Gospel Story Finder

A strange noise woke the raccoons. Mother Raccoon peered out from their hollow in a tall elm tree. Then three smaller heads appeared beside hers. Below their tree a truck stopped, and two men got out and slammed the doors. The raccoons, frightened, ducked out of sight. But curiosity got the best of Lotor, one of the small raccoons, and he soon peeped out again.
Below him one man pointed at the tree and said, “This one will make good firewood.”
The two men brought an ax and a chain saw from the truck, and one of them began chopping a notch in the tree’s base.
For the raccoons to stay until the tree fell meant possible capture or even death. Mother Raccoon quietly urged her three youngsters out of their hollow and onto a tree branch. The limb of the tree overreached the branches of another tree, and Lotor scuttled over onto it.
The commotion of the rest of Lotor’s family on the branch caused the axman to quit chopping and to look up. “Coons!” he yelled.
The other man dashed to the truck and grabbed a rifle. There was a loud craaack, and Mother Raccoon fell to the ground. Lotor’s brothers scurried back to what they supposed was the safety of their home in the hollow of the tree.
Lotor scampered down the other tree and fled deeper into the woods. When he felt that he was out of danger, Lotor quit running and crawled under a bush.
Raccoons usually sleep during the day and forage at night, and Lotor was very tired. But he knew that he must find a new home. It was midafternoon before he found a high, hidden hollow in a tree much like his old one. The weary youngster clawed soft, rotted wood from the walls to make a “mattress” and lay down. After several plaintive whimpers for his lost family, he slept.
Lotor awoke shortly before sundown and descended the tree. He was hungry. Reaching a creek, he swam upstream. As he passed beneath a sweet gum tree, he heard a buzzing sound overhead. Remembering that his mother had once scooped honeycomb from a bee tree before the bees drove her away, up he went.
On the underside of a limb, halfway out, hung a nest. But there was no smell of honey. Lotor crawled out on the limb, then reached down and tapped the nest. The buzzing grew louder as several hornets flew out.
Lotor’s fur protected him against the hornet stings. However, his nose, eyes, and ears were exposed. When a hornet stung Lotor’s ear, he retreated rapidly, swatting as he went.
The little raccoon eventually found himself at the edge of the woods. By then a full moon lighted the sky. Beyond the woods was a pasture, and Lotor could see something tall growing in a field. He was about to go back into the woods when the breeze shifted. The smells of chickens, dogs, and man were all in the air. Another of the scents Lotor recognized was one he had smelled once on his mother’s fur when she had returned home with a couple of ears of corn in her mouth.
All was quiet, and Lotor was famished. He slipped under the pasture fence, ran through the pasture to the cornfield, hid among the cornstalks, and began to feast. Lotor was almost full when a new scent reached him. A fox was upwind!
Suddenly hens began squawking and dogs began barking. Lotor headed for the fencerow.
The hounds were baying now as they ran. And the fleeing fox was leading them toward the right, away from Lotor’s side of the cornfield. Nevertheless, the raccoon thought it wise to return to the forest. But before he got to the fence, the chase changed direction, and the baying hounds were headed toward the woods too.
Lotor and the fox reached the edge of the pasture at about the same time. The fox ran directly at Lotor, then swerved away and sped between him and the fence. Circling behind Lotor, it flashed toward the creek. Touching the bank, the speeding animal circled the hornets’ tree, came back to its trail where it had swerved to avoid Lotor, whirled, and retraced its flying steps back to the bank. Leaping far out into the creek, it headed upstream with its nose barely above water back toward the dogs!
Lotor understood. The dogs would find a trail that circled to nowhere, the creek would carry away the fox’s scent, and he, Lotor, was in the middle of that clever circle! He whirled toward the creek, but he was too late! The hounds saw Lotor and forgot about the fox. Lotor ran up the tree with the hornets’ nest.
The dogs leaped and snarled. Lotor sat quaking on the limb with the hornets’ nest. The only limb reaching close to another tree was the one on which he crouched. As he tried to ease past the hornets’ nest, he caused the limb to shake. A few hornets flew out of the nest, and one of them stung Lotor on his ear again! Angrily he slapped at the nest. It broke loose and fell between the two dogs, bursting open. The hornets swarmed over the hounds, and their baying became shrieks of agony as they fled.
Lotor descended, trotted to the creek, and swam across. On the other bank water flew in all directions as he shook himself dry. Then he ambled toward his new home. He was no longer a raccoon kit. In one adventure-packed day, he had grown up.

The Young Women program allowed the youth council to decide what they wanted to do, and Anahei Chung, the class president, proposed: “We decided to reach to all members of our group and so invited all of our young women to prepare pizzas and pies and then take them to less active members.”
Tetinia Teriirere, Young Women president, said: “Our goal was three pizzas and three pies but in the end we made 12 pizzas and seven pies as the enthusiasm of the young women was infectious.” After enjoying some pizzas and pies that day, each young woman also received either a pizza or a pie to take home. Some of them chose to share what they received.
Tetinia continued, “One of them offered her pizza to the missionary sisters, others gave them to young women in less-active families. They were so happy to interact again, and it was really good to meet again and share with others.”

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.

As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.

As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.

When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

Elder Patanía compared this tragedy to the Lord’s admonition when He said, “Ye [have] not strengthened, … [or] brought again that which was driven away, … [or] sought that which was lost; … and I will require my flock at [your] hand.”

Elder Patanía explained that, while we must be organized in our councils, quorums, auxiliaries, and even as individuals, we must not delay going to the rescue. Sometimes many weeks pass as we talk about how to help families or individuals who are in special need. We deliberate about who will visit them and the approach to take. Meanwhile, our lost brothers and sisters continue needing and sometimes even calling and pleading for help. We must not delay.

Like Carolina, 16-year-old Katarina Echaniz quickly made friends after being introduced to the Church by a ward member. Through the missionary discussions and her friends’ example, she also quickly gained a testimony. Shortly after her baptism, she was called to the Mia Maid presidency. “I felt responsible because there were girls depending on me to do my calling,” she says. “I wanted to do everything well.” Katarina says the assignment has kept her going strong.

One winter when I was 12, Christmas seemed to be coming too quickly for my family. I know that is hard to believe, especially coming from a 12-year-old, but my father had been out of work for two years and the holiday season was just magnifying the stress for my parents.
Then, on December 1, my family was surprised to find an enormous, red, elaborately decorated Christmas stocking hanging on our front door. Our family name was at the top, and a note was attached to it that said, “On the first day of Christmas, a giant Christmas to stocking to get you in the mood.” Naturally we were all bewildered about our secret friend, but we had no idea how he would change that Christmas for us.
The following evening, two large loaves of pumpkin bread magically appeared. They were devoured by our happy family of seven in just a few minutes. We kids decided that the third day wouldn’t pass without discovering who our secret pal was. But on that third day, just as the lookout checked the doorstep, he found a three-car gingerbread train waiting for him. We were baffled as to how it had been delivered without discovery. For the next nine days our house radiated excitement as we waited and watched for the day’s surprise. We received ornaments, dinner, and fruit, but the greatest gift came on the 12th day.
On our doorstep we found a 12-piece, handmade nativity scene, just perfect for keeping the Christmas spirit in our home. It was also a little confusing, however, because the note with this last present didn’t reveal our friend’s identity. It just told us thank you for making this holiday season one of the best. I couldn’t understand that note for a long time—not until I was able to give some service myself.

This is illustrated by a news commentary, the author of which is Michael Josephson. Mr. Josephson said:
Though I get special pleasure out of hosting Thanksgiving dinner for my large extended family, the real burden of the holiday falls on the lovely shoulders of my wife, Anne. She's the one who deals with tenting the yard and organizing the feast including three turkeys and a symphony of side dishes. And she does all this while juggling our four young children, a big dog and two new puppies. So you can understand if her enthusiasm for the holiday is more muted.
There was a time when I thought she was going to resign. It was a week after she planned and hosted a business reception at our home for nearly 100 people and she was weary. She told me how she had come to dread the pressure and work of Thanksgiving. Then, just as I was bracing myself to hear her renounce the job, she completely surprised me by changing direction. 'This year,' she said, 'I have a whole new feeling toward the holiday. I've been thinking about it a lot and I've decided to be grateful rather than resentful.' Then she told me how lucky we are to have such a large and close family and the space and resources to provide Thanksgivings that our children will always remember.
Can you see why I love her so much? She has taught me that gratitude is not always a spontaneous emotion; often, it's a matter of choice. It's a perspective of appreciation that doesn't necessarily make life easier, but it always makes it better.

“There had to be more. All I had faith in was money, and that had nothing to do with happiness at all,” he said. That realization started his search for the truth. He thought it might be a good idea to thank Heavenly Father for all the blessings he’d been given, so he went to pray in the only nearby church he knew of—San Juan Capistrano, the famous Catholic Mission, built centuries ago. It seemed logical that the Lord would hear his prayers from such a place.

The Lord did. In response, he sent a messenger to Jack’s door. But it wasn’t the type in a suit, white shirt, and tie. It was Randy Smith, an insulation salesman and a recent convert with a lot of enthusiasm. He started talking to Jack about insulation, and somehow the subject got around to the gospel. It didn’t take Randy long to invite Jack out to the missionary prep class that his brother Tom taught.

“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.

He’d previously been attending Sunday School with a lackadaisical attitude, but now he decided to take the gospel seriously and learn some more. He began the missionary lessons and discovered that it would take the gospel to make him happy—happier than banking billions from bubble gum ever could. “Once the missionaries started teaching me, it only took about a month and a half before I was baptized,” he said.

Jack’s choices didn’t end when he joined the Church, though. Other decisions were in store. “I decided to go on a mission right after I decided to get serious about the gospel,” Jack said. “I thought, if it’s true, it’s all true, and of course you want to tell other people about it. It would be wrong not to go.”

But what about his business, and what about his car? “I sold the Corvette,” Jack says, with a surprising lack of remorse. “The insurance was costing me a fortune anyway.” The bubble gum business is still booming, however. His mother will manage it while he’s in the mission field, and the profits will help keep him afloat financially.

Jack feels he is well prepared for the mission field, but when his call came, he was stunned. He will be serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission. He was surprised that with his reading disability, he would be called to learn such a difficult language as Japanese.

“I was confident I would go to an English-speaking mission,” he said. “When I went to take the language aptitude test, I asked the girl who administered it which were the hardest languages, and she said both Chinese and Japanese were challenging. I thought, good—at least I won’t have to worry about them. Then when I got my mission call, I was surprised.”

But Jack doesn’t worry about the battle with the language. “When you’re doing the work of the Lord, he’s going to help you out. When I first got a Book of Mormon, I found it really hard to read, but since I started reading the scriptures, my reading has improved, and it’s the first time I can really see that improvement.”

Jack pulls out the scriptures, and reads, out loud, his favorite: Alma 32:28. It talks about the faith he needs to serve, and the faith the people need to receive his message: “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when ye feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”

As Jack reads that scripture, you notice that he reads clearly and precisely; he doesn’t stumble over a word.

Hey Jack—did you know you just read that scripture perfectly?

“I did? Wow, well thank you. I guess I’m getting a lot of help.”

The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.

Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Elder Farley has completed training in the MTC. He is now serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission.

I understand what it feels like not to feel peace. When I was ten years old my father died. Everyone told me that Heavenly Father would comfort me, but for the first few months I felt only pain and anger, not comfort.
One night, in the midst of all this hurt, I had a dream about my father which helped me to understand what had happened and to feel at peace with myself. I know that my dad is doing a great work helping people on the other side. I also know that you must look deep within yourself to find true peace in order to live a happy and peaceful life.
Bente Heiselt, 16Powell, Ohio

Alison knew it was going to be a bad day. The world outside was gray and drizzly. Mommy told her she had to clean her room. And—worst of all—there was a big bowl of cold oatmeal on the table that she still had to eat.
“I wish it was tomorrow already,” she mumbled.
Mommy looked up from the computer where she was working. “Oh, things aren’t that bad, are they?”
Alison nodded without saying anything more.
“Well, then,” Mommy said, “why don’t we play the Thank-You Game. Find a reason to be grateful for everything you can. No complaining is allowed. If you can do it the whole day, I’ll give you a surprise.”
“That’s a funny game,” said Alison.
“I’ll help you begin. Why are you grateful for oatmeal?”
Alison thought a moment. “I guess it’s better than a bowl full of bugs to eat.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Mommy chuckled.
Alison gobbled down her oatmeal, to get it over with. “I’m grateful I have orange juice to help wash the oatmeal down,” she said.
Then she went to her room. It was a mess! How can I be grateful for a messy room? she wondered. “I know—I’m grateful I have all these toys to play with.” She hummed as she put them all away.
The drizzle outside turned into a freezing rain that tap-tap-tapped against the window. Alison pressed her nose against the frosty glass.
I’m grateful the rain comes so that the flowers don’t get thirsty, she thought.
When her room was tidy, she got out her play dough. She made funny shapes with it and squished it through her fingers. “I’m grateful for things that feel good in my hands,” she giggled.
Alison was having a busy day. Soon her eyelids began to grow heavy.
“I think it’s nap time,” Mommy said.
Alison was going to complain, but she remembered that it wasn’t allowed. She climbed onto her bed and reached for her stuffed rabbit. “I’m grateful I have Charlie to snuggle with,” she told Mommy.
The Thank-You Game got easier and easier. It wasn’t turning out to be such a bad day, after all!
That night Mommy looked pleased. “You played the game really well, Alison,” she said, “Here’s your surprise,” She gave Alison a strip of bubble-gum-scented stickers along with her usual hug and kiss.
Alison smiled. “It turned out to be a really nice day,” she said. “I’m grateful for bubble-gum stickers and hugs and kisses and you!”

This member learned to trust the Lord to help her build the kingdom: “I remember my parents teaching me from a young age that we always accept our callings because they are given by the Lord. While in college I was extended the call of Relief Society president. I was overwhelmed, but it never crossed my mind to say no. So I began the year with over 100 women to care for, little experience, and faith that the Lord would make up the difference. A year later I was released. As I thought back on the moments of revelation when I knew exactly what lesson to give or comment to share, or the many times when someone would make me a meal because I was too busy to cook, or the pile of encouraging notes I’d received, I knew with a surety that the Lord had magnified my efforts in building the kingdom.”

Sara loved it when her older sister, Melissa, came home from college. Melissa was home all day and could play with her and their little brother, Thomas.
But today Melissa wasn’t playing. Sara sighed. She was so bored!
Sara poked her head into Melissa’s room and saw Melissa lying on her bed, reading a book. She tiptoed in and peeked over the cover of Melissa’s book. “Can we play hide-and-seek?”
“I’m reading,” Melissa said.
“Pleeeeease?”
Melissa smiled. “OK. Just let me finish this page.”
Thomas came in too. “Whoa, those are cool!” He ran to Melissa’s desk and picked up a pair of sunglasses. They were sky blue with zebra stripes.
“Ooh, they’re pretty!” Sara said. “Can we try them on?”
Melissa said, “Sure, but please be careful. They’re new.”
“We will!” Sara promised.
Thomas tried on the sunglasses. Sara giggled. “You look like a blue-eyed bug!”
Melissa looked up and laughed. She put down her book and grabbed her phone. “Say cheese!” Thomas grinned while Melissa snapped a picture.
“Let me try them on!” Sara said. Pretty soon she and Thomas were taking turns posing and making funny faces while Melissa took pictures.
“This is even better than hide-and-seek!” Sara said.
Just then Melissa’s phone rang. “I’ll be right back,” she told them. She went in the hall to answer the phone.
Sara plopped onto the bed with a huff to wait.
“Hey, it’s my turn,” Thomas said. He reached for the sunglasses in Sara’s hand, but Sara put them on the bed next to her. “Melissa said to be careful with them. We should wait for her to get back.”
“Oh yeah?” Thomas grinned and tickled her. Sara giggled and jumped back.
Crack.
“What was that?” Thomas asked.
Sara looked down and gasped. Her heart sank as she saw what was underneath her—the sunglasses, with the ear pieces broken off.
Sara started to panic. “Oh no! What should we do?”
“Melissa’s going to be so mad!” Thomas said.
Just then Melissa walked back into the room. “Wanna see the pictures I took?” she asked.
Sara didn’t answer. She looked down at the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Melissa asked.
All Sara wanted to do was hide under the bed covers. Slowly she held up the broken sunglasses. “I’m so sorry!”
“We didn’t mean to,” Thomas added.
“I know.” Melissa took the pieces of her sunglasses and let out a heavy sigh.
Sara hung her head and left. Thomas followed.
Sara felt terrible! She wished she could fix Melissa’s sunglasses. If someone had broken her favorite stuff, she’d feel awful. She said a little prayer. Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry I broke Melissa’s sunglasses. Please help me know what to do to make it up to her. Then a thought came to her. She spun around. “Thomas! I have an idea.”
A little while later, Sara poked her head into Melissa’s room. “Melissa, we have something to show you.”
Sara led Melissa down to the kitchen table. Thomas stepped aside to reveal the surprise—a pair of sunglasses, sky blue and zebra striped.
Melissa smiled. “You made these for me?”
Sara grinned. She and Thomas—with a little help from Mom—had carefully painted a pair of Dad’s old sunglasses to look like Melissa’s broken pair.
Melissa gave Sara and Thomas a big hug. “You guys are the best!”
Sara felt warm and happy. She was glad she could try to make things better.

I realized that Todd was awful gloomy that day. At first he didn’t even want to come out and play with me, and I’m his best friend! Then, after a little coaxing from his mother, he did come out.
“How about playing some ball?” I asked hopefully. “We can try your new bat! I’ll even pitch to you first!”
“No, I don’t feel like it,” Todd said, stuffing his fists into his jeans pockets and kicking a stone off the sidewalk. “I don’t feel like doing anything!”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You don’t ever turn down a game of ball, especially if I’m willing to pitch to you first. Are you sick?”
“I just don’t feel too great. My grandma died,” Todd answered, quickly brushing away a tear.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess you miss her a lot.”
“Miss her! I’ll never see her again!”
“Yes, you will,” I said. “She just went to the spirit world.”
“The what?”
“The spirit world,” I repeated. “When people die, that’s where they go.”
“Will I really see her again? And can I visit on weekends like I used to?”
“Not now—because you’re still alive. But after you die, you’ll go to the spirit world too.”
“Really?” Todd asked excitedly.
“Will she make me my favorite chocolate cake?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. “But I do know that someday everyone will be resurrected.”
“What does that mean?” Todd asked.
“That means that your spirit and your body will get back together, and you will live again!”
“How do you know all this?” Todd asked, suddenly suspicious.
“My mother taught us that in family home evening last Monday.”
“So you didn’t make it all up?”
“No. Honest!”
“OK. I still miss her, but maybe I can play just one game with you.”
“Great! Let’s go!” I thought that I had convinced him and that everything would be OK, but that evening Todd came over with his parents. They seemed really mad. I’m in trouble now, I thought, so I tried to hide upstairs.
“Jamie,” my mother called.
I had to come down and face whatever it was that I had done.
“Jamie,” Todd’s mother began, “today you told Todd that he would see his grandmother again. Try as we may, he won’t listen to anything different that we try to tell him. Todd’s grandmother is dead, and there is no way that we’ll see her again. We need you to tell Todd that.”
“I can’t,” I said softly. Todd looked at me, and I knew that I was in real trouble.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
She was really upset with me, but Mom saved me. “What he means,” my mom began as she stepped forward and placed her hands on my shoulders, “is that we believe that Todd will see his grandmother again. And so will all of you.”
“But, Lisa,” Todd’s mother pleaded with my mother, “how can you know this? What proof do you have?”
“I’ll show you.” She let go of my shoulders, got her Bible, and thumbed the pages until she stopped and read this passage aloud: “‘And [they] shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation’” (John 5:29).
Todd’s dad jumped into the conversation then: “Lisa, is that a quote from your Golden Bible?’”
“Oh, you mean the Book of Mormon. No, this is the King James Version of the Bible,” Mom replied.
“Well,” said Todd’s mom. “That’s the same Bible that we use. I wonder why we never saw that before.”
Mom was on a roll now! “We will all be resurrected as Jesus Christ was, which means that we will all live again, just as Jamie was telling Todd. In 1 Corinthians 15:21–22, it says, ‘For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead.
“‘For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.’” [1 Cor. 15:21–22]
They just stood there in silence for a moment; then Todd’s mom began quietly, “I guess I owe you an apology, Jamie. I never knew that was all in the Bible.”
“That’s OK,” I said.
“Does that mean,” began Todd, brightening again,” does that mean that Jamie was right and that I will see Grandma again?”
“It seems so,” said Todd’s mom.
“We’ll have to do some studying. We’ll probably be back to ask Jamie and his folks some more questions.”
“Great!” I said. “Anytime.”
Well, that’s how my day ended. Things turned out OK after all, and you know what? Todd’s family had the missionaries over the other night! They invited us over too. It was really great to see the missionaries teach my best friend the gospel. I hope that someday I can find the right scriptures quickly, as Mom and the missionaries do. Mom says that it just takes practice. So here it is—I’ve found my first scripture for you: “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” (John 11:25).

Why me? Why now? I had just gotten back from competing in a major horse show held in California and was at the height of my hunter-jumper equestrian riding abilities. I was busy with school, piano lessons, and Beehives. I was doing everything I had been taught to do, and I thought that my life was about as perfect as life can ever get. Then it changed.
I was now in a hospital bed, too sick to even open my eyes. I had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My illness came just four years after my mom died from a similar cancer. I was on heavy chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer, and the doctors were saying that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for two and a half years to make sure that all the cancer was gone. I couldn’t understand why me and why now.
I soon learned that being diagnosed with cancer was not the only challenge I would face. One of the drugs used to treat leukemia is a steroid given at extremely high doses. It is very effective at killing the leukemia cells, but there is a small risk that it can result in avascular necrosis (a condition in which bones die near the joints), particularly in teenage girls. My doctors thought that, at 12 years old, I was too young for that to happen. However, within one month of starting chemotherapy, the steroids ended up destroying most of my major joints and parts of my spine. I was living in constant pain. Four months after I was diagnosed with leukemia, I had my first hip surgery to begin trying to repair the damage done by the steroids and to lessen the pain. The surgery did not go as well as I had hoped, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that I would probably never ride a horse again. All of a sudden, the future I had planned was gone.
I was a good student, and I really enjoyed school. Now I couldn’t go to school or even out in public because the chemotherapy had destroyed my immune system. Instead, I stayed home with my stepmother. At this point I thought things were pretty bad, but they got worse.
Six months after my hip surgery, I had to have another hip surgery because the first one hadn’t worked. I was in a wheelchair because it hurt too much to walk. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to ride horses again, and now I was worried if I would even be able to walk again. Living life sick, in constant pain, and confined to a wheelchair didn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.
I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.
Note: Elizabeth is in remission and recently passed her third anniversary of being off chemotherapy. Her joints are healing, and she is no longer in a wheelchair. While there is still a risk for a relapse, Elizabeth doesn’t think about it. Instead, as a freshman in college, she is focused on studying for tests and practicing the oboe and English horn.

A wonderful sister who performed an Elias-like mission to her people in Ghana was Priscilla Sampson-Davis. She obtained a Book of Mormon in 1963, then studied, prepared, and waited for 15 years. Soon after her baptism she had a vision that she described as follows:

I wasn’t asleep. I saw myself at a sacrament meeting and we were singing when I saw a personage in very bright apparel standing in front of the congregation. The Personage called me by name and requested that I come and stand by Him. . . . He then asked me why some were not singing with the others. I told him that they could not read English. . . . He asked me if I wouldn’t like to help my sisters and brothers sing praises to our Heavenly Father. I said that I would do my best. Then the vision passed away.
Immediately I . . . started translating the hymn Redeemer of Israel into Fanti [the major dialect in Ghana]. [From interview with Priscilla Sampson-Davis by E. Dale LeBaron in Cape Coast, Ghana, 19 May 1988; see also LeBaron, “All Are Alike,” pp. 48–50]

Sister Sampson-Davis translated the hymns, the missionary pamphlets, and Gospel Principles. Then, under assignment, she translated the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price into Fanti. She said, “It was the Lord Himself who commissioned me to do the translation. . . . By translating these things, my brothers and sisters who can’t understand English will be able to see and read the true gospel for themselves” (LeBaron, “All Are Alike,” pp. 49–50).

A young man I know well was elected to be the student body president at a large university. The university sent him to a leadership seminar where student leaders from across the United States gathered in Chicago, Illinois, to be trained and educated. They participated in an initial game outdoors on the college campus so that they could become acquainted with each other. The students were presented with current issues facing today’s youth and were asked to take a position. In response to the issue presented, they were directed to run to several trees in the grassy area marked “strongly agree,” “partially agree,” “strongly disagree,” or “mildly disagree.”
Toward the end of this exercise, the leader asked, “Do you believe in premarital sex?” Without hesitation, this young man ran to the tree marked “strongly disagree.” To his amazement, he was the only one there! All the other student leaders were laughing and pointing at him and saying, “Oh, Jess, you are so funny. We all know you’re not really serious.” At that moment Jess said he knew exactly what he must do and so he loudly declared, “I’m not funny. I’m serious!” There was a stunned silence, and then the group dispersed, leaving Jess standing alone by the tree. He felt out of place and, yes, weird. But he wasn’t weird. He was right. And he was not alone. During the week, many of the student leaders came to him privately and said that they wished they had known years earlier what he knew. Jess later said, “It was easy because I knew that I represented not only the university but my family, the Church, and the Savior.”

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.

Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.

Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.

At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

As Melissa turned her attention back to the ward council meeting, she thought, “If only everyone could be surrounded by such loving friends and leaders as they progress toward the temple.”
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the Relief Society president comment on a sister in need: “She wasn’t at church last Sunday. I’ll make sure her visiting teachers let her know about the upcoming temple trip.”
“They’ve got some hard things going on right now,” added the elders quorum president. “I’ll follow up with their home teachers and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“The young women could help with babysitting,” said the Young Women president.
As Melissa looked at the faces of the members of the ward council, she saw genuine affection and concern. A smile spread across her face. “The Lord has prepared ways for His children to be protected and loved,” she thought. “The ward council!”

Terry leaped out of the car and watched her family mingle with the crowd. Grandma was already kissing Mother. Grandpa was shaking Dad’s hand. Everywhere she looked there were relatives and more relatives. But where was Becky?
Two ice-cold hands grabbed her waist. “Gotcha!”
Terry screamed and jumped, then turned and saw Becky grinning at her. Becky’s black hair was pulled back into braids, and her brown eyes twinkled. “Welcome to the family reunion, cuz!” she said, merrily.
Terry wondered if she had changed as much as Becky had. Last year Becky had had short hair and glasses. Of course, last year I was two inches shorter, she thought. And my brown hair had been straight, not permed.
But outside changes didn’t matter. Inside they were the same, and seeing each other only once a year didn’t put a dent in their friendship. Instead it made them use their time together to its fullest advantage.
“Come have dinner,” Terry heard Aunt Georgia say as the whole group headed toward the backyard, where long tables were piled high with food.
Becky grinned at Terry. “I’ve saved us a place near the corn on the cob.” She escorted Terry to their seats, and they gingerly sat down on the makeshift benches.
“What plans do we have?” Terry asked, reaching for the corn with one hand and the mashed potatoes with the other.
Becky lowered her voice. “Are you tired of being treated like a kid?”
Terry nodded. “Every year it’s the same: ‘You’re too young. Let one of the older kids handle it.’ When do we get to be older kids?” She waved her corn for emphasis.
Becky agreed. “We’re nine years old and deserve some respect!”
“But how do we prove that we’re old enough to do the same things that the older kids get to do?” Terry asked.
“We should do something spectacular,” Becky decided.
“Well, I don’t know about spectacular,” Terry said, pausing to slap a mosquito. “But maybe we could do something responsible and helpful. Grown-ups love that.”
Becky’s eyes widened as she looked around the farm’s backyard. “I know!”
Terry was puzzled until she saw what Becky was looking at. “You mean … ?”
“Sure! It’s a chore that Grandma has to do every day.” Becky paused to eat a bite of dessert. “Won’t she be pleased when we do it for her?”
“I don’t know,” Terry said, doubtful. “She doesn’t even let any of our aunts do it for her. Maybe there’s more to it than we know.”
“What could be so hard?” Becky smiled. “Unless, of course, you’re”—she giggled—“chicken.”
Terry laughed too.
“Tomorrow morning, early,” Becky finally whispered through her giggles.
“OK,” Terry replied. “I didn’t eggs-pect to sleep late.”
This remark sent them both into another bout of helpless laughter.
When the sun rose the next morning, Terry’s eyes popped open as if an alarm clock had rung. She reached over to shake Becky. Grandma and Grandpa would be getting up soon to do the chores. The rooster crowed, and the cows were mooing by the barn gate.
Becky and Terry wiggled out of their sleeping bags on the front lawn and ran sleepy fingers through their rumpled hair.
Quietly they crept to the back of the house and eased open the kitchen door. All was quiet.
Hanging on the wall next to the door was the egg basket. Every morning Grandma collected the chickens’ eggs.
Terry smiled, envisioning Grandma’s face when they presented her with the basket full of eggs. This would prove that they weren’t little kids anymore.
Outside the chicken coop, they could hear the hens clucking and the rooster crowing. It seemed very loud. Terry hesitated and saw indecision in Becky’s face as well. “Chicken!” she whispered and swung back the bar holding the door in place.
They had imagined that the chickens would be in neat little boxes, clucking gently, with eggs in piles on the floor. It wasn’t at all like that.
When they walked in, the chickens were suddenly silent. Then, as if they had been waiting for just this moment, they launched an attack. Three chickens cornered the girls while the rest surged like a tidal wave of feathers through the open door, the rooster in the lead. Then the three attacking chickens sought freedom themselves.
“What are we going to do now?” Terry whispered in a quavery voice.
Becky offered a one-word solution: “Panic!”
The girls ran into the yard. They tried to catch the chickens but without any luck. In desperation, they ran into the house, yelling, “The chickens are out! The chickens are out!”
Soon the backyard was filled with pajama-clad adults and children chasing chickens. The chickens seemed to view this as great sport. They used the small children for cover and ran between the legs of adults trying to grab them. They hid under the porch, and a few even flew as far as the lower branches of the oak tree, where they roosted and watched the fun below.
Uncles were shouting, aunts were waving bathrobes, children were laughing, and chickens were clucking. Grandma Christensen came out of the house, surveyed the backyard filled with feathers and family, then turned and went back into the house.
Huddled by a window in an upstairs bedroom, Becky and Terry hoped to hide out until the excitement died down.
Suddenly they heard a quiet voice behind them. “Interesting circus outside, isn’t it?”
With a gasp they turned to face Grandma Christensen. She stood just inside the door, looking past them out the window.
“Now I wonder how those chickens could have gotten out?”
Terry and Becky exchanged guilty glances. “We let them out,” Terry said, solemnly. “We’re awfully sorry.”
“It was an accident,” Becky asserted. “We were just trying to help.”
Grandma looked them both over sternly, and then her eyes softened. “Well,” she said briskly, “they’re out. Now, how are you going to get them back in?”
“Us?” They looked at each other and then at the feathers flying in the yard.
“Well,” she continued, “you were inventive enough to get them out. Just show the same ingenuity in getting them back in. Consider it a challenge.”
Numbly they nodded. As Grandma turned to go, Terry asked, “How did you know we’d be up here?”
For the first time Grandma smiled. “Because this is where I hid when I left the gate open and let my father’s cows into the garden.” She went out, closing the door behind her.
Five minutes later Terry and Becky went downstairs. By that time the yard was a combat zone. Chickens were still running and clucking all over the yard. The rooster sat on a windowsill, just out of reach, crowing directions to his troops. In the human ranks, enthusiasm had been replaced by desperation. Several chickens had three of the younger cousins backed up against the barn and pecked their toes whenever they tried to move.
The two girls went over by their grandmother. “We need everyone out of the yard,” Terry explained.
Grandma smiled. “That’s easy.” She went to the porch and rang the dinner bell. “Breakfast everyone!”
The yard cleared miraculously. Only Becky and Terry and the chickens were left.
Becky and Terry went into the barn, took bowls from a shelf and filled them with chicken feed. By the time they stepped outside again, the chickens were clucking contentedly and beginning to forage in the yard.
Becky and Terry snuck around to the chicken farthest from the coop and began laying a trial of chicken feed. Soon the chicken began to follow. As the girls walked through the yard, leaving trails of cracked corn and grain, more and more chickens followed them. Terry felt like the Pied Piper. Even the chickens in the trees were intrigued enough to investigate. Soon all the birds were following the girls.
The chickens were so intent on their breakfast that they didn’t even notice when they entered the chicken coop. Both girls dumped their bowls at the very back of the coop, and soon it was a riot of noise as all the chickens fought for their fair share.
Using the clucking and squawking as cover, Terry and Becky quickly tiptoed to the door. After gently dropping the wooden bar into place, the girls leaned against the outside of the coop and sighed with relief.
Becky looked at Terry and started to giggle. Terry giggled too. Soon both girls were leaning against the door, barely able to stand because of their laughter.
“That wasn’t eggs-actly what I was eggs-pecting to happen,” Becky choked out at last.
“Well, now we know that if we chicken out, we have to chicken in again,” Terry said with as straight a face as she could manage.
“Maybe it’s just as well that we only see each other once a year,” Becky said with a final giggle.

Annie Van Komen of Salt Lake City, Utah, took an unusual vacation last summer. Annie went with her father, who is a doctor, to South America to treat children in a large La Paz, Bolivia, hospital. Annie went armed with homemade blankets and slippers made by the Young Women in her stake, to give to the children.
“It took a real effort by the girls in my stake to make all the gifts I took. They wouldn’t have meant nearly as much if we had bought them at a store,” says Annie.
Annie acted as her father’s assistant during much of the trip. Although she spent most of her time in Bolivia giving to others, she feels she gained even more.
“Something like this makes you really grateful for your situation. You really appreciate all the things you have,” says Annie.

One Sunday after church, my mother, my brothers, and I were in the car ready to go home. But we could not find the car key. Our dad had put all our bags in the car and walked home with my younger sister in the stroller. We looked everywhere for the key, but we could not find it. In Primary and family home evening, I have learned that we should always pray when we need help. I told my mom that we should pray so Heavenly Father could help us. My mom was very happy, and we prayed together. Suddenly our grandmother drove up and brought us the key. Our dad had accidentally taken the key and sent it back with our grandmother. I know that Heavenly Father helped us by sending our grandmother. He will always help us, even through other people.