Gospel Story Finder

“Gracie,” Mom whispered. “Wake up. It’s time for family prayer.”
Grace groaned and pulled the covers over her head. She was so warm and cozy in her bed. She heard her sister Charlotte get up and go into the living room. Grace stayed in bed, hoping her family would forget about her and just say the prayer. Dad had to leave for work early every morning, so everyone got up then to say good-bye and have a prayer.
“Grace, time to get up,” Mom called. Grace sighed and dragged herself out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she mumbled to herself, “What’s the point? We pray for the same things every day.”
“Hello, sleepyhead,” Dad said with a smile. Grace scowled at him. She knelt on the floor next to Charlotte and bowed her head.
“Help us to be like Jesus and to love one another. Please help us have a good day and bless us with health and safety. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Charlotte said. “Amen,” chorused the family.
“Good-bye, everyone,” Dad said, “I love you.” Dad spied Grace, who was still scowling, and asked, “Where’s my good-bye smile?” Grace couldn’t help but smile as Dad reached out to tickle her, but she still felt grumpy.
Grace felt tired all morning at school. She was sure it was because she had to get up so early for family prayer. “If only I could sleep half an hour longer, I’m sure I wouldn’t feel so sleepy,” she thought.
Later that afternoon at home, Grace was eating a snack while Charlotte watched cartoons. Suddenly they heard pounding on the front door. Grace stood up and walked toward the door, but before she could open it, a man burst through it, yelling, “Fire! Fire! Hurry and get out! Your house is on fire!” Hearing the noise, Mom came rushing from the kitchen, a frightened look on her face. She grabbed the girls and rushed them out the front door. The man pointed to the flames coming from their roof. Smoke billowed into the sky as the flames climbed higher and higher. Mom led the girls to the neighbors’ porch across the street. “Stay here while I go call 911,” she said before running into the neighbors’ house. After Mom disappeared, Charlotte began to cry. “I want my mommy.” Grace hugged her, saying, “It’s OK, Mommy just went inside to call the fire department.”
By the time Mom came back, they could already hear sirens blaring. A big red fire truck roared up the street, screeching to a halt in front of their house. The firefighters leaped from the fire engine and began spraying Grace’s house with a big hose. Once the blaze died down, they went inside to check the house for any lingering flames. Mom hugged the girls as they watched the firefighters work.
Dad’s car pulled into the neighbors’ driveway. He jumped out.
“What happened?” Dad cried.
Shaking her head, Mom said, “I was starting dinner in the kitchen when a man came in and shouted that our house was on fire. He was working on the electrical lines and saw the smoke. I had no idea what was going on. …” She paused. “He saved our lives.”
Grace said in a trembling voice, “It was lucky that he was working up on the power poles and saw the smoke, or we might have been inside when the fire got worse.” Grace didn’t want to think of what might have happened.
Dad hugged everyone and said with tears in his eyes, “Let’s kneel right now and thank Heavenly Father for His protection.”
“What about the house, Dad?” Grace cried.
Dad said quietly, “I don’t care about the house. I’m just grateful you are all safe.”
Grace had never felt so much love and happiness as she knelt with her family. Then she remembered their family prayer that morning for health and safety. Shame washed over her as she recalled how she had acted.
“I’m sorry, Heavenly Father,” she prayed silently. The warm feeling returned to her heart. She knew that Heavenly Father had protected her and her family, and she was grateful that He had heard and answered her family’s prayer.

Katelyn B., 16, from Missouri, USA, was working on her Personal Progress when she noticed some of the projects she had set felt a little too easy to accomplish. So she decided she needed to challenge herself to do something greater and perhaps a little more meaningful. Little did she know she would also have to face one of her fears: speaking in public. Maybe not such a scary thing for some people, but for Katelyn it certainly was.

As Katelyn thought about setting a Personal Progress project goal for divine nature, she thought a lot about creating a project that could take her out of her comfort zone and really push her. She asked her leaders for ideas and one suggested visiting little girls in hospitals. Katelyn initially wanted to forget the idea. What would she even say to them?

But as Katelyn tried to think of a different project, her mind kept going back to those little girls. They are daughters of God like me, she thought. Maybe I could help some of them. She still felt the fear, but realizing she couldn’t push the feeling off any further, she got to work planning. Just a couple months later she began dressing up like a princess on her way to uplift and inspire the girls she visits in the hospital.

“Going to the hospital for the first time was one of the hardest things I have done,” Katelyn says. “It’s hard for me to talk to people I don’t know. But after the little girls saw me and began smiling, I felt peace. I knew it was what I needed to be doing.”

The glitter from Katelyn’s dress caught the little girls’ attention as she walked into the hospital rooms. This unexpected visit from a princess brightened their day. “They need to know they are important too,” she recounts.

Her goal was to help them smile as they engaged in fun activities and to encourage them to keep going.

“You really are a princess, whether you think you look like a princess or not,” says Katelyn. With a new perspective on divine nature, Katelyn learned to see these girls as daughters of God with great potential.

Katelyn is no superhero flying across the sky. She hasn’t done anything to break world records. But visiting her little princesses in hospitals has helped her overcome her fear and realize her true worth as a daughter of God.

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, the cows were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, [and] my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

The assignment we were given for Saturday evening sessions of stake conference during the first half of 1982 was directed toward the theme “Let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob.” (Isa. 2:3.) The objective of these meetings has been to inspire the members to obtain their own temple blessings, attend the temple in behalf of their deceased relatives and others, complete their four-generation records, extend research on family lines, and organize and strengthen the family organizations. The first instruction after the glorious First Vision to the Prophet Joseph Smith, in the act of restoring the gospel of Jesus Christ, was concerning the eternal family unit. History records this account in the words of the Prophet:
“A messenger [was] sent from the presence of God to me, … that his name was Moroni; and God had a work for me to do. …
“After telling me these things, he commenced quoting the prophecies of the Old Testament.
“Behold, I will reveal unto you the Priesthood, by the hand of Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord.
“… And he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers. If it were not so, the whole earth would be utterly wasted at his coming.” (JS—H 1:30, 33, 36, 38–39.)
Preparation for these conference sessions each weekend has aroused my interest in my own progenitors. I was impressed with the phrase that unless families are united together and the hearts of children are turned to their fathers, the whole earth would utterly be wasted at the Savior’s return.
My interest in my family has prompted us to hold a special family home evening each month with my children. They are invited to bring their families into our home. As a part of the lesson of each of these family home evenings, I have tried to tell them about one of their progenitors. The oldest in the line I can remember is my grandfather, Henry Morgan Perry. As I prepared to give a lesson on his life, I became very excited about his accomplishments.
My father once wrote this tribute to his father:
“Father was a conservative. He never went into debt. When we didn’t have it, we went without. He never mortgaged the farm. He was very reluctant to impose anything on his homestead. I’ve often heard him say that the only people who had their financial heads above water were the ones who hadn’t mortgaged their farms. He was a public-spirited man. I remember four important positions he held. First was justice of the peace; second, school trustee; third, a member of a bishopric; and fourth, his work on the Great Feeder Canal. He was a pioneer in the development of irrigation in the fertile Snake River Valley.”
Dad’s account describes the tenderness with which grandfather taught his family. My father was one who desired an education and was earnestly seeking to get the best he could with the means available to him. When his father would see him struggling, he would give him fatherly lectures like, “My boy, be humble in your studies, and remember your prayers. Yes, and in your prayers, remember your studies.”
Then dad tells of the time he became a little arrogant as he acquired a little knowledge. One day he challenged his father to a debate to be held after their church service. The subject was: “Resolved: That science has done more for the welfare of the human family than has religion.”
The whole congregation stayed after to listen to the debate. Each speaker was allowed fifteen minutes with a rebuttal of three minutes. My father spoke first. He spoke of the progress science had made and how it had lifted up the standard of living of all. Then he stated how many failures religion had had in the past. Dad was a member of the debating society at school and was gifted in speech. He knew how to sway an audience. When he sat down, he thought he had convinced the people to throw away their Bibles and take up science.
Then grandfather got up. He had never had the privilege of having much schooling, but was an avid reader. He told how religions, many of them, had influenced the human family for good. He explained their merits, their excellence, and their worth. Then he sat down.
My father got up for rebuttal. He spent most of his time saying, “I have proven. I have proven.” But each “I have proven” seemed to be a little less forceful as he thought of the sincerity of his father’s message. Realizing this, he sat down.
Then grandfather arose. He didn’t say much. He just added this: “I give all credit to science for what science has done. It has changed our way of life and, in a way, our thinking. It has built, encircled, and constructed. None of us want to go back to yesterday when today holds so much, and tomorrow even more. But with all of the credit to its progress, and all of the glory to its accomplishments, your scientists have not yet come up with anything that compares with the tenderness of a human heart.”
Grandfather had won the debate. Even dad was convinced. He rushed over and threw his arms around him and congratulated him. Grandfather then said to dad, “My boy, remember this: There is more satisfaction in the humble teachings of the Master than all the glamour of a false ideal.” (“They Came,” Albert Z. Perry, 1955.)
As you can see, from stories such as this I have developed a love for my grandfather.
I started looking at what has happened to his extended family since his death. Henry Morgan and Fannie Young Perry were blessed with 10 children, then 48 grandchildren, 161 great-grandchildren, 241 great-great-grandchildren, and now 22 great-great-great-grandchildren, a total of 482. Including their companions, their number reaches 639. Why, their posterity is a ward almost ready for division!
But in becoming acquainted, I’ve found that not all of the family have been blessed with a knowledge of the teachings of their grandfather. Not all have embraced the gospel. Suddenly I realized that I had a great work to do. Some of those 639 will not be part of his eternal family unit because they have not received the witness in their hearts of what they have to do to accomplish this.
I have discovered that certainly if there was a man qualified to inherit the celestial kingdom, it would have been my grandfather, Henry Morgan Perry. I am excited as I anticipate being with him in the eternities if I qualify myself. But then I start worrying about meeting grandfather and wondering how he will greet me. The realization comes to me again of the great work I have to accomplish. Because of this concern, I have researched the names of all the descendants of Henry Morgan Perry who have not taken advantage of the glorious privilege of becoming part of an eternal family unit. I have sent them letters inviting them to listen to me today. For the next few minutes I would like to address my remarks to these members of our family.
Now my dear family members who have not completed all that the Lord would require of you to become part of this great eternal family organization—I must confess that there are times when we focus so much on the worldwide impact of missionary programs, genealogical records extraction, on preparation to teach Sunday School classes, etc., that we fail to make ourselves available to help you understand the blessings which await you as part of an eternal family organization. I want you to know that I am now available. I have reordered my priorities. I want to do all in my power to be certain that our eternal family association is complete. Let us teach you the doctrines which are necessary for you to join with us for time and eternity.

Cait and Lily are friends. They like swinging and going down the slide.
Lily likes to poke Cait. But Cait doesn’t like it.
“Poke, poke!”
“Did you have fun playing with Lily?”
“Lily likes to poke me. I don’t like it.”
“If you don’t like being poked, then you should tell her.”
“But what if that makes Lily sad?”
“If you’re not having fun, it’s OK to say stop.”
Heavenly Father wants us to take care of and protect our bodies.
“If someone touches you and you don’t like it, you can tell them no.”
“Maybe I can make up a new game to play with Lily.”
“Great idea!”
The best games are when everyone is having fun!

Some people might think that a 50-mile hike is a challenge meant only for Boy Scouts—but not the girls and leaders from the Priest River Ward in the Sandpoint Idaho Stake. They recently challenged themselves to hike through snow and hail in Montana’s Lee Medcalf Wilderness.
The trip included a few surprises—like a bear eating some of their food out of a tree—but all the girls report that they wouldn’t trade their hike for anything. Eight days in the high country might be enough to last some people a lifetime, but these girls are already planning their next trip.

I had a similar experience in Idaho some years later. I was attending a stake conference. After the Sunday morning session one of the bishops brought his aged mother up to see me. I had been referring to the Book of Mormon during my sermon and was still holding it in my hand.
She took the book from me, opened it, read a paragraph at random, and then returned the book. I wondered why. Then she said that at the previous stake conference the visitor had been Elder Thomas E. McKay, one of the Assistants to the Council of the Twelve.
She asked me if I knew Elder McKay and of course, I responded that I did. Then she said, “Will you please tell him that I read a paragraph in your book? When he was here at our last conference, my son brought him to my home and had him administer to me. I was blind. Please tell him that I read from your book.”

Based on this knowledge of the Lord’s mercy and power, my husband, children, and I chose this family motto: “It will all work out.” Yet how can we say those words to one another when deep troubles come and answers aren’t readily available?

When our delightful, worthy, 21-year-old daughter, Georgia, was hospitalized in critical condition following a bike accident, our family said, “It will all work out.” As I flew immediately from our mission in Brazil to Indianapolis, Indiana, USA, to be with her, I clung to our family motto. However, our lovely daughter passed into the spirit world just hours before my plane landed. With grief and shock running through our family like a current, how could we look at one another and still say, “It will all work out”?

Following Georgia’s mortal death, our feelings were raw, we struggled, and still today we have moments of great sorrow, but we hold to the understanding that no one ever really dies. Despite our anguish when Georgia’s physical body stopped functioning, we had faith that she went right on living as a spirit, and we believe we will live with her eternally if we adhere to our temple covenants. Faith in our Redeemer and His Resurrection, faith in His priesthood power, and faith in eternal sealings let us state our motto with conviction.

At one time no one could swim the English Channel. Then Captain Webb did it; and then in 1926 an automobile company offered a red Buick convertible and $2,500 cash to the first woman who would swim the English Channel. There was a 19-year-old American girl by the name of Gertrude Ederle who wanted an automobile. She could think of many things she could do if she had this red Buick convertible and $2,500 cash.
Gertrude Ederle wanted an automobile, so she decided to swim the English Channel. But partway across the Channel she gave out. She couldn’t go another stroke. But as she lay there in the water, this red Buick convertible passed in front of her imagination. This gave her a great new surge of power and enabled her to go on and become the first woman ever to swim the English Channel.

On my sixth birthday my parents gave me a Book of Mormon with their testimonies written inside the front cover. They challenged me to read it before my eighth birthday and baptism. As part of my bedtime routine, I read the Book of Mormon every night. Sometimes I read it while driving around or at the beach. The more I read, the better I became at reading. When I was seven and a half years old, I finished the Book of Mormon. It strengthened my testimony, and I know that the Book of Mormon is true. I feel prepared for my baptism and am excited for it. I have started to read the Book of Mormon again.
Lana B., age 7, Hawaii, USA

In the summer of 1975 I was 25, and my father had just passed away. He was a well-to-do businessman in oil and gas in Canada. I had traveled to Denmark to settle his business dealings for my mother, selling his mining company there and a lot of oil and mineral rights he had in Greenland. I wound up being in Copenhagen alone for quite some time.
After spending hours each day in business meetings discussing the arrangements of the deal, my business companions would take me downtown to the Stroet, a famous walking area lined with shops, in the busiest part of Copenhagen.
It was one of the hottest summers on record for northern Europe. The Europeans were traveling more than the Americans. On that street, you could sit in one spot and see some English, Israelis, Arabs, and Scandinavians strolling by, sometimes in native costume or scantily dressed because of the heat. The Stroet is lined with remarkable stores selling furs and expensive things. Some of the seamier side of the city was obvious there as well, with pornographic theaters, adult bookstores, and taverns offering their wares. And I noticed, in the middle of all this, four Mormon missionaries working a street display.
I was so astonished. Here on this one street, the whole world seemed represented. The degradations of humanity beside rampant materialism and in the midst of all this, an island of spirituality.
I was with my business companions still discussing the deal we were working on, so I was not able to go talk with the missionaries, but I watched them. I noticed that none of the young men followed the young ladies down the street with their eyes no matter how scantily dressed the girls were. I was quite impressed with that. I resolved that I would go back and meet them in the evening when I was free, but every time I went to find them, their display was folded up and put away. I could never seem to catch up with them.
I left Copenhagen on a business trip and returned a few days later. On this trip I had only a light overnight bag, so instead of taking a taxi, I started walking to my hotel. As I was walking down the Stroet, lo and behold, there were two missionaries on what I later learned would have been their preparation day.
Since the pair was not working by the street display, I set out to follow them. As they walked down the street, they would look in the shop windows. I would follow and look in the windows that they looked into to see what they were looking at. They would look at shoes or coats, and when they did look into a bookstore, it was a store that sold Danish history books. They did not stare into the wine shops or other shops that offered questionable literature or art.
I resolved to meet the missionaries at their street display, but suddenly the business deal was completed, and I was on my way back to Canada.
When I got home to Edmonton, I forgot some of the feelings I had experienced watching the missionaries in Copenhagen. However, through the referral of an acquaintance, some missionaries made an appointment with me.
I let the two missionaries into my apartment. I looked into the face of one of the elders, and it seemed as though I had known him all my life. I had immediately the feelings I had felt on the Stroet in Copenhagen. I sat down and listened to the first discussion. I looked into the eyes of the elders and saw the sincerity of the testimony they bore. After several weeks of being taught by the missionaries, I joined the Church.
I have often thought about those missionaries that I watched during those afternoons in Copenhagen. If the two missionaries I followed had stopped in front of a pub and had been laughing and joking about beer, or if they had gone into some of the stores that you might expect young people to be curious about, the impact of their example on me would have disappeared. If they were anything but what they were, representing precisely what they did, the testimony expressed by their actions would have been lost.
The world walked by those missionaries that summer on the Stroet in Denmark. They never knew I was watching and that their presence bore testimony to me. They never knew that their example was what touched me and made me receptive to the gospel message. Although they never spoke to many of the people on that street, I wonder how many others were influenced as I was just by their example.

Some young men march to the beat of a different drum. Because they may not enjoy physical activity, as most do, they are often isolated from the group. I remember one young man, not much of an athlete, who excelled on the stage. In our ward plays and roadshows, we could always count on a stellar performance from Mike.

Later in his youth he directed a theater-in-the-round production in the ward. Today he teaches drama in a great university and is a faithful member of the Church. How easily we could have lost him without that opportunity to be someone and to excel at something. Our cultural arts have been neglected in recent years, not intentionally, but when stakes and wards were given the liberty to choose their activities instead of being dictated to from Church headquarters—something made necessary by the worldwide growth of the Church—some took this as a signal that cultural arts were no longer to be promoted. The ward and stake activity committees are there to help our bishoprics, quorums, and Young Women classes carry out those cultural activities planned by the Bishopric Youth Committee: music, drama, speech, dance. These again are as broad as the interests of the youth and a valuable resource in promoting activity and brotherhood in the Aaronic Priesthood quorums.

As I have toured missions, many missionaries, as well as converts, have reported to me unusual missionary experiences or miracles. A stake president in California told me the following missionary experience.

A young man in his stake from a well-to-do family had been taught the gospel by missionaries. His interest in the Church was very displeasing to his parents. They endeavored to persuade him not to join, but he still declared that he had a strong testimony that this was the true church of Jesus Christ and that he must join. Then, in desperation, the parents took the drastic step of telling him that if he became a member of the Mormon Church, he would be disinherited. In spite of this warning, the young man joined the Church and his parents literally turned him out of his home.

He was invited to live with a Mormon family. While he was there, the bishop and stake president asked him to go on a mission. He accepted the call. Before he left, however, his parents heard through a mutual friend that their son was going on a mission. They sent word to him that if he did, they would never write him a word, nor send him money, and that he was not to contact them.

About a year later, when the young man was in the mission field, the stake president was called on the telephone about one o’clock in the morning. The gentle voice of a woman on the other end of the line asked if he would please give her that missionary’s address because she wanted to send him some money. Thus, it appears that the love of a mother had risen above her religious prejudice.

Thanks to these stories, the children January will have one day will know a lot about their great-grandmother. They will know, for one thing, that she loved animals. January laughed when her grandma told her about trying to take home a frightened little bat from the woods when she was five years old. “She wrapped it in toilet paper and took it to her parents,” explains January. “Then her parents freaked out and told her to put it back.”
She still loves animals. Though she has never had a pet bat, she now has at least 11 birds.

“As Easter approaches, I have reflected on an experience my wife and I had in our recent travels to Central America. On our last day in Guatemala City, we attended a devotional where four stake Primary choirs shared musical and verbal testimonies of Jesus Christ.
“It was a beautiful, heartwarming meeting. I will never forget the sincere, simple testimony of Brother Ángel Zúñiga. As he bore a simple testimony of Jesus Christ, I felt a powerful witness in my heart that Ángel really does know that Jesus Christ is his Savior. It was a moment I won’t soon forget.
“Later, after the devotional, we were shaking hands with each of the children. One young boy asked me, ‘How is Jesus?’ I responded, ‘Jesus loves you, and He has confidence in you, and you can have confidence in Him.’ This young boy responded with a big, knowing smile that filled my soul with joy.
“As we think about what our Savior did for us during the week preceding Easter, I invite each of you to fill your souls with the knowledge that Jesus loves you, He has confidence in you, and you can have confidence in Him.”

Both of these sisters know firsthand the religious confusion and uncertainty some of their investigators are feeling. Sister Pálinkás Bernadett is from Dunaújváros, a factory city built by Joseph Stalin as a model Communist city. For many years, there were no churches at all in the city. “My parents are not believers in God,” she says. “But somehow I felt close to Him and felt that He loved me.
“I often thought about what I was doing here on earth, what the purpose of life was, why I was born here in Hungary and not somewhere else, and why now and not earlier or later. Something was missing in my life, but I didn’t know exactly what.”
When Bernadett was almost 20, two American missionaries came into the store where she sold office supplies. “My co-workers and I could tell from the very first that these young men were different from others,” she remembers. “There was something shining from their eyes that made me very curious as to who they were and what they were doing here in Hungary. I felt that they could show me something that I didn’t know—something that I needed to know.”
Bernadett and a co-worker arranged to hear the first discussion. Although her friend soon lost interest, Bernadett attended sacrament meeting alone the following Sunday and was baptized a month later, on 22 August 1992. A year and a half later, she became a full-time missionary. None of her family has yet been baptized.
Bernadett’s parents are not happy with either decision—to be baptized or to serve a mission. “It hurts them because they don’t understand what I’m doing and why, even though I’ve tried to explain it to them. When I decided to be a missionary, my first goal was to somehow bring my parents closer to the Church. Now I recognize that each person has to personally walk the road to get to God, and it takes some people longer than others. I write to my parents every week and pray for them always.”

This story took place in the USA.
Victoria watched in the mirror as Mom brushed her hair. It was almost time for church.
“Why do we go to church?” Victoria asked.
Mom set down the hairbrush. “We go to church to take the sacrament and learn about Jesus Christ.”
“But why?” Victoria asked.
“The bread and water help us remember how Jesus suffered and died for us,” Mom said. “When we take the sacrament, we remember all the good things He did. And we promise to try to do good things too.”
Victoria smiled. “So we can be like Jesus!”
“That’s right!” Mom helped Victoria put on her shoes. “Trying to be like Jesus makes us happy.”
At church Victoria sat quietly with Mom and Dad. Soon it was time for the sacrament. She bowed her head and listened to the prayer.
Then Mom pulled a book out of her bag. “This is a special book,” she whispered. “It can help you remember the Savior during the sacrament.”
Victoria opened the book. There were lots of pictures of Jesus Christ. One picture showed Him as a baby in a manger. Another showed Him getting baptized. Victoria remembered that story from Primary. She would get to be baptized one day too!
Mom held out the tray of bread. Victoria reverently took a piece. Then she looked back at her book. On the next page there was a picture of Jesus praying in a garden. Victoria knew that He suffered for everyone’s sins and felt their pain and sadness. He must love us a lot, she thought.
Victoria kept turning the pages. Many pictures showed Jesus helping others. In one picture, He was teaching people. In another one, He healed a blind man. There was even one of Him with children.
Next it was time for the water. Victoria bowed her head during the prayer. Then Mom passed her the tray.
Victoria took a little cup of water to drink. She thought about how Jesus loved others. A warm feeling filled her heart. She wanted to be kind and loving too.
“Mom, I want to be like Jesus,” Victoria whispered.
Mom smiled. “That makes me happy. And I know it makes Him happy too.”
Victoria smiled too. She loved Jesus Christ. She wanted to always remember Him.

Rosie had two pairs of shoes. She had a shiny black pair with a pretty bow for church and parties. And she had a fuzzy, brown, tie-up pair for school and play.
Rosie loved her church shoes. They made her feet pretty and light. But her school shoes were dull and scuffed and dirty. Even when she cleaned them, they looked dirty. She felt like she was wearing bowling balls.
Rosie wanted to wear her church shoes every day, as some of her friends at school did. Did her mother let her?
No, she did not.
“Church shoes are for church and parties,” Mother said. “School shoes are for every day.”
It isn’t fair! Rosie thought.
One morning while getting ready for school, Rosie noticed her church shoes sitting at the back of her closet. An idea flashed into her mind—her first “good idea.” She would take her church shoes to school in her backpack and put them on at school! Would Mother miss them from the closet?
No, she will not! Rosie decided.
So Rosie put her school shoes on and slipped her church shoes into her backpack. She went downstairs to breakfast and then walked to school. Just inside the school yard, off came her school shoes and on went the church shoes. How they shined! How light and pretty her feet felt in them! What a good idea! she decided.
But when Rosie had changed her shoes again at the end of the day and walked home, Mother met her at the door with a frown on her face and her arms folded.
“Give me your church shoes, young lady. I’ll keep them on my closet shelf until next Sunday.” Did she like Rosie’s first “good idea?”
No, she did not!
Rosie’s second “good idea” came as she was stomping home from school in the rain the next week. It had started raining during the day, so she didn’t have her boots on. Now a huge, muddy puddle was in her path. If she walked through it, her school shoes would be spoiled. Did she walk around the puddle?
No, she did not!
She walked right through the deepest part of the puddle and squished the rest of the way home.
When Mother saw the muddy shoes, she was most unhappy. Rosie had to wipe the mud off her shoes and brush them with a stiff brush when they were dry. Her school shoes looked worse than ever. Would Mother let her wear her church shoes to school now?
No, she would not.
Then Rosie had her third “good idea.” She was playing hide-and-seek with her friends on Friday afternoon. As she lay on her back in her hiding place under the bed in the spare room, she saw the springs holding up the mattress, and the wires holding up the springs. What a great hiding place for shoes! she thought. Rosie took off her shoes and pushed them way up into the springs next to the mattress.
On Saturday morning the whole family had to look for Rosie’s shoes before they could go grocery shopping. Did anyone think to look under the mattress in the spare room?
No, they did not.
So Rosie wore her church shoes to the store. But she had to take them off as soon as she was home.
On Sunday, she wore them to church, but still she had to take them off as soon as she got home. Once again the whole family searched the house for Rosie’s shoes. Nobody found them.
On Monday morning, Mother had no choice but to let Rosie wear her church shoes to school. Rosie tried not to look happy, but it was pretty hard to do. Now she would be just like the other girls! She skipped happily to school.
It was seven blocks to school. By the time Rosie got to the school yard, her left heel was starting to hurt. By the time she got to the classroom door, it was hurting pretty badly. Her right heel was starting to hurt too. At recess, both heels were hurting a lot, so she sat on a swing the whole time. Did she get off to let any of her classmates take a turn?
No, she did not.
Walking home after school was even worse. Rosie tried walking different ways to see if her feet would stop hurting. She walked backward. She walked on the sides of her feet. She tried pushing her toes way into those church shoes, but that only made her toes hurt too. She sat down and rested every block and had lots of time to think about what she had done. She was very late getting home. Mother was worried.
As soon as Rosie got home, she sat down on a kitchen chair and took off her shoes. She started to cry even before she saw the big blisters on her heels. And that was not all. Now her church shoes were all scuffed up from skipping to school and walking funny on the way home. They didn’t look beautiful anymore.
Rosie watched as Mother washed and bandaged her heels. Mother wasn’t angry, but she had a strange, sad look on her face, as if she wanted to say, “I told you this would happen.” Did she say it?
No, she did not.
After dinner Rosie crept up to the spare room and knelt beside the bed. She told Heavenly Father she was sorry, then pulled her school shoes out from the springs of the bed. She put them back in her closet. Did she wear them to school the next day?
No, she did not.
Because of the blisters, now even her school shoes hurt her feet. She had to wear her slippers and get a ride to school. And stay inside at recess. Rosie had learned her lesson. She told her parents how sorry she was for not obeying them and for all the wrong things she had done. She promised to take care of her shoes—both pairs—to listen to her parents and do what they said, and to do extra chores for three whole weeks.
And as soon as her feet healed, did she wear her school shoes for school and play, and save her church shoes for church and parties?
Yes, she did.

The Primary children of the Ardmore Ward in the Norman Oklahoma Stake love to serve others. Their leaders challenged them to find ways to serve in secret. When they read about the invitation to help someone in need for President Thomas S. Monson’s birthday, they were excited to have a service activity. They decided to make hygiene kits and children’s kits. But no one knew how much the kits would soon be needed.
For a few weeks, ward members donated soap, shampoo, toothpaste, crayons, soft toys, and other items for the kits. At their activity, the children packaged 15 hygiene kits and 15 children’s kits. In each kit, they included a big paper heart with the scripture, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).
Then a terrible tornado swept through their community. Many people lost their homes and belongings. The Primary gave the hygiene kits and children’s kits to people in their community who needed them right away. Giving service helped the children feel thankful and peaceful during a hard time. They learned that serving is a blessing to both the receiver and the giver.

The July morning was already hot when Jennie walked to the barn to feed Skipper. When she opened the barn door, he whinnied noisily and stamped his hooves impatiently. Jennie put his grain into a pail and took it into his stall, then filled his manger with sweet-smelling hay. She took his water bucket outside to clean and fill it and noticed that the warm summer air was very still. There wasn’t even a hint of a cooling breeze.
It’s going to be too hot again to go riding, she thought. The past several weeks had been much warmer than usual, and not a drop of rain had fallen. The fields were so dry that they made crunching sounds underfoot.
After giving Skipper his fresh water, Jennie walked up through the meadow and the old apple orchard to the edge of the woods where Grumpy, the fat woodchuck, had made his burrow. Sometimes he would come out and nibble at the clover while she watched, and occasionally he came close enough to snatch a carrot from her hand. If she moved too quickly, he would sit up and chatter as though he were scolding her for interrupting his meal. But this morning he was nowhere in sight. Except for a squeaking chipmunk dashing along the old stone wall, everything was quiet. Not even the birds were twittering in the woods. It almost seemed that all the wild creatures that usually scurried around the farm had gone away.
Jennie walked back to the barn and opened the door to Skipper’s stall. He nudged her with his soft nose, then cantered out of the barn with a clatter of hooves and headed for the far end of the field, where he could graze in the shade of the old apple trees.
Seeing her mother headed for the vegetable garden, Jennie ran to join her. The peas and beans were ready for picking, and some of the tomatoes were turning red.
“Are you going to ride over to Marie’s today?” Mother asked.
“No, it’s still too hot. I let Skipper out in the meadow, it’s cooler for him there.”
For half an hour they worked at filling a basket with plump green peas. Now and then Jennie would open a pod and eat the sweet sun-warmed peas. When the basket was brimming, they started back to the house. Suddenly her mother said, “What’s the matter with Skipper?”
At the far end of the meadow, Skipper was galloping back and forth, sometimes pausing to gaze into the woods. He gave a loud, shrill whinny, then raced toward the barn. When he saw Jennie and her mother approaching the fence, he ran to them, snorted, then dashed frantically back across the meadow, stopping at the stone wall to paw the ground.
“He acts as though something is frightening him,” Jennie’s mother said. “Do you suppose there’s a bobcat up there?”
As she spoke, Skipper galloped back to where they stood at the fence. He nickered and nudged Jennie’s shoulder in the direction of the woods. He seemed to be asking her to go with him. Then he was gone again to the end of the field, where he pranced and reared near the edge of the woods. Normally Skipper was quiet and gentle, but now he was acting like a wild horse.
Jennie’s big brother, Tim, joined them at the fence. “Something sure is upsetting Skipper,” he said. “Better stay here, Jen, until I find out what’s the matter.” As Tim climbed over the fence and headed into the field, he thought that he detected a wisp of smoke.
Skipper saw Tim and raced toward him, whinnying loudly. He skidded to a stop, nudged Tim, then galloped back to the edge of the woods where he stood shaking his head and tossing his mane. Jennie and her mother waited and watched.
Tim reached the horse, climbed over the stone wall, and disappeared into the woods. A moment later he came pelting back, shouting, “Call the fire department! There’s a big brushfire just beyond the edge of the woods, and it’s burning this way! It could destroy everything! That’s what Skipper has been trying to tell us.”
Soon two fire trucks came roaring up the road, their sirens wailing. Close behind them were two forest-service trucks with large water tanks.
All the long day Jennie stayed close to the house, wondering what was happening in the woods. Twice the forest-service trucks returned to fill their big tanks at the water hole near the house.
In the late afternoon Tim returned to the house—dirty, hot, and covered with soot.
“Is the fire out?” asked Jennie as she handed him a sandwich and a glass of cold milk.
“Not quite,” replied Tim, “but they have it under control, and they’re digging trenches so that it won’t spread anymore.”
It was nearly dark when the fire trucks rolled out of the woods and turned into the driveway. Jennie and her mother carried platters of sandwiches and jugs of cold water and milk to the tired, soot-begrimed men. The fire chief came over to Jennie and smiled as he said, “Your brother told us that it was your horse that discovered the fire. If it hadn’t been for him, the whole woods might have gone up in flames.”
The next day when Jennie went to pick up the mail, on top of the mailbox was a big bag of carrots with a note that read: “To Skipper, our honorary fireman, from everyone in the fire department.”