Gospel Story Finder

I had been taught by my parents and Church leaders to believe in the truthfulness of the gospel. I had been active in Church and seminary. But the real hour of my conversion didn’t come until I was a young man traveling to serve in the West German Mission. In those days, we traveled by train and by boat. After four days on the train, we arrived in New York City and got on a large steamship called the America.
It was very stormy on the North Atlantic Ocean that November, and my traveling companions and I were seasick. We sang hymns, studied the scriptures, and tried to stay cheerful.
As I was out on that ocean where I could see nothing but water in all directions, it dawned on me, “I have always felt the Church is true.” But suddenly the question came into my mind, “Can I look into the eyes of strangers and say without any question that I know?”
Alone in our little room aboard that ship, I got down on my knees. The ship trembled because of the big propeller driving it forward through the storms, but in that moment I couldn’t tell if it was me or the ship trembling! I poured out my heart to the Lord and said, “I have to know, because if I don’t know I can’t testify.”
Over the remaining two or three days on the ship, my prayer was answered. Peace came over me and I knew. Not only did I know that the Church was true, but I also knew that I could stand up to anyone who might challenge the doctrine. I knew that I wouldn’t buckle or weaken or be frightened, and I never was. From that moment on, I never felt any hesitation to share my testimony.

Let me share another example. Fousseyni Traore came to BYU in the fall of 2021. Fouss, as he was affectionately called by BYU fans, came to the United States from Bamako, Mali, in West Africa, to play basketball at Wasatch Academy a few years prior to entering BYU. When he came to the United States, he spoke a Mali dialect of Bambara as well as French; English was his third language, and he spoke little of it.

Fouss left his loving family in West Africa and arrived with little more than a backpack, a small amount of clothing, and a few personal items. While at Wasatch Academy, he experienced the love and support of two host families: Troy and Holly Zentner and Rich and Lisa Saunders. Both families had transformative impacts on Fouss’s life.

Fouss was recruited by several high-profile college basketball programs, including BYU. In all reality, Fouss would not have ended up in Utah or at BYU if it hadn’t been for his exceptional basketball skills. When the time came for Fouss to decide what university to attend, he relied heavily on his faith. Fouss is a man of faith, and this began with his devotion to the Muslim religion. He made the decision a matter of serious prayer. His faith and prayers led him to select BYU.

Fouss’s Muslim faith matched well with BYU’s faith-based focus and high character standards, and he had a historic career at BYU. He left BYU as all-time leader in career field goal percentage (61 percent)5 and as sixth all-time in rebounds (868).6 More importantly, Fouss was an excellent representative of BYU to the world. Shortly after graduating from BYU, Fouss went on to play professional basketball in France. That was a great BYU ending for a terrific former student-athlete; however, the story doesn’t end there. In December 2025, Fousseyni Traore made the decision to become a baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jesus Christ has the power to make BYU a transformative experience. It did for Fousseyni Traore!

One of the great blessings I had as a mission president was to go out with the missionaries ”again, something that I hadn't experienced as a young man, not being a member of the Church. To go out with the missionaries” I did it for one week straight. Elder Marlin Jensen thought it would be a good idea, when he was our Area President, for me to get out there and see what it was really like for the missionaries. I went out with a companionship, ate what they ate, carried their backpacks like they carried their backpacks” it was a walking area. I drove out there from Belmont, from the mission home. They were excited to see me because, being in a walking area, they didn't have a car. They said, "President, are we going to be able to use your car this week?" I said, "This is a walking area, elders; we're walking." That lasted about a day. Then I said, "Okay, we're riding from now on."

I went to member dinner appointments when there weren't any members at home to feed us. I said, "Elders, does this happen every once in a while?" [They answered,] "Yeah, yeah, every once in a while. No big deal."

We got home and my first mistake was that I started on fast Sunday. I was a little tired, and a little hungry, and a little thirsty when we got home that first night. I said, "Well, what are we having to eat?" One of the elders opened the fridge and he said, "Well, we've got some potato salad left over from the ward social. And we have some yogurt." It was great.

We stopped at the store and had steak every night after that. I don't know if I really found out what it was like to be a missionary. It only took me a couple of days. I learned real quickly why missionaries are the age that they are. I had trouble keeping up.

It was a great experience, and what I remembered the most ”besides the fact that my feet were tired, I only did it for a week, and I was trying to figure out how they were doing this for two years” I'll never forget knocking on a random door in downtown Whistler Massachusetts, being let in, and being able to teach a first discussion and to teach the restoration. To feel from going from the street into somebody's apartment, testifying of the reality of the restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, feeling something that was undeniable, and realizing that they felt something. They may not choose to go further with it but to know that they felt something; that there was a spirit that was present there is something that I will never forget, from our experiences in Boston with those missionaries. It strengthened my testimony again of the restoration.

Marni Adams has friends all over the United States. Every month, they get together and talk about gospel subjects, ideas for Mutual activities, and what they’ve read in the latest issue of the New Era. No, Marni doesn’t travel a lot, and she doesn’t have a huge phone bill. Every month, Marni and her friends “chat” on their computers.
“Our group includes people from all over the country,” says Marni, a student at Ricks College. “Only a few have actually met in person, but even those who haven’t are still great friends with each other.”
Known as “Smilin’ Sue” on the computer, Marni says that through advanced technology, people who would have never become friends otherwise now really love each other.
“Probably the best thing about making friends on the computer is that appearances and age don’t matter. It’s a lot easier to really get to know people,” says Marni.

I well remember when I was seven years old, baptism seemed to be far away, as though it would never be my turn. I watched with a fever of excitement as several members of my Sunday School class were baptized and confirmed. They somehow seemed different to me after baptism, and very important.
At last summer came, and Sister Nielsen, our teacher, reminded the class that I was next. I could hardly believe the time had come. I was to be baptized on my birthday, the 24th of July—Pioneer Day among the Latter-day Saints. At the water’s edge I was confirmed and promised that I could have the Holy Ghost as a constant companion. A feeling of happiness and contentment filled me.
But as the days melted into months, I began to feel with some disappointment that, for a constant companion, the Holy Ghost had been uncomfortably silent. At times I wondered if somehow I had failed to live up to my special promise and confirmation.
Then came the second summer after my baptism. I was ten, and large for my age. I could quickly complete my assigned tasks at home and escape to my grandmother’s house on her farm some distance away. My feet seemed to have wings, and I flew the distance, anxious to be with the dearest person I knew.
It was haying time, and the men on the hay crew were already in the field as I hurried along my way. At grandmother’s there would be long tables burdened under the weight of wonderful food: produce from the garden, fresh-baked bread, and berry pies.
The day seemed to fly by, as did all the special summer days spent with my grandmother. It was with great reluctance that I said good-bye and took my departure. As always, I hated to leave the happy warmth of my grandmother’s pleasant kitchen, but I had seen the shadows lengthening over the trees and down the hill beyond her house. I knew if I delayed much longer it would grow dark before I reached home—an uneasy thought, even though I would be able to see the lighted windows of my home beckoning in the distance in the river valley below.
I sat a few moments on the step, savoring the sweet scent of the ripening fruit in the orchard and the roses trailing up and over the back porch. “Why does it have to get dark?” I thought.
With a sigh of resignation, I moved down the walk and through the garden gate. As I crossed the yard beyond and went through the gate on the hill, I realized suddenly that night had fallen. Even the shadows had disappeared. I kicked some rocks as I made my way down the steep hill. I could hear them bounce all the way to the bottom. Usually it was fun to kick rocks down the hill, but tonight the sound they made seemed ominous as they disappeared into the night.
On reaching the bottom of the hill, I remembered that there were big ruts filled with water where many wagons had crossed during the day. I had jumped from rock to rock to cross when I came, but the darkness made that impossible now. “Oh well,” I thought, “it’s warm and my shoes are old anyway.” I plunged across, slipping and sliding on the rocks and oozing mud.
The frogs that had been intoning with stentorious sound now grew silent, causing my fear to grow like a dark specter. “I’ll sing,” I told myself, and began singing a song that I felt was designed especially for those who, like myself, grew faint of heart: “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war!”
The words were hardly out of my mouth when a voice in my mind said, “Be still, and listen.”
For a moment I was startled, but then I thought it was foolishness and began to sing with more vigor still, “With the cross of Jesus marching on before,” and marched to build my flagging courage.
This time my head filled with the command, “Be still, and listen!”
I stopped short, and my heartbeat seemed louder than the thud of my marching, squishy-wet shoes just moments before. Resolutely drawing a long breath, I began again, “Onward—” But before the words would come, more demanding than ever I heard, “Be still!”
I stopped. The last shred of courage disappeared as if it were a leaf caught in a whirlwind. What should I do? Terror gripped me from all sides, and I began to pray in my heart, “Heavenly Father, please bless me!” I couldn’t even think what it was that I should ask for. Just over and over the prayer, “Heavenly Father, please bless me,” until the flood of terror subsided and a sweet reassurance filled my being. Then I heard the words, “Get off the road!”
This time I obeyed at once, and as silently as I had been loud before, I walked, sensing rather than seeing my way. I covered a half-mile in the field adjacent to the road, swallowed up in a void of blackness. My breathing seemed suspended, and I was intent on the night sounds around me, some easily identified and others strange and labored.
The creek crossing was just ahead, and I thought at once of the gate nearby, and whether I should crawl over it or through the fence. Almost before the thought came the answer, “Don’t cross at the gate.”
Where should I cross, then? I paused again, this time to contemplate the thought of the creek and the boggy swamp with cattails and brush that followed its sides. It would be difficult enough in the daylight, but at night? …
Then I smelled an odor borne on the night air that brought terror and instant knowledge: the smell of tobacco smoke, acrid and penetrating! There was someone near the gate assuredly, and every strained nerve assured me that this presence was menacing.
How I crossed the swampy creek and gained the ground on the other side has long since passed from my memory. What is plain and very vivid in my mind is my arrival home and my explanation for the torn and disheveled condition I was in, and the circumstances surrounding it.
My father believed my words without question. He put on his boots, took down his shotgun, and set off in the darkness across the fields. He returned many hours later with no explanation but with the comforting assurance that I had most certainly done the right thing.
Although that marked the end of my long and pleasant evenings walking home in the dusk, I felt a happiness and gratitude for the knowledge that came to me that I indeed had the companionship of the Holy Ghost. How grateful I am for this knowledge, for it has served me well. I trust it will to the end of my life. Has not the Savior promised, “And, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” (Matt. 28:20)

When my husband and I got married, I quickly learned that we needed to change some of the ways we communicated. The communication styles that had worked in my family were not the same ones my husband had learned, and those differences led to misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and a sometimes strained relationship.

My husband and I still have a lot to learn. But as we’ve tried to implement these ideas, we’ve come to understand, respect, and love each other so much more. I know that all our relationships can improve as we learn a healthier, holier, more Christlike way of communicating.

It was Halloween, and I was sick. While all my friends were hoarding and consuming pounds of candy, I was giving myself insulin shots, munching on set amounts of sugar-free candy, and moaning because I could no longer eat my favorite candy bar. My life as a 10-year-old couldn’t have been worse. But now, 12 years later, I realize it couldn’t have been any better.
On 10 October 1991 I stared blankly at my doctor when he said, “You have type 1 diabetes.” He didn’t say, “You have a virus that will go away in a week” or “Here are some antibiotics for your infection.” He was telling me I had diabetes and that I would have it for the rest of my life.
That very moment my life changed forever. I went from barely thinking about what I ate to giving myself shots, testing my blood-sugar levels, and eating limited foods in limited amounts. I quickly learned that everything from exercise to stress affected my blood sugar, and I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without monitoring it. I had to be responsible 100 percent of the time, a skill that didn’t come quickly.
But behind all of the physical tasks, I found something deeply spiritual. I found that when I was obedient, I was blessed. Whether I chose to indulge in double-fudge brownies instead of sugar-free pudding had effects that could last up to five or more hours and eventually five or more years. I soon learned that by sticking to short-term restrictions, I was freed from long-term complications. I felt more awake and energetic, and my confidence even increased as I chose to make wise decisions regarding my health.
Because type 1 diabetics only make up about 0.3 percent of the population in the United States, it’s easy to feel alone. But there are many in the Church who are pulling through, anchoring themselves in the gospel, and finding joy in the journey they call diabetes. I know, because I talked with a few of them.
Chris had a hard time with his diabetes when he was a teenager. Living the lifestyle of a teenager—eating out at 2:00 a.m., having a crazy sleep schedule—was hard on his body. For most of his teenage years, he tried to deny that he even had a disease.
At college, a good friend helped Chris make some big changes in his physical and spiritual health. “Up to that point,” Chris says, “I had never really taken the gospel or my life seriously. As I started to read the Book of Mormon for the first time, I felt my whole life changing. Not only did I feel the enlightening effects come into my life that one feels when reading the Book of Mormon, but I also started to feel more concern for my body and my life.”
Chris says his decision to read the Book of Mormon led to other decisions that helped him become healthier. For the first time in his life, he started testing his blood-sugar level not just several times a week like he used to, but several times a day. He says, “I began to feel so much better as I started to take care of myself.”
After Chris finished reading the Book of Mormon and received an answer that it is true, he decided to serve a mission. “Serving a mission can be tough,” Chris says. “Every day brought something new for me and my diabetes to try and conquer.” But he believes the Lord blessed him to maintain control. “Constant fluctuations in schedules, modes of transportation, and eating would lead most diabetics to out-of-control blood sugars, but the Lord was watching over me as I served my mission.” Since Chris started taking better care of himself, his health has been almost perfect.
Chris is grateful that he was not only able to serve a mission but that he was able to serve with all of his strength. “The work never suffered as a result of my having diabetes. I saw God’s hand in my missionary work every day, and I still see it now.”
For a girl who directs high school plays, sews costumes, memorizes Shakespeare, studies Russian, and performs on her school’s dance team, it’s a wonder she finds time to do anything else—especially take care of her diabetes. Adrienne was diagnosed with diabetes when she was 11, but she hasn’t let that get her down.
“There’s really no point in being sad about it,” Adrienne says, “because it’s not going to change it. You might as well make the best of the situation and do things a normal kid would do.” She makes sure to take care of herself physically and spiritually. She tries to do constructive things that make her happy. “If you do all you can, pray, and have faith in Heavenly Father,” she says, “then He’ll help you accomplish the rest.”
Adrienne has been a resource to many around her. Before moving to Utah, she was asked to teach a class on diabetes at a science museum in Minnesota. “It’s fun being able to bring something exciting out of a trial like this,” she says.
She’s also discovered that the gospel is a strength. “The Savior went through a lot more than I did. And I know that He always understands. You try your hardest, and if that’s all you can do, then don’t stress.”
Fourteen-year-old Matt Anderson from Bountiful, Utah, is one tough character to shake. Matt was diagnosed with diabetes on a Saturday. He spoke in church the next day. His mom explains, “When the bishop called and asked if Matt still wanted to speak, Matt’s reply was, ‘Sure, Bishop, it’s already written!’” Matt’s talk was on gratitude.
Matt’s positive attitude and strong testimony of the gospel are anchors in his life. “Now I’m just thankful for every day,” he says. “I’m thankful for the power of prayer.”
After receiving a blessing in the hospital, he remembers waking up during the night. “The hospital was all quiet, and I felt this real peace come over me. A true peace. And I wasn’t scared.” Matt says the priesthood blessing gave him strength to give himself shots and to start testing his blood-sugar level.
“This trial has been a blessing in my life,” Matt says. “It has made me conscious of the gospel more than ever. It has brought me closer to my mom and dad and my sister. I play sports just as much as I did before, and I’m still really close to my friends. I know we have trials for a reason.”
Emily had just returned from a choir tour with BYU–Idaho’s Vocal Union and was planning on spending some time at home in Colorado. “During the trip I just didn’t feel myself,” Emily says. “I was so thirsty. I was drinking at least 20 glasses of water every day, and I was wondering what was wrong. After I was hospitalized, they gave me insulin, and I thought, ‘I’m myself again!’”
Emily’s optimism, along with her family and new husband, has helped to keep her going. “I really try to focus on what I can eat rather than what I can’t, and then I’m fine,” she says.
“After I got home from the hospital I was so grateful not to be thirsty anymore,” Emily says. “Then I thought about Christ and how He is the Living Water. I realized that there are so many people who are so thirsty that they drink and drink, but it goes right through them. And I was so grateful to know that I have the living waters.”
People often ask me how I got diabetes. The truth is, no one really knows. I just believe it’s part of this earthly test. The Lord knew there was no better way for me to learn that sacrifice brings blessings, and self-discipline even greater freedom. I know that if we take care of what we have, the Lord will bless us even more. I have a testimony that this gospel is true and that it connects all that is physical to all that is spiritual. I have a testimony that it is through Jesus Christ, our Savior, that we are able to overcome all things. He, our Master, our Lord, and our Redeemer, is the Rock upon which we are sustained.

Once during his second winter, two days out of Placerville, Thompson discovered at nightfall a fur trader, James Sisson, partially delirious and near death in a mountain cabin. Sisson’s legs were frozen to the knees and gangrene was setting in. After chopping wood and building a fire in the fireplace, Snowshoe skied to Genoa for help.

Unfortunately, the only doctor in town was out on another emergency call. So Snowshoe, with the help of volunteers and a sled, managed to bring Sisson to Genoa in spite of deep mountain snow.

Then they found that the doctor was out of the chloroform necessary to perform the leg amputations! And where was the only chloroform? Across the mountains in Sacramento. This was now the fifth day since Snowshoe had left Placerville, California. And in all this time he had caught only quick snatches of sleep. Nevertheless, he started out immediately for Sacramento, amazingly making the run in a night and a day and then back to Genoa again in another night and day in time to save Sisson’s life.

Another pioneer game was last couple out. Caroline was chosen to be the leader, and the other children each chose a partner. They lined up side by side behind Caroline. Henry and Charles were partners, and they were the last couple lined up behind Caroline. When Caroline yelled, “Last couple out!” Henry and Charles separated. Henry ran forward along the right side of the line, and Charles along the left side. The two boys tried to clasp hands in front of Caroline before she could tag either of them. But Caroline tagged Charles, so she became Henry’s new partner. They took their place at the front of the line behind Charles, the new leader, and the game began again.

Today was the Primary program, and Brayden was nervous. He had practiced and practiced his part. But he was scared to talk in front of so many people.
“I don’t want to go to church today!” Brayden said. “It’s too scary to say my part.”
Mom gave him a big hug. “I know it can be scary to talk in church. But you have practiced a lot. I know you can do it.”
“Should we say a prayer?” Dad asked. “We can ask Heavenly Father to help you be brave.”
Brayden nodded.
Mom, Dad, and Brayden knelt down and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Mom prayed, “please help Brayden be brave. Help him to be able to say his part.”
After the prayer, Brayden got into the car, and they all drove to church.
Brayden was scared as he sat on the stand with the other kids. But he remembered the prayer. It helped him feel a little better.
Soon it was Brayden’s turn to talk. He looked out at the people smiling up at him. There were Mom and Dad! He took a deep breath. Then he said his part loud and clear. He even remembered all the words.
“You did such a good job,” Mom said after church. “It looks like our prayer was answered.”
Brayden smiled. “Heavenly Father helped me!”
They walked back to the car together. “How did you feel inside?” Dad asked.
“I was still scared, but it was OK,” Brayden said. “And I felt good after I said my part.”
“Do you know what that good feeling was?” asked Mom.
Brayden thought for a moment. “I think it was the Holy Ghost.”
“I think so too,” Mom said. “And even though you were scared, the Holy Ghost helped you be brave.”

The apocryphal Buddhist story (also attribute, to Plato, Socrates, and de Vinci, among others) of a master and a would-be pupil illustrates the student's role in this process:

A young man of considerable means came to a sage and indicated that he wanted to study under the master and would pay any price for the chance. The sage sent the young man away with the comment, "You are not sincere in your desire." Upset at the reply, the young man returned day after day determined to indicate his eagerness. Rebuffed each time by the sage he finally came one day visibly angry that the master seemed to have such little regard for his request. The master laid down his work and told the young man, "Follow me." He led him down to the ocean and walked with the young man out into the waves. The master then turned to face the young man who eagerly awaited the wisdom the old man would impart. The pupil was instead surprised when the old sage grabbed him by the back of the neck and thrust his head under the water. Unable to breath, and young man flailed wildly until unconsciousness began to close in around him and his only thought was of air. Just then, he was yanked from the water by the old master. Gasping for air, the student pleaded with the sage, "What have I done to deserve this?" The master's reply to the boy rings as true today as it did then: "When you want to learn as badly as you wanted that breath of air, then I can teach you."

It was interesting to me that a few months later, while I was serving a mission in London, England, that another professor, a distinguished Oxford-educated teacher at London University, took exactly the opposite position. Dr. Ebeid Sarofim, an Egyptian by birth and an expert in Semitic languages, read a copy of the Book of Mormon that he had discovered by chance and sent a letter to President David O. McKay asking for permission to be baptized. President McKay referred him to the London mission home.

Dr. Sarofim met with the missionaries and said he had an intellectual testimony of the validity of the Book of Mormon because he was convinced that it was indeed a translation of the learning of the Jews and the language of the Egyptians for the periods described in the Book of Mormon. One of the many examples he used was the conjunctive phrase “and it came to pass,” which he said mirrored how he would translate phraseology used often in ancient Semitic writings.

The professor was informed that while his intellectual approach based on his profession had helped him, it was still essential to have a spiritual testimony. Through study, listening to prophetic messages, and prayer, he gained a spiritual witness and was baptized. So what one famous humorist saw as an object of ridicule, a scholar recognized as profound evidence of the truth of the Book of Mormon that was confirmed to him by the Spirit.20

Let me describe one final episode related to these three tragic deaths. On the day of her daughter's funeral, this Relief Society president from my home ward received a phone call from an irritated sister in our ward. The complaining sister had a cold and did not feel well, and she basically chewed out the Relief Society president for not being thoughtful or compassionate enough to arrange for meals to be delivered to her home. Just hours before the funeral of her only child, this remarkable Relief Society president prepared and delivered a meal to the murmuring sister.

We appropriately and rightly speak with reverence and awe of young men who sacrificed their lives to rescue stranded handcart pioneers and of other mighty men and women who repeatedly gave their all to establish the Church in the early days of the Restoration. I speak with equal reverence and awe of these two women women of faith and character and conversion who taught me so much and instinctively reached outward when most of us would have turned inward. Oh how I appreciate their quiet and powerful examples.

I love to read my own grandfather’s missionary journal. His first entries are classics. He wrote: “Today I married in the Salt Lake Temple the girl of my dreams.” The very next night the journal entry read: “Tonight the bishop called at our house. I have been asked to return to Scandinavia for a two- year mission. Of course I will go, and my sweet wife will remain at home and sustain me.” I am grateful for a missionary heritage.

This story took place in South Africa.
Lashia had a new baby brother. His name was Liam. He had dark hair and tiny hands and feet. He was so cute!
But sometimes having a new baby in the family was hard. Mum and Dad were always busy now. And Liam cried a lot.
“Mum, can you read me a story?” Lashia asked.
“I have to wash Liam in the tub,” Mum said. “Maybe you can read a story with Ariana.”
Lashia sat down on the floor with her little sister. They flipped through the pages of a book. But it wasn’t the same without Mum.
“Dad, will you play a game with me?” Lashia asked.
“I need to help Mum with the baby before I go to work,” Dad said.
Lashia frowned. Mum and Dad never had time for her now! They were always helping Liam.
Soon Dad left for work. Mum put Liam down for a nap. She sat with Lashia and Ariana on the couch. She looked tired.
“We’ve been very busy with Liam,” Mum said. “Have you been feeling a little lonely?”
Lashia nodded. She felt like she wanted to cry.
Mom hugged Lashia and Ariana. “Liam needs a lot of help right now because he’s so little. He can’t do anything by himself yet, like you can.”
“I know,” Lashia said.
“But if you want, you can help me take care of Liam.” Mum smiled.
“Really?” Lashia asked. She liked that idea.
“Me too?” asked Ariana.
“You too,” said Mum.
Soon Liam started crying. When Mum changed his diaper, Lashia brought her the wipes.
“Thank you,” Mum said.
The next day, when Liam had a bath, Lashia and Ariana picked out a clean outfit for him to wear. It had cute little animals on it! They brought it to Mum so she could dress Liam.
“Thank you,” Mum said.
Lashia and Ariana thought of other ways to help. They made their beds each morning without being asked. Sometimes they made Mum and Dad’s bed too! And when it was time for dinner, they helped Dad in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” Mum and Dad said.
When Liam cried, Lashia tried to help him feel better. She held him and talked to him in a soft voice. Liam couldn’t say thank you yet. But one day he smiled big at Lashia!
Lashia smiled back. She was glad she could help her baby brother and her mom and dad too!
How did Lashia help her family?
Illustrations by Shawna J. C. Tenney

As Dirk and I left the leaf-strewn path and rounded the corner of Dempsten’s General Store, we smelled the strong gasoline fumes that arose in shimmering waves from the opening of Mr. Larson’s bright gas tank and danced off in the autumn sunlight.
“Howdy, kids!” Mr. Dempsten called as he kept pumping the gas. “The electric poles out to your place yet?”
Dirk grinned happily but shook his head, while I shivered and opened the door. We stepped quickly inside.
“Morning, kids,” Mrs. Dempsten called cheerily. She stacked one last can on the shelf, then climbed down the ladder. “What can I do for you today?”
“We need five pounds of sugar and five pounds of cornmeal,” I replied. “Plus, Mother wants ten yards of unbleached muslin and one box of yellow dye.”
Mrs. Dempsten reached for the heavy bolt of material. “Getting ready to make new curtains, I expect,” she said. “And if she’s planning on making a quilt this winter, I have new cotton batting selling for thirty cents a bundle.”
“I’ll tell her,” I replied.
“I have yellow muslin, too,” Mrs. Dempsten continued as she measured the material along a yardstick fastened to the counter. “Only two cents more per yard.”
“I’d better get just what she asked for,” I replied.
Dirk pointed silently at the penny candy behind the glass. I nodded, then waited to see if there would be any change.
“Is that it, Lucy?” Mrs. Dempsten asked, wetting the tip of her pencil between her lips before writing on the paper.
I nodded.
Mrs. Dempsten added the column from top to bottom, then added it again from bottom to top. Finally she shoved the pencil back into her hair and quickly folded the muslin. “That’s two dollars even, Lucy,” she said with a smile.
I pulled the money from my pocket. Dirk gave me a dark look, then slumped with his back against the candy case.
“Have they gotten the electric poles out to your farm yet?” she asked as she tied a piece of twine around the bundle of muslin.
“No, but they’re near the old Beamer place!” Dirk announced excitedly. “I watch them work every day!”
“I suppose everyone in the valley will have electricity before long,” Mrs. Dempsten said.
“Father said we’ll have to pay for water next!” I added with a grin.
Mrs. Dempsten laughed. “Not as long as everyone has good wells! But we can’t hold back progress, can we?” She reached for a small paper sack and plopped a handful of penny candy into it. Then she twisted the top and handed it to Dirk. “Take this along with you, and don’t eat it all at once!”
Later Dirk and I sat in a clump of dried weeds by the fence, watching the men put another electric pole into the ground. “I hope the first good wind doesn’t blow them over,” Dirk said thoughtfully.
I stood and brushed off the seat of my slacks. “It’s getting cold. I’m going home. Are you coming?”
Dirk shook his head. “You go—I like to watch progress!”
The ground was frosty crisp, and the air chill with winter’s promise. Stray pumpkins dotted the field, and as I walked carefully over the corn stubble, I found one that was nearly perfect. I twisted it from its stem, then carried it to the root cellar. As I started toward the house, I heard the shed doors banging in the rising wind.
The orange sky was turning gray, and the air had stinging spears of snow in it. I looked across the field toward the road and shook my head. Dirk will probably sit and watch the men working until it’s dark, no matter how cold it gets, I thought. With a shivering hand, I pulled my collar up around my face and hurried toward the banging doors.
I grabbed the doors and pulled with all my might, but one flapped out of my hand and banged loudly. Finally they both stood edge to edge, and I fixed the latch. As I went around the corner, I glanced in through the shed window. A dark form huddled on the floor in a corner! At first I thought that it was a wild animal; then I looked closer and saw that it was a man.
He looked like he was sleeping—or maybe even dead! A shiver went through me, and my feet seemed glued to the spot, while my arms and legs turned to mush. I was afraid to stay there but even more afraid to move. Finally I turned the knob of the side door as quietly as I could and opened it. Instantly it was torn from my hand by the wind and banged noisily against the side of the shed. My heart leaped into my throat, and I stared fearfully at the man. But he didn’t move.
Terrified, I dashed toward the house, pounded onto the porch, and burst into the kitchen. “Father!” I blurted. “There’s a stranger in our shed!”
Father was on his feet instantly. He grabbed Dirk’s baseball bat from the corner and hurried outside, with me close behind.
“Paul!” Mother called frantically.
Father turned and said gently, “Don’t worry, Lucile. I’ll be very careful.” Then he patted my shoulder and smiled. “Stay well behind me, Lucy.”
The shed was even darker by then, and father blinked in the direction I pointed. “Howdy,” he called out. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
When the man didn’t move or make a sound, Father frowned and crept closer until he almost stood over him. Gently he shook the man’s arm. The man groaned and rolled himself into a tighter ball. Father knelt and touched the man’s forehead. “He’s burning up with fever!” he declared, releasing his hold on the baseball bat. “Tell your mother that I’m bringing him inside, Lucy.”
I was almost afraid to leave my father alone with the stranger, but he bent and slid one arm under the man’s shoulders and the other under his legs. With a heave, he lifted him from the cold dirt floor. I ran ahead to the house.
Father put the man to bed in our spare room; then Mother wiped his beard-studded face and put cool cloths on his head. “Keep quiet, children,” she said gently. “He’s a very sick young man.”
“I’ll get the doctor,“ Father said with concern.
Later, after Doctor Borrison had come and gone, Dirk and I stood in the hall and looked through the door at the sleeping stranger.
“He looks like a tramp,” Dirk whispered. “Maybe a criminal, even!”
I shrugged. “He’s sick and down and out, that’s all.”
“With all the progress around here, he could get a job somewhere if he wanted to,” Dirk mumbled. “Father will probably have to pay the doctor bill now too. We’ll never save enough to get electricity.”
“Progress doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t help each other,” I reminded Dirk impatiently. “That’s all Mom and Dad are trying to do.”
Dirk frowned as Father came up the stairs. “Come away, children,” he said gently. “Let the poor man rest.”
“How long’s he going to be here?” Dirk grumped.
“As long as it takes him to get well, Dirk,” Father answered. “You wouldn’t want me to be hungry and sick and lying on someone’s cold shed floor somewhere, would you?”
Dirk looked up quickly. “No, Father!” he exclaimed contritely. “It’s just that I’ve been hoping that maybe soon we’d have enough money for electricity.”
Father nodded. “But electricity is a convenience, Dirk, and we can get it or do without it. People, on the other hand, are different, and if we don’t help each other, then progress doesn’t mean much, does it?”

After the initial strain and misunderstandings that stemmed from my conversion to the Church, my family members and I learned to apply tolerance and respect in our relationships with each other. For example, once I became a Latter-day Saint, I participated in different Sunday activities. Instead of playing soccer, I attended church. When my family members realized why I changed my Sunday activities, they showed understanding and respect. In the same way, I was respectful of their traditions. For instance, I did not criticize my parents for not having family prayer. Mutual respect has been very important in our family.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Everybody get the prettiest leaf you can find. We’ll make pictures with them back in the classroom.
This is the best leaf in the park! It’s huge!
You mean it’s second best. Look at the color of this one!
Hah! Your leaf’s tiny!
Yours is ugly!
Oh yeah?
Yeah!
Don’t fight. Your leaves are both best. This one’s best for making a spaceship, and this one’s best for making a dragon.
Where did you learn to be such a good peacemaker?
Watching Mom make peace between Matt and me.

Chaplain Brent Jones served as an army chaplain at Ft. Carson, Colorado, in January 2004. He remembers having the responsibility to provide support and comfort to the family of a soldier who had been killed in action. Because the soldier’s unit remained in Iraq to fight, Chaplain Jones was flown to California to honor the dead, which is one of the vital missions of a chaplain.
Chaplain Jones did not know the family or the soldier and was not asked to participate in the soldier’s viewing, funeral, or graveside service. A ministry of presence would have to suffice. However, “on the morning of the funeral,” he says, “I felt the impression that the Lord wanted me to offer a special prayer at the graveside service that would indeed be a blessing to this killed-in-action soldier and his family. But how could I do this when I was not on the program, and I certainly didn’t want to offend anyone?
“After the funeral, as I was walking toward the grave, his religious leader caught sight of me. We had a brief conversation, and it was determined that near the end of the graveside service, when he looked in my direction, I could step forward and offer a prayer. That’s just what I did: I was given the opportunity to offer that special prayer that the Spirit had told me about earlier that morning. I was extremely grateful that the Lord had prepared a way for me to bring honor and comfort to a grieving family.”

A little girl taught me a profound lesson on this subject. Surely you are not above learning from little children. Much of what I know that really matters I have learned from being a father.

Some years ago I returned home to find our little children were waiting in the driveway. They had discovered some newly hatched chicks under the manger in the barn. When they reached for them, a protective hen rebuffed them. So they came for reinforcements.

I soon gathered a handful of little chicks for them to see and touch.

As our little girl held one of them, I said in a teasing way, “That will make a nice watchdog when it grows up, won’t it?” She looked at me quizzically, as if I didn’t know much.

So I changed my approach: “It won’t be a watchdog, will it?” She shook her head, “No, Daddy.” Then I added, “It will be a nice riding horse.”

She wrinkled up her nose and gave me that “Oh, Dad!” look. For even a four-year-old knows that a chick will not be a dog, nor a horse, nor even a turkey. It will be a chicken. It will follow the pattern of its parentage. She knew that without having had a course in genetics, without a lesson or a lecture.

No lesson is more manifest in nature than that all living things do as the Lord commanded in the Creation. They reproduce “after their own kind.” (See Moses 2:12, 24.) They follow the pattern of their parentage. Everyone knows that; every four-year-old knows that! A bird will not become an animal nor a fish. A mammal will not beget reptiles, nor “do men gather … figs of thistles.” (Matt. 7:16.)

In the countless billions of opportunities in the reproduction of living things, one kind does not beget another. If a species ever does cross, the offspring cannot reproduce. The pattern for all life is the pattern of the parentage.

This is demonstrated in so many obvious ways, even an ordinary mind should understand it. Surely no one with reverence for God could believe that His children evolved from slime or from reptiles. (Although one can easily imagine that those who accept the theory of evolution don’t show much enthusiasm for genealogical research!) The theory of evolution, and it is a theory, will have an entirely different dimension when the workings of God in creation are fully revealed.

Since every living thing follows the pattern of its parentage, are we to suppose that God had some other strange pattern in mind for His offspring? Surely we, His children, are not, in the language of science, a different species than He is?

What is in error, then, when we use the term Godhood to describe the ultimate destiny of mankind? We may now be young in our progression—juvenile, even infantile, compared with Him. Nevertheless, in the eternities to come, if we are worthy, we may be like unto Him, enter His presence, “see as [we] are seen, and know as [we] are known,” and receive a “fulness.” (D&C 76:94.)