with the loss of her companion. “I think if it hadn’t been for the gospel, I would have wanted to die. The knowledge of the gospel gives me strength to go on. The gospel is everything for me. It was everything for my husband too.”

She turned once more to service in the gospel for help in healing the hurt of her loss. In addition to serving in the temple, she found solace in giving of herself to her five children and grandchildren and also in her Church callings. “I think I’m happiest when I’m working,” she explains.

Katie loved singing. She loved dancing. But most of all, she loved Sundays! That’s when she got to see her friend Quincy.
Katie had Down syndrome. Sometimes at church she got confused and didn’t know what to do. But she knew Quincy would be there to help her.
Quincy would hold Katie’s hand and walked with her to Primary. Sometimes Katie felt wiggly during sharing time, and Quincy would give her a hug. It always helped Katie calm down. After sharing time, Quincy helped Katie find her class. Katie loved Quincy.
One day Katie learned that something sad had happened in Quincy’s family. Quincy’s older brother Cory had died. Katie knew her friend would be so sad. She knew Quincy loved her big brother very much.
Mom told Katie that tonight people were going to the church building to show Quincy’s family that they were loved. Then tomorrow would be Cory’s funeral.
“Would you like to go to the church with Dad and me tonight?” Mom asked Katie.
Katie nodded. She wanted to tell Quincy that she loved her!
Mom helped Katie put on nice clothes. Then they drove to the church.
When they got there, Katie could see lots of people. She knew some of them from church. She saw her bishop. She saw her Primary teacher. But she couldn’t see her friend.
“Mom, where’s Quincy?” Katie asked.
Mom didn’t know.
“Why don’t we ask someone?” Mom said.
Usually Katie didn’t like talking around lots of people. But tonight she needed to find Quincy. Katie felt brave. She marched up to the bishop.
“Quincy is sad. I need to find Quincy!” she told him.
The bishop smiled and took Katie’s hand. “Then let’s go find Quincy.”
Together, the bishop, Mom, and Katie walked around the church building. Finally they found her! Quincy was sitting in a corner. She looked really, really sad.
Katie walked over to her friend and wrapped her arms around her. She thought of how much Quincy missed her brother.
“It’s OK, Quincy. Jesus will take care of Cory,” Katie said. She carefully patted Quincy’s hair, making sure to be gentle.
Quincy started crying. Katie hugged her tighter.
“It’s OK,” Katie said. “Jesus will take care of Cory.”
Quincy cried and cried. Katie just kept hugging her friend. After a while, Quincy got quieter. She was still sniffling, but not crying so much. She looked up at Katie.
“Thank you, Katie,” she said. “You’re right. Jesus will take care of my brother.”
Katie was happy that she could help her friend feel better. She loved Quincy!

When I was a new Beehive, I enjoyed Young Women, but I was also shy and a little intimidated by the older girls. I had a hard time relating with them since their main interests seemed to center around boys and clothes—or so I thought.
One of the first Mutual activities I attended after turning 12 was held in the backyard of one of our leaders. All the girls were there, including Shannie,* one of the older Beehives. She was well-liked by everyone, and tonight she was dressed in the latest summer fashion, right down to her sparkling white tennis shoes.
When the refreshments were served near the end of the activity, we all took our cookies and purple punch over to the lawn chairs where we could eat and socialize. I sat down next to Shannie, placing my glass of punch on the ground. As the girls began to talk, I shifted my legs. To my horror, my foot knocked over my glass of punch and it spilled all over Shannie’s left foot! I sat paralyzed as the deep purple spread over the once-sparkling-white shoe. I was sure all the young women had seen it happen. I thought I would die of embarrassment!
As I began to choke out a desperate apology, Shannie put her hand out and said in a soft voice, “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” And she meant it. She encouraged the conversation to continue as though nothing had happened. For the rest of the evening she seemed to ignore her soggy, purple shoe.
In that moment, I realized that while Shannie was well-dressed and popular, her biggest priority was to treat others with Christlike kindness. I will forever remember the compassion she showed to me at a time in my life when I needed it most.

At a church service I attended in a care center, after the wheelchair-bound residents received the sacrament, a young woman your age played a solo on her violin. The elderly sisters were so appreciative. They declared aloud their gratitude with comments such as “Beautiful,” “Wonderful,” “I love you.” Such distractions did not deter the violinist; rather, they enabled her to reach new heights in her performance.

That day she said to me: “I have never played better in my life. Something seemed to lift me beyond myself and my own abilities. I felt the inspiration of my Heavenly Father’s love.”

I reminded her, “When you are in the service of your fellow beings you are only in the service of your God.”

She nodded her acknowledgement, carefully placed her violin in its case, and, with tears of joy coursing down her cheeks, returned to her seat.

Rachel and Michelle decided one Saturday that it would be nice to take a walk with their stuffed animals. They got permission from both their parents, but Rachel’s mom said, “Only if you don’t cross any streets. Stay on the sidewalk.” So Michelle and Rachel started off on their walk, pushing their stuffed animals in Michelle’s old baby stroller. They came to a cul-de-sac and walked around it on the sidewalk. Returning home, they could not cross the mouth of the cul-de-sac without going across the street. Rachel said, “I don’t think we should cross the street,” but they didn’t want to walk clear back around the cul-de-sac either. They decided to obey their parents, so they went back around the cul-de-sac, staying on the sidewalk. They were glad that they had obeyed their parents. We hope that all of you reading this will obey your parents too.

Riiiing!
Tony grinned as he stood up from his desk. It was finally time for recess!
Other kids ran past him toward the playground, but Tony hung back. He was waiting for Sean. Sean was new to Tony’s class. Maybe they could play together.
“Hey, Sean!” Tony said. “Do you like basketball?”
“Like it? I love it!” Sean said.
“Awesome.” Tony grinned. “Come on. Let’s play!”
Tony and Sean spent the whole recess dribbling, passing, and shooting hoops.
“That was fun!” Tony said as they walked back into the classroom. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks,” Sean said. “It’s fun to play with someone who likes basketball as much as I do!”
Every day after that, Tony and Sean played basketball together at recess. They practiced different plays they made up and perfected their dribbling. Tony loved the swoosh the basket made when the ball fell through the net.
“Here you go!” Tony called. He passed Sean the ball. Sean caught it and jumped to score. Tony noticed a flap hanging down from one of Sean’s shoes.
The basketball bounced off the rim of the hoop. “Oh, almost,” Tony said. “Good try!”
“Thanks,” Sean said. “I think I could play a little better if it weren’t for my shoes.” He laughed as he lifted up his shoe for Tony to see. “I’m going to get some new ones as soon as my dad finds a new job.”
Tony smiled. “But if you get new shoes, you’ll beat me every time!” he teased. “I won’t stand a chance!”
As Tony walked home from school that afternoon, he thought about Sean walking home with a shoe that was falling apart. Tony knew it wouldn’t only be hard to play basketball in those shoes. With the weather changing, Sean’s feet would be cold! Tony wondered if there was something he could do to help.
“Ready for bed?” Dad asked Tony later that night.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “I was just thinking. You know my friend Sean, who I play basketball with at recess? His shoes are wearing out. He needs to wait until his dad gets a job before he can get some new ones. I’d really like to help him out somehow.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “Why don’t we say a prayer? I know Heavenly Father will help you know what you can do.”
Tony nodded and knelt down with Dad to pray.
The next morning as Tony was getting ready for school, he noticed something in his closet. It was a pair of extra tennis shoes from his older brother! Tony hadn’t worn them yet because they were still a little too big. He had forgotten all about them!
I wonder if these will fit Sean, Tony thought. He put the shoes in his backpack, zipped it up, and hurried off to school.
“Hey.” Tony walked up to Sean and held up the shoes. ”I found these in my closet. They don’t fit me, and I wondered if they might fit you.”
“Wow. Thanks so much!” Sean slipped them on and tied the laces. “They fit great!”
Tony felt happy. He knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer to know how to help his new friend. “Race you to the basketball court!”

The first steps on the road to walking again actually took place in the water.
At 23 years old, Victor Penafiel watched others swim while he clung to a corner of the pool. His friend, Arturo Espinoza, saw his desire to swim and offered to teach him. But Victor had a great fear of water. Even before his accident, he didn’t know how to swim. Swimming wouldn’t be easy, especially with only one arm. After a year of struggling with Victor’s fear, Arturo guided Victor into the middle of the pool and removed the life vest he wore during lessons.
“Let’s see how you get out of this,” Arturo said, leaving him there.
Victor got out of it, and the challenge helped him see he could swim. After that, Victor never used a life vest. Now he loves swimming, he said, because when he is in the water, he feels free.

My sisters and I asked our parents to have a family home evening about emergency preparedness. First we tried out our two-story ladder, and we got to leave the house out the upstairs window. It was a little scary, but it was fun. We talked about what to do if there really was a fire. Then my parents pretended that someone was at the door, telling us we had to evacuate and we only had 10 minutes and may not be able to go home for a few days! We ran around, trying to find our shoes and coats. My parents put our 72-hour kits and some other items in the van.
We drove around and pretended we were going to a safe place. A few minutes later we were home again. We brought our gear into the living room to see what we had. My parents realized we forgot a few things—sleeping stuff, Dad’s wallet, and extra food. We talked about things we learned and what we should do better next time. Mom made a list.
Four days later some parts of the city were flooding. During the night we were evacuated! My parents again tossed everything into the van—including the things we forgot during our practice in family home evening. We were the first to leave our neighborhood.
We drove to the church and spent the night there. It was fun! We all had sleeping bags and air mattresses and snacks and toys. My little sisters were very sad the next day when we went back home. They wanted to sleep at the church again. We were grateful my sisters and I we were inspired to have a family home evening about preparedness and that my parents listened. I’m glad we were prepared; it made the experience fun and not at all scary.

“I don’t want to go to Grandma’s cabin,” Jacob cried.
“Jacob,” Mom said gently, “I know going there will be hard, but we want to do this for Grandma. We’ve always celebrated your birthday at the cabin.”
“But that was before … before … Grandpa died.”
“I know,” Mom said. “We’re all sad about losing Grandpa, so we need to help each other. We’ll get through this together, OK?”
“OK,” he said softly.
Jacob had always looked forward to being at the cabin together. He and Grandpa had been fishing buddies. But now Grandpa was gone.
“There’s Grandma and Big Red!” Mom said the next day as they pulled into the cabin’s driveway. Dad and Mom hopped out of the car to hug and kiss Grandma. Big Red barked and wagged his tail.
Jacob took his time getting out of the car. With dragging feet, he slowly approached Grandma.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came,” Grandma said, hugging him.
“I love you, Grandma,” Jacob said softly.
When Jacob walked inside the cabin, he saw a fire crackling in the fireplace. The table was set, and colorful balloons and streamers were everywhere. A big banner over the fireplace read, “Happy Birthday, Jacob!”
Jacob tried to look happy, but memories of Grandpa were everywhere. It just hurt so much that he wasn’t here. Jacob bit his lip to keep the tears back.
After dinner Grandma brought in Jacob’s birthday cake with 11 twinkling candles. “Make a wish and blow out the candles,” she said.
Jacob felt a stab of sadness remembering how Grandpa always put one trick candle on his cake. He blew hard. All the candles went out. Then one sputtered and lit up again. Everyone laughed.
“I couldn’t let your birthday pass without playing Grandpa’s silly little trick on you,” Grandma said.
After cake, Grandma gave Jacob a birthday card. “Grandpa wanted me to give this to you.”
Jacob noticed her tears. He took the card. “Could I open it by myself outside?” he asked quietly.
“That would be just fine,” Grandma said.
When Jacob came back inside, his eyes were red, but he smiled and said, “Grandpa said I could have his fishing rod and his good reel.”
“Yes, I know.” Grandma took the rod off the pole rack and handed it to Jacob. “Grandpa found a new lake last summer. He asked me to take you there for your birthday.”
The next morning Jacob and Grandma loaded their fishing gear in the car. As soon as Big Red saw they were ready to leave, he took one leap and landed in the seat next to Jacob. Grandma’s laughter and happy memories of Grandpa lightened Jacob’s heart as they drove to the lake.
“Hang on,” Grandma said as the car bounced over the road. “We’ll have to hike now,” she said, stopping the car.
After they’d walked for a while, Grandma stopped and pointed ahead. “There’s the lake. You can see it just through those trees.” She sat down under a big tree with a book. “I’ll stay here and watch. Big Red will go with you, but call out if you need anything.”
Jacob was glad Grandma was letting him go to the shore alone. It made him feel closer to Grandpa.
Two hours later Jacob came trudging back to Grandma with Big Red romping beside him.
“Any luck?” Grandma called.
Jacob frowned and shook his head. But then he pulled his hand out from behind his back. “Ta da!” He held up his line with five beautiful trout dangling from it.
“Native cutthroats!” Grandma said. Those were Grandpa’s favorite trout. “We’ll fry them up for dinner.”
“Grandma, it was great down there,” Jacob said as he sat down beside her. “Next time will you come with me? Maybe we could be fishing buddies.”
“I’d like that,” Grandma said.
Jacob wrapped his arms around Big Red. “I felt like Grandpa was with me.” Tears slowly trickled down his face. “I cried really hard, but then I felt like I could talk to him.” He looked at Grandma, and she was crying too.
“I didn’t want to come here for my birthday because of Grandpa, but now I’m glad I did.”
Grandma stared up at the trees. “I felt that way too. I cried a lot the first day I was up here.” Grandma put her arm around him. “It’s all right to be sad. Even though we know Grandpa is in a good place, we miss him, don’t we?”
Jacob nodded. They sat quietly for a long time, thinking about Grandpa and enjoying the mountains he had loved.
“Let’s go, shall we?” Grandma finally said. “We’ve got to get ready for our fish fry tonight.”
Jacob reached down to help Grandma up. Big Red raced ahead of them to the car. “This is the happiest but saddest birthday I’ve ever had. Does that make sense?”
“That makes perfectly good sense to me.”
“I’m thankful that Heavenly Father gave me such a good grandpa,” Jacob said.
“Oh, yes. I am too.”
“And you know what? I’m thankful He gave me a wonderful grandma like you.”
We all grieve (or react to death) in different ways.
There’s no one way to feel. You might feel angry or lonely or numb. You might not cry or even feel sad right away.
It might take a long time to not feel so sad. Even after grief fades, it can still come back.
It’s OK to have fun or laugh or feel happy. It doesn’t mean you don’t love the person who died.
Even if you trust Heavenly Father and know you’ll see your loved ones again, you can still be sad when they die.
It’s OK to talk about and remember the person who died, even if it makes you feel sad.
When Lazarus died, Jesus knew He would bring Lazarus back to life. But Jesus still wept (see John 11:32–36). Jesus cares when we are sad. Because of His Atonement, He understands our grief (see Alma 7:11–12).
Write a letter of things you wish you could say to the person who died.
Make a memory box of keepsakes or photos.
Talk to someone else who loved the person.
Draw a picture of the person or of your family now.
If you know someone who is grieving, show you love them, even if you don’t know what to say. Spend time with them, let them talk if they want, and help them in little ways.

When I was younger, my ward had a talent show. My mom and I were performing clogging (a type of dance). I practiced a lot with my mom until it was perfect.
On the night of the talent show, when it was our turn to dance, I realized that I had stage fright. I did not want to perform, so I ran toward the Primary room.
My mom eventually found me sitting near the door, shaking. She saw that I was scared and asked if we should say a prayer. I agreed.
When we got to the stage, I was scared, but I knew God could help me. My mom and I then did our dance proudly. I know Jesus will help us when needed.

Kalik was ten weeks old—old enough to do a little exploring on his own. His parents were away hunting, and his brothers and sisters were playing a game of nip-the-tail. Now a breeze had brought a new scent to Kalik’s nose, one he had never smelled before.
The wolf pup knew the scent of spruce trees and of caribou just over the hill. He knew the way flowers smelled and the way the world smelled when it rained. But his nose had never told him about this new thing. It was a wet smell, like water lilies. But there was a flesh odor also.
What is it? Kalik wondered. He had to find out. His big feet padded softly on the forest floor, and his pointed ears and skinny tail stuck straight up in the air. His ears would bring sounds of friends or foes, but his tail told him nothing. It was just there, like a twig.
Kalik tilted his nose in the air to better catch the strange scent. Following this invisible air trail was not easy. At times, the little wolf lost the scent. Then he circled until he found it again.
Suddenly Kalik saw something by a small pond. It was a strange and unfamiliar creature, and it was crouching and staring at the pup with bulging eyes.
Kalik advanced cautiously. The “thing” continued to stare. Kalik’s nose touched it—and BOING! The creature gave a great leap.
Kalik was so startled, he tumbled backward in a somersault. Scrambling to his feet, he saw that the thing-that-leaped had landed right next to the pond. All at once it went, “Haaa-rumph!” and hopped another foot or two.
In the meantime, a lone wolf was watching both Kalik and the frog. He was a large male from a distant pack, and he was hungry. He wanted that frog and had no intention of letting Kalik frighten it away. He crouched, ready to spring.
Kalik walked up to the frog and stuck out a paw. Does it want to play? he wondered. He touched it ever so lightly, and once again was startled when the frog leaped away. Up-up-up went the frog … and it came down with a plop! into the water.
Kalik was captivated by this new interest in his life. He watched the frog swim to a lily pad and climb on top of it.
Kalik neither heard nor smelled the older wolf. One minute he was observing the creature that leaped and the next, he was sprawled on his back. The great dark figure had pinned him down, snarling fiercely. The stranger snapped at Kalik angrily, and the young wolf fought back as best he could. But he was no match for his opponent. He was fighting a valiant but losing battle.
It might have gone badly for Kalik, had not his parents rushed to the scene. Their keen ears and noses told them of trouble. Without hesitation they raced to the defense of Kalik. There was a short, fierce battle, then the strange wolf realized he couldn’t win and fled. He hadn’t really wanted to fight. All he really wanted was that frog, and there were, after all, other frogs in other ponds.
After Kalik’s parents had sniffed him over to make sure he was all right, the three wolves started back to the den. But Kalik turned once to see if the thing were still there. He spied it resting on the lily pad.
The frog shifted a bit, as if to make himself more comfortable. Then he went, “Haaa-rumph!” again. All seemed to be well in his world too.

One Friday morning I put on my pink flowered dress, made my lunch, and went to activity day. We were going to the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple.
At the visitors’ center at the temple we watched a movie about baptism. After that we heard a talk about how we can live with Heavenly Father someday and be together forever as a family. Later we walked around the temple grounds. I thought they were beautiful.
After that, we had a picture taken while standing in front of the temple. Then we had lunch and fed the ducks and squirrels. Soon we had to leave. I want to live worthily so I can go to the temple someday.Charlotte Widdison, age 9Pocatello, Idaho

First, the music. Jake Anderson of the Fenton Ward remembered a bad experience with music at his school prom. He said, “They had one line in one song with cuss words in a row. They quieted the music so everyone could scream out the line. The songs were degrading.” But he knew he didn’t have to worry about that happening here. The disk jockey was a member of the Church and was sensitive to what would be appropriate. Plus, he had help in picking out the songs.
School proms can be very expensive. As a member of the Clarkston Ward said, “You buy the tickets. Some people want limos. You have to pitch in for that. There’s the corsage and tux rental and dinner. It ends up in the hundreds.”
The stake prom used plenty of volunteers including adult leaders and the youth committees from all the stakes to decorate, fix food, and even act as photographers and coat-check attendants. Volunteers also manned the doors as security, patrolled parked cars in the parking lot, and created and distributed party favors. And, of course, because it was held at the stake center, there was no location rental fee.
For prom, girls want to look pretty. They want a great dress and the fun of dressing up. And the guys actually appreciate the dresses more when they are modest. When Briton Moffitt of the Rochester Ward was asked if the girls looked good, he answered firmly, “Most definitely.”
Tiffany Morris of the Bloomfield Hills Troy Ward commented, “Here the guys say, ‘You look beautiful,’ instead of ‘You look hot.’ It seems like a real compliment.”
But modest dresses are hard to find. So where did all these hundreds of girls find modest prom dresses for this dance?
They were inventive and persistent.
“I went online and found a store that sold modest dresses.”
“My mom made it for me, and it turned out really well.”
“I got mine at the Salvation Army. It’s vintage … and inexpensive.”
“Mine is actually a costume from a musical I was in.”
“I bought one and then made a cute jacket to go over it.”
“I borrowed from my friend and bought a short sweater to go with it.”
“I found a cute top, and I already had a long skirt.”
One ward even paired up each girl with a Relief Society sister who could sew, and they made dresses that were nice for a dance and could be worn as a Sunday dress as well.
Groups of girls had great fun gathering to get ready. Lacey Paulson of the Bloomfield Hills Troy Ward said, “We came about two hours early. We were all curling each other’s hair and eating pizza and listening to music.”
Doug Jackson from the same ward was listening to Lacey and shrugged, “I got ready in 15 minutes.”
Brian Henson of the Midland Second Ward was even faster. He jokingly said, “The girls get ready together. Guys, we just shower, play some video games, and five minutes before you have to leave, you brush your teeth and get dressed.”
And how did the guys dress? Some came in tuxedos, but many of them confessed that they had tuxedos because they played in orchestra or sang in school choirs. Brad Jones of the Midland Second Ward said one lady in his ward had some tuxedos she had bought at garage sales. He borrowed one of those.
Many looked great wearing their Sunday suits or nice dress slacks and a shirt and tie.
The dancing at this prom was going to be something everyone could enjoy. Jake Anderson of the Fenton Ward had just attended his school prom and was acutely aware of the difference between the Mormon prom and his school prom. “It’s nice not to worry about the dancing. You don’t have to be in the uncomfortable situation where someone wants to dance with you, and you really don’t want to because you know how they want to dance and you have to say no.”
Many wards had prepared the teens by giving dance instruction during midweek activities before the prom. Most felt prepared to have fun and dance ballroom style. Amanda Rosenhan of the Grand Blanc Ward said, “We dance kind of old-fashioned, and I like that.”
At the end of the night, the teens in Michigan went home with some nice dance photos, a few treats to eat in the car, and memories of a fun evening. This prom was a night to remember, not a night to regret.
Faran Clark of the Lansing Holt Ward said, “A lot more people came than in past multi-stake dances. I guess it’s about dressing up and having a nice night out. You get to primp and look nice.”
And, as her friend Andrea Brown of the Lansing Owosso Ward added, “It’s a good chance for us to realize that we can have fun together and still keep our standards.”

I recall a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake International Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.

I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands.

There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once, but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.

Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.

I found myself wondering as to who would be first to break away from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.

As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary appear. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother.

As he neared the group, sure enough, someone couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children. It was Father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet, and bronzed giant of a man ran out and swept his son into his arms.

The missionary was probably 6?2? (188 cm) or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.

And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching His Son go out to serve, to sacrifice when He didn’t have to do it, paying His own expenses, so to speak, costing everything He had saved all His life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning Son saying, “It is finished” (John 19:30). “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit” (Luke 23:46).

Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.

My name is Modibo Diarra. In 1981 I had the honor of being the first person to be baptized a member of the Church in my native land of Mali. It is hard to believe how much my life has changed since then, and that it all happened because my dog was sick!
Mali is in northwestern Africa. The climate is hot, dry, and dusty. Although the official language is French, many people speak Bambara, a local language. Most are Moslems. Our capital, Bamako, is a medium-sized city on the Niger River. Here our family lives in typical Malian style.
Our home consists of four square walls surrounding a large open courtyard. Small rooms open onto the yard, where the shade of a tall tree is used for family gatherings. Against one wall are pens for chickens and rabbits, and a goat wanders freely, seeking food.
One day, my dog got sick, and I thought it might be a case of rabies. At that time I was a school teacher, and one of my students told me about an American veterinarian, Dr. Jerry Zaugg, who was working in Mali. I arranged for Dr. Zaugg to come to our house and asked my wife to prepare tea for him, as is the custom here. But our guest declined to drink the tea. He said it was contrary to the teachings of his church. That interested me, and I asked him many questions.
Several good things came from that visit. First, I learned that my dog did not have rabies. But, more importantly, Dr. Zaugg asked me to tutor him in French. I agreed to do so, and after each of our French lessons, Dr. Zaugg would tell me about his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He invited me to attend Church services with two American families who were meeting in a house. The meetings were in English, which I did not speak well then, but the Church members gave me books in French: the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. The Spirit was beautiful and strong, and eventually I was converted and baptized.
After my conversion, I became a better husband and father. My wife and children could not believe how much I changed. My two oldest boys, Amadou and Gausou, began to ask about the Church and read the Book of Mormon. They were baptized in 1984. Soon they were inviting other young people to see Church films and to meet the American members who lived in Mali. We had no official branch, but I kept a history of our sacrament meetings in a green book with the word Record on the cover.
As a Church member, I received many blessings. Then came a period that greatly tried my faith. In February 1988, I lost my job as a teacher and my position as a leader in the teachers’ union. I was thwarted on all sides in my efforts to find work. My life had been dedicated to teaching. How would I now support my wife and six children? And how would I feed the eleven other relatives who, for economic reasons, were living in our home?
Everybody worked hard to bring in money. My wife took in sewing, while Amadou and Gausou used a lathe to make tools to sell. Their younger brother cleaned shoes. Even my mother opened a small business selling spices. Eventually I had to sell the family car, for which we had saved for years. I pleaded with the Lord to help me provide for my family.
During this difficult time, a package arrived from Church officials in Salt Lake City containing a simplified version of Gospel Principles, which had been translated into Bambara. They asked if I would check the translation and then translate twelve hymns. As soon as I began this work, I realized its importance and tried to do it as correctly as possible. I struggled many times to find the right word or expression. Then, at other times, my mind would open in a remarkable way—as though someone were dictating to me. (When I finished the translations, I asked them to keep most of the money they were to pay me. I considered it my tithing.) I continued to pray constantly because of our desperate situation.
Little did I guess what would happen next. In May, I received a letter from an old friend, an American doctor named James Ferwarda. I had met Dr. Ferwarda during his visit to Mali in 1985. At his request, I had accompanied him on a tour of my country. Now, to my great surprise, he was sending me a round-trip airplane ticket and inviting me to visit him at his home in the United States!
I was astonished, overwhelmed at his offer. But it seemed impossible for me to leave my family at this critical time. The Church members urged me to accept the invitation, however. Perhaps, they said, the Lord would open the way for me to go to the temple while I was in the United States. Like many members, I cherished the dream of attending the temple “someday.”
Still dumbfounded, I did go, “not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.” (See 1 Ne. 4:6.) It was incredible that someone who was barely surviving financially could make such an expensive trip. After I arrived in the United States, Dr. Ferwarda learned of my deep desire to attend the temple, which was more than 2,000 kilometers away. Although he was not a member of the Church, he told me, “I respect your opinion, and I will pay for your ticket to Salt Lake City, too.”
I visited the Church offices as soon as I arrived in Salt Lake City. I will never, ever forget that day. Elder Alexander Morrison of the Seventy ordained me an elder. Then I went to the temple and received the endowment. Everyone in the temple was so kind. The beauty and serenity there moved me deeply. I was also impressed by the young missionaries, whom I saw for the first time. Now I knew that I wanted my sons to serve missions.
The next day, I visited the offices of a humanitarian organization that sponsors a number of agricultural and educational projects in Mali. Hoping that they might need my services, I met with several administrators but returned to Mali without a job offer.
Our family’s trial of faith lasted five more months. During that time I was grateful for the temple ordinances, which strengthened me. Nevertheless, I often felt like a man who was drowning in a deep river. Daily I entreated the Lord to deliver us from our economic crisis. Then, in November, the miracle came. The humanitarian organization that I had met with in Salt Lake City sent me a telegram, notifying me that I had been hired as their new field director. I knew without a doubt that only the Lord’s hand had plucked me from the river.
My job is a challenging one, requiring negotiations with government officials, local trainers, and village chiefs. Whenever I begin something that seems impossible, someone is sure to say, “You will never accomplish that!” But I know the Lord has the power to help me. I pray, and things work out somehow. I am still not rich, but I can feed my family and the others who depend on me. And now I am able to travel to Utah on business once a year. During these visits, I go to the temple, and I am sometimes able to attend general conference.
Other things have happened, wonderful things. In 1992 my son Amadou completed his mission to French-speaking Canada. There he helped to teach and baptize many people, including African immigrants and Moslems. Now both he and Gausou are studying in the United States. Gausou, too, wants to serve a mission some day. I pray that he will, and that all the rest of my family will join the Church. I pray that all of my children will be good students and honest citizens.
I look forward to the day when the Church will be organized in Mali. As of this writing, I am the only resident member of the Church here. I sustain myself spiritually by praying in all circumstances and by reading the Book of Mormon. And I still have in my care a worn green book with the word Record on the cover. But in my heart I carry another record. I will remember forever how the Lord has poured out his blessings upon me.

My family is from America, but we live in Japan and I attend a Japanese grade school. This year each student in my fifth grade class was assigned to give a book review. I decided to tell my class about the Book of Mormon. When it was my turn, I stood in front of the class and explained that the Book of Mormon was written by prophets of God long ago. I bore my testimony that reading the Book of Mormon can help us feel good and be happy. I showed them a copy of the Book of Mormon and offered to let anyone who wanted to have it to read.
Fifteen classmates requested a book to read, so my family got some more copies, and I spent the week marking special passages in the books. I carried as many as I could to school in my backpack each day until I had given one to each of the 15 students.
My teacher visited our home the next week to make sure it was OK for me to give away so many books. She asked my dad some questions about the Book of Mormon. I was able to write my testimony in a copy and give it to my teacher.

Kenny was going shopping. He had saved his allowance to buy himself a treat. Just down the street from his house was a little grocery store. Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, who ran the store, had big jars of candy on the counter. They used a little scoop to put the candy into a red and white bag. Then they weighed it on a big old-fashioned scale and told you how much to pay.
Kenny had saved enough money to get a whole pound of candy. That was a lot, but he knew that if he was careful, it would last a long time. He had already decided what kind he was getting. It was his very favorite—peas and carrots. Not real peas and carrots. Candy peas and carrots that looked just like real peas and tiny carrots.
Because the store wasn’t very far from his house, Kenny’s mom let him go by himself. He walked, skipped, and ran down the street. As he passed some of his friends’ houses along the way, he thought, What if people are outside when I come back with my candy? They will see the bag from Arnett’s store and want some.
Kenny had worked hard to save his money for a whole pound of peas and carrots, and he wanted it to last a long time. If he shared it with others, it wouldn’t last very long. So he thought up a plan and turned around and ran all the way home.
“Did you get your treat already? Mom asked.
“No, I forgot something.”
“OK, be careful,” Mom said.
Kenny hurried back to the store, this time carrying something besides money in his pockets.
When Mr. Arnett handed Kenny the red and white bag, it felt heavy. A pound of peas and carrots was a lot of candy! He was going to make it last a long, long time. And his plan was going to help.
As he left the store, Kenny pulled some headphones from his pocket and put them over his ears. He plugged them into a little radio in his other pocket. He turned the radio on and made sure the sound was pretty loud. As he started home, he watched carefully for any friends he might see.
Ashley and Isaac were the first friends he saw. They were just coming out of their house to play. Kenny looked straight ahead and pretended not to see them. He could see out of the corner of his eye that they were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear them. They were pointing at his bag. He knew that they were going to ask for some of his candy, so he walked a little faster and passed them by.
My plan worked! Kenny thought.
Mrs. Moulton was working in her yard when he passed. He gave her a smile and a little wave. She was pointing at his bag and saying something.
She wants some candy, too! Kenny thought. He looked away and tried to enjoy the loud music.
He looked up the street and saw Hannah coming down the sidewalk on her skateboard. She hopped off and started talking to Kenny, pointing at his bag. He just smiled, bobbed his head in time with the music, and went around her. Hannah was asking him for candy, and he just didn’t want to share.
One more house to pass, and he would be home. He thought the Pierce brothers were visiting their grandma, but he was wrong. There they were, and they had already seen him. They also jumped up and down and pointed at his bag. Kenny pretended he didn’t see them and hurried to his house.
Now all he had to do was avoid his sister and brother and get to his room, where he would be safe at last! He rushed in and headed for the stairs. There was Janelle looking right at his bag and asking for some of the candy that he still hadn’t even tasted. He ran past her and up to his room. Dustin was on his way out to play ball. He reached out to touch the red-and-white bag. Kenny pulled it away and told him to leave it alone. Then he noticed something. The bag wasn’t as heavy as it had been when Mr. Arnett had given it to him. He looked inside.
“Oh no!” Kenny yelled. Instead of a whole pound of peas and carrots in his bag, there were only one pea and two carrots in the bottom. And right next to them was a great big hole! All of his candy was gone!
Kenny was sad. The candy must have fallen out a little at a time as he walked home. He hadn’t heard it landing on the sidewalk because he had had the radio turned up so loud.
Then he thought of something else. Everyone he’d passed had pointed at his bag. All those friends weren’t asking for candy—they were trying to tell him that his candy was falling out of the bag! Kenny didn’t feel like being selfish anymore. He wished he had some candy left to share.
He made another plan.
The next time Kenny saved up enough allowance for some candy, he didn’t take his radio to the store. Instead of pretending to not see his friends, he looked for them. He stopped at all their houses on the way home to share his peas and carrots. And the ones that were left tasted extra delicious.

After I was baptized and confirmed, I attended the little Matsumoto Branch of 12 to 15 active members. I made friends, and it was fun to attend every week. About a year later I graduated from high school and moved to Yokohama to attend the university. The nearest branch was the Tokyo Central Branch, which had more than 150 active members. When I attended this new branch, I felt like a country boy in the big city. I had a hard time making friends. One Sunday I stayed home from church. Soon I stopped attending altogether. I began making friends with my nonmember classmates, and the Church drifted further and further from my mind.
This continued for several months. Then one day I received a letter from a sister in the Matsumoto Branch. “I heard you have stopped attending church,” she said. I was surprised. Apparently someone from my new branch had told her I was not attending church anymore! The sister continued her letter by quoting Doctrine and Covenants 121:34: “Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen.” Then she wrote, “Koichi, you have been baptized a member of the Church. You have been called, but you are no longer among the chosen.”
As I read these words, I was filled with regret. I knew I needed to change somehow. I realized that I did not have a strong testimony. I wasn’t sure if God lived, and I didn’t know if Jesus Christ was my Savior. For several days I grew anxious as I thought about the message in the letter. I didn’t know what to do. Then one morning I remembered something the missionaries had taught me. They had asked me to read Moroni 10:3–5, promising that I could know the truth for myself. I decided that I must pray. If I felt nothing, I could completely forget about the Church and the commandments, and I would never go again. However, if I did receive an answer, as Moroni promised, I would have to repent, embrace the gospel with all my heart, go back to church, and do all I could to follow the commandments.
As I knelt and prayed that morning, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to answer me. “If Thou live—if Thou are real,” I prayed, “please let me know.” I prayed to know if Jesus Christ was my Savior and if the Church was true. As I finished, I suddenly felt something. I was surrounded by a warm feeling, and my heart was filled with joy. I understood the truth: God does live, and Jesus is my Savior. The Lord’s Church was truly restored by the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon is the word of God.
Needless to say, I prayed for forgiveness that very day and resolved to follow the commandments. I returned to church and promised the Lord that I would do whatever it took to remain faithful.

My sisters and I cleaned our toy room. We found a lot of toys that we didn’t play with anymore. So our mommy helped us put them all into a big bag, and then we delivered them to a place that would give the toys to children who don’t have any other toys. I know those children were happy to get my toys, and it made me really happy to give the toys to them.
Hannah Butler, age 4Fayetteville, North Carolina

This story happened in the Netherlands.
Marie opened her jewelry box to look at her pretty stones. One by one, she held them in her hand. The red one, then the green one, then the clear white one.
Grandmother knocked on the bedroom door. “Ready to go?”
“Yes!” Marie carefully put the stones back in her box.
Grandmother was taking Marie to the library. But not just to look at books. There was a special stone display there! Marie was excited.
When their bus got to the library, Marie and Grandmother walked inside. They saw tables and tables of beautiful stones. Some were shiny and smooth. Others were interesting shapes.
“Look at this one!” Grandmother pointed to a large crystal. It had little blue spikes sticking out all over it.
Another table had lots of tiny, round stones. Marie looked at all the colors. At the very end was a purple stone, small and shiny and smooth.
I don’t have a purple stone yet, Marie thought. It would be perfect for her collection.
Marie glanced around. Grandmother was at another table. No one else was nearby. And no one would miss this tiny stone, right?
Marie picked up the stone and put it in her pocket.
That night, with the purple stone safely in her jewelry box, Marie got into bed.
“Ready for story time?” Dad sat on the bed and opened the Friend magazine.
Marie snuggled into her blankets and listened. The story was about a boy who repented after he made a wrong choice.
As Dad read, Marie felt like her stomach was twisting into knots. She rolled onto her side, then flipped over her pillow. But she did not feel right. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the purple stone.
Dad finished the story. “Are you OK?”
Marie didn’t know what to do. If she told Dad, he might get mad.
But maybe he would know how to help.
Slowly, Marie crawled out of bed and took the purple stone out of her box. “I took this from the library today.” Tears spilled out of Marie’s eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
Dad gave her a hug. “It’s always OK to tell me the truth. I’m proud of you for having the courage to be honest.”
Marie’s stomach began to feel better. Dad wasn’t mad!
“And because of Jesus, we can repent. Just like in the story,” he said. “Why don’t we take the stone back to the library?”
Marie squeezed her eyes shut. “No! They’ll be angry.”
Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “They might be a little angry. But I think they’ll be glad that you gave it back. And it will make you feel a lot better too.”
Marie took a deep breath and nodded. “OK.”
Marie got out a piece of paper and started to write a letter. “I’m sorry for taking this,” she wrote. “I wish I hadn’t done it. I want to make it right.”
She slid the letter into an envelope. Then she put the tiny purple stone inside too.
“We’ll take this back tomorrow,” Dad said. “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” said Marie. “There’s just one more thing I need to do.”
Marie knelt by her bed and prayed. “I’m sorry I took the stone,” she said. “I’ll never steal again. Thank Thee for helping me be brave and honest.”
As she got back in bed, Marie felt peace. Tomorrow she would make things right. And she knew Heavenly Father and Jesus would help her. Because of Them, everything would be OK.
Illustrations by Katie Rewse