Gospel Story Finder

My family wanted to focus on the Christmas spirit during the Christmas season, so we decided to do a secret “12 Days of Christmas.” We chose a family in our stake who were good friends of ours and had been going through a rough time. On each night of the 12 days leading up to Christmas, my four younger siblings and I prepared a gift with that day’s theme. For example, on the second day we used turtle chocolates for “two turtle doves,” and on the seventh day for “seven swans-a-swimming,” we used goldfish crackers and bubbles. We dropped off the nightly treats on the family’s doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran and hid so they couldn’t find us.
On Christmas Eve, the 12th day of Christmas with “12 drummers drumming,” we brought the family a box of Drumstick ice-cream-cone treats and let them know who we were. They were so happy and thanked us for helping them feel love during the Christmas season.
Because that family felt loved they decided that they also wanted to show love to other families. My family also had such a positive experience spreading the Christmas spirit that we still continue this tradition. I’m grateful my family could focus on the true spirit of Christmas and help others feel it as well. Those nightly treat drop-offs have become some of my favorite Christmas memories.
Sydney J., Alabama, USA

It was a morning like most. I couldn’t find two socks that matched. The pitcher of orange juice was empty. There were only quarters and nickels in the family lunch-money can. Like most mornings I was running late and could hear the school bus roaring up the street before I was ready. I grabbed my backpack, forced on shoes still tied from the last wearing, and raced to the front door.
And, like most mornings, Dad was standing at the door with a look that said, “You missed family prayer again. How do you make it through your day?”
So before he could say out loud what his face was already shouting, I said, “Bye, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you more,” he teased.
Then, as I raced past him, he grabbed my hand, stopping me for a split second. “And your Father in Heaven loves you even more. Think about Him today, will you, sweetheart?”
“Sure, Dad,” I grinned and ran to the bus.
It wasn’t that I was the stupidest person at my high school. I averaged B’s. If every class had been dance or drama I would have been a straight-A student. But they weren’t, and I wasn’t. Drama was only 55 minutes a day, and dance came after school. Except for those brief moments when my spirit could soar free, I found myself in a sort of academic prison camp.
I felt my jaw clamping tighter and tighter. By sixth hour I wasn’t just ugly about school—I was ugly about me. As my math teacher began to explain a story problem that had no business being in a book, I sank even deeper. That’s when the voice in my head started repeating: “Why isn’t this making sense? Is it just me or is this a math class death march? How will I ever make it to graduation? I hate this class. I hate this teacher. I hate this school. I hate math. I hate my brain for not getting this. Why can’t I get this? Why am I so dumb?”
There, I said it, the thing I hated most about school. It made me feel dumb—worthless. So I sat there wanting to cry, but knowing if I did, I’d feel even more dumb. If I could have stood and recited Shakespeare or shown them my running split-leap in the air, then they would have known the real me, how talented I really was.
My whole day—okay the whole rest of the school year—would have been totally lame but for the strangest thing happening. Out of nowhere, my father’s words came rushing into my head.
“And your Father in Heaven loves you even more. Think about Him today, will you, sweetheart?”
Now I wasn’t the most obedient 15-year-old, but I knew undoubtedly that my dad loved me. And I knew I didn’t like how I was feeling about myself, math, and my future in public education. So I listened to his words. I followed my dad’s advice. And right there in algebra, I closed my eyes and let my mind rest on my Father in Heaven. I saw Him in some ways very much like my own dad—gentle and kind and deeply caring about me as his daughter. He loved me.
The remarkable thing was that as I held on to that image, my stress vanished. I felt like what it talks about in the Book of Mormon, like I was “encircled … in the arms of his love” (2 Ne. 1:15). I knew in that moment that I could do all things with God, even making it through algebra without causing permanent damage to my psyche. In fact I felt completely free from my stress. In that moment I felt His love.

This was the environment in which my father grew up. In a similar situation, my father was not able to finish high school, but had learned from his father to always do his best. He worked as a driver and later as a salesman for an insurance company. He would always work hard to meet sales goals and receive higher commissions. Through his hard work, he was able to provide a good living for our family. However, I know there are two other aspects of my father’s life that helped him to become self-reliant: my father always paid an honest tithe, and he always put God first in his life. I remember reading the scriptures and praying together as a family, getting up early in the morning to go to seminary, attending church together with my brother and sisters, handing our tithing envelope to the bishop. Through these small and simple experiences my father was teaching us the importance of being not only temporarily self-reliant, but also spiritually self-reliant.

I was shopping at the mall with my mom. I saw a little boy trying to get candy from a special kind of vending machine, one where you grab pieces of candy with a “claw.” He could not get any candy because he did not know how to move the claw over to the candy. His sister tried, but she could not make it work either. So they walked away with big frowns and no candy.
I walked over to the machine, moved the claw, and picked up two pieces of candy. The little boy was watching me from behind a toy machine. At first I thought about keeping the candy, but I knew it was really the boy’s candy because he had paid for it. So I walked over to him, knelt down, and offered him the candy. He took it and went away with a big smile.
I was glad that I could help him, and I felt really good because I knew that I had done the right thing.

Heavenly Father never intended for us as parents to sit on the sidelines as spectators, watching the spiritual lives of our children unfold. Let me illustrate this idea of intentional parenting with a personal experience. When I was attending Primary in a small branch in Guatemala, my parents began to teach me about the value of patriarchal blessings. My mother took the time to share her experience of receiving her treasured patriarchal blessing. She taught me the doctrine related to patriarchal blessings, and she testified of promised blessings. Her intentional parenting inspired me to have the desire to receive my patriarchal blessing.

When I was 12, my parents helped me navigate the search for a patriarch. This was necessary because there was no patriarch in the district where we lived. I traveled to a patriarch that was in a stake 156 kilometers (97 miles) away. I distinctly remember when the patriarch laid his hands upon my head to bless me. I knew by powerful spiritual confirmation, without a doubt, that my Heavenly Father knew me.

For a 12-year-old boy from a small town, that meant everything to me. My heart turned to my Heavenly Father that day because of my mother and father’s intentional parenting, and I will be forever grateful to them.

When I was 15, my mom was diagnosed with an advanced stage of cancer. In the blink of an eye, our family felt the weight of overwhelming new stresses, fears, and changes. That year, candle time was a profound refuge from the storms of sadness and uncertainty.
A few years later, after my mom passed away, we continued holding the tradition each Christmas. It took on new meaning as we remembered her voice, her touch, and her love.

“We won’t have any openings for months, and if you work here, you would have to work on Sundays.” The manager of the first store to which I applied for a job sent me on my way.
It was the summer before my senior year in high school, and I had been driving all over town filling out applications. My plan was to save up enough money to be able to attend college when I graduated. On each application, I indicated I could not work on Sundays. I was firm in my commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy.
A few days later, I handed a completed application to the manager of another store. He quickly scanned the paper and in disbelief asked, “You can’t work on Sundays?”
Without hesitation, I answered, “No.”
He laughed derisively and replied, “You’ll never get a job in this town!”
Feeling deflated, I left the store and climbed into my car. I said a quick prayer out loud, “Heavenly Father, what am I going to do?”
The unmistakable feeling from the Spirit came, and I knew everything would be all right. The prompting was so strong that I responded out loud, “OK.”
About one week later, I received a telephone call. It was the manager from the first store. He said that some of their young cashiers had been stealing money from the registers and that he had fired them. He asked me if I would like to come work for him, adding that I would only have to work on Sundays if there was an emergency. I worked at that store for about one year and only worked one Sunday.
When I began my job search, I decided I would simply have to find a position that did not require Sunday work. I know now that the Lord had a hand in helping me find that job. I have a sure testimony, just as Nephi, that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).

Marnie Weintz, 17, of the Copper Hills 12th Ward in West Jordan, Utah, decided to build on a 12-year friendship with Sister Rebecca Mackey, an elderly woman her mom befriended in the temple. When it came time for Marnie to pick her Choice and Accountability project for Personal Progress, she thought to reach out to Sister Mackey in a different way by sending her a thoughtful card each week. She says that sending the cards “takes discipline to be dedicated in doing it every week.”
Marnie and her family aren’t able to visit Sister Mackey too often, but they maintain their relationship through phone calls. Marnie thought that by sending cards, she could show Sister Mackey in another way that she cares. Marnie has learned that even the smallest service can make a big impact. “I’m just surprised that it’s meant so much to her. I didn’t even know if she would really want me to send them to her every week or if she would save the cards at all.”
Sister Mackey looks forward to and cherishes those weekly cards, and for Marnie, her Choice and Accountability project turned out to be more lasting than she ever thought.

I sat down with my own children several years ago after a tragedy occurred locally. I felt compelled to share with them that through Jesus Christ, there is always a way forward. There is nothing they could do, or fail to do, that would make suicide the answer. At their tender age, I had no reason to think they were at risk, but I knew there was more I could be doing to prepare my children for handling dangerous, potentially suicidal thoughts.
Immediately after I discussed suicide with my own children, my nine-year-old son asked if he could speak to me privately. He told me about times he had imagined taking his own life, complete with how he would do it. I never could have dreamed he was having these thoughts. I hugged him, thanked him for his bravery in telling me, and told him that no matter what he ever did or ever thought, he was treasured and needed in our family. And I committed to myself to watch him for any further signs of suicidal ideation or mental illness.

Jeff stood in his room, admiring his newest first place archery trophy. It was the third one he had won this year. He was thinking about how much he enjoyed archery—it had no pushing or shoving, like football did, and no need to be a good jumper or runner, like in basketball. There was just quiet practice until you were good at hitting the bull’s-eye.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his mother coming down the hall. “Jason and I are going to clean up the frog pond,” he said. “We won’t be gone long, Mom.”
“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Mother asked. “You still have a bump from yesterday.”
Jeff rubbed his forehead and felt the egg-shaped bump. He had gotten it in a fight with a new boy in the neighborhood, but he had told his mother he had fallen off his bike. Now he felt ashamed about lying to her. “Mom,” he said.
“Yes, Jeff?”
“Mom, I feel OK, but I didn’t really fall off my bike.” He lowered his head. “I got into a fight with that new boy down the street.”
“I see. Well, I was sort of wondering if that would happen.”
“You mean you thought I’d get into a fight with him?”
“Well, I hoped that you wouldn’t, but when some of the other mothers in the neighborhood told me that he’d picked fights with their sons, I figured that sooner or later he’d get around to you.”
“I didn’t even do anything to him,” Jeff began to explain. “I just told him that I didn’t believe that his father had been a general in the Army during the war. Why did he punch me for that?”
Jeff’s mother sat on his bed so that she could look him right in the eye. She spoke softly. “Some people hurt inside themselves almost all the time. And many times these people make up stories, thinking that they will help the hurt go away. Then when someone else points out that the stories aren’t true, they feel hurt and embarrassed, so they fight. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think so. But what does that have to do with the new boy?”
“I think that maybe the new boy is hurting inside and feels that no one likes him. About two years ago, his mother and father died. Since then he’s lived with seven or eight different families. He’s staying with the Wilsons now, and although they hope to adopt him if things work out, I think that having lost his parents, and all that moving around between foster homes, makes him feel that no one wants him.”
Jeff could feel a hard lump in his throat as he thought about how bad he would feel if his own parents died.
His mom reached over and gave him a hug.
“Mom, what can I do if he keeps wanting to fight me?”
His mother thought a minute. “Well,” she began, “I’d say you should show him that you don’t want to hurt him, that you’d like to be his friend.”
“How do I do that?”
“I’m not sure, but there must be some way. Why don’t you pray about it? And if you see him today, you could invite him over for some cookies. I’m going to be baking some right away.”
Mom left, and Jeff was just getting up from his knees, when someone knocked on the front door. “That’s Jason,” he called to his mother. “We’ll be home for lunch.”
“You still have the lump, I see,” Jason said, pointing to Jeff’s forehead as the two boys headed towards the frog pond.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry—we’ll get that kid. Billy’s going to meet us at the pond. If that new kid’s there, we’ll get him.”
“I don’t know, Jason. Maybe we should try to be his friend.”
“His friend? I’m not going to be his friend. Not after the way he’s been beating people up.”
“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t have any friends.”
“Well, he won’t get me for one.”
By this time, the boys had arrived at the small band of trees that surrounded the frog pond. By looking between the trees, they could see that the new boy was indeed there, his back to them. They could see him standing on the bank of the pond, holding a bow and arrow. As they watched, he suddenly set them down, gathered a bunch of large rocks, and started chunking them into the frog pond.
“What’s he doing?” Jeff asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason answered.
Billy came up behind them. “What’re you guys watching?”
“Shhh,” Jason told him. “It’s that new kid. He’s throwing rocks at frogs or something—we can’t see what.”
The three boys continued to watch, hidden in the trees. Pretty soon the new boy reached down and pulled a small green and yellow turtle out of the pond. Jeff felt sick as he watched the turtle wildly wave its legs in a useless struggle to get away.
“What’d he do that for?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jason, “but let’s get him!”
Before Jeff could say anything, his two friends were scrambling through the trees toward the new boy. When he caught up with them, Jason and Billy had backed the new boy up to a tree.
“Why’d you grab that turtle?” Jason demanded.
“Yeah,” Billy added. “It never did anything to you.”
“It’s none of your business. It isn’t your turtle, is it?”
Jason jumped towards the boy and snatched the turtle out of his hand.
“Give it back,” the boy demanded.
“Make me,” Jason challenged as Billy moved over next to him.
Jeff saw traces of tears starting in the new boy’s eyes and thought about what his mother had said: “Try to show him that you don’t want to hurt him.” But how could he do that? He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure it would work. One thing he did know, though he would never help by doing nothing. He took a deep breath and stepped between Jason and the other boy.
“Let me just explain something,” he began. “It’s not our turtle, but we don’t like to see helpless things getting hit by rocks. Besides, you have a bow and arrow—why not try to hit something worthless”—he looked around for something he felt the boy could hit—“like that plastic milk jug over there?” Jeff pointed to a jug about twenty feet away.
“That? That’s easy. Watch this.”
The boy fit his arrow to the bow, took careful aim, and let the arrow fly. It hit the jug almost dead center.
“There! What’s so hard about that?”
“Well, it’s harder than throwing rocks at turtles, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I wasn’t throwing at the turtle, just near it so I could catch it for a pet. Anyway,” he said, pointedly changing the topic, “I bet you couldn’t hit the jug at all, let alone dead center.”
Jason and Billy, who had been watching this exchange with some questioning in their eyes, now erupted in laughter. “Jeff is the best shot in the neighborhood. He has his own target in his backyard. He could shoot better than you with his eyes closed!”
The other boy quickly glanced at Jeff, and Jeff could see the distrust in his eyes. “Well, I do have my own target, but that doesn’t make me the best shot. Besides, we came over to clean up the litter, not use it for target practice. If you want to have a contest, though, let’s go to my house and do it there. Besides, my mom’s making some cookies right now, so we can get some while they’re warm. How about it?”
Jason and Billy didn’t say anything. They were still trying to figure out what was going on.
“I don’t know,” the boy replied. “What kind of cookies are they?”
“I’m not sure,” Jeff answered. “We’ll have to see when we get there.”
The boy thought a minute as he looked first at Jeff, then at Billy, then at Jason.
“OK,” he finally said. “But if I don’t like the cookies, I might leave.”
When Jason heard this, he started to say something, but Jeff spoke up quickly, “That’s OK—you can stay or leave or whatever you want.”
The other boy nodded his approval, Jason took the turtle back to the pond, and they all started off toward Jeff’s house.
Somehow Jeff knew that no matter what kind of cookies they were, the new boy would stay. And he had a feeling that there would be four boys cleaning up the frog pond that afternoon—as friends!

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 a.m. every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

Eli looked at the pile of homework his friend had dropped off after school. Eli had missed another week of school because of an ear infection.
That evening Eli’s parents came into his room. His mom sat on the side of Eli’s bed and took his hand. “Eli, the doctor thinks you need an operation,” she said.
“What kind of operation?”
“He wants to put tubes in your ears to keep you from getting more infections,” Mom said. “It won’t hurt, and you’ll be out of the hospital in a day.” She squeezed his hand.
Eli trusted his parents. But the idea of having an operation scared him. He thought about the story he had heard in Primary about Joseph Smith. When Joseph was seven years old, the bone in his leg became infected. The infection got worse until the doctor decided that he must remove part of the bone or Joseph might lose his leg or even die.
In Joseph Smith’s day, doctors gave people liquor to help numb the pain during an operation, but Joseph refused the liquor the doctor suggested he drink. And he refused to be tied to the bed. He said that if his father held him, he wouldn’t move. Joseph’s father held him tightly in his arms throughout the painful surgery. The operation was successful, and Joseph recovered.
Eli thought about Joseph’s courage and faith in his father. “Can I have a blessing, Dad?” he asked. Eli knew a priesthood blessing could help him. At the beginning of the school year, Eli’s father had given him a blessing.
“That’s a great idea,” his father said.
Eli’s mother folded her arms and bowed her head. Eli felt his father’s hands on his head. His father’s voice grew in confidence as he blessed Eli that he would not be scared and that he would recover completely.
When the blessing was over, Eli was no longer afraid. “I can have the operation now,” he said.
Three days later he went to the hospital and returned home the next day. The ear infections soon stopped, and Eli quickly made up the schoolwork he had missed.
Eli was grateful that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that he could be blessed through the priesthood.

Three weeks ago I stepped into Yesterday. In that moment I rediscovered Today. And it is about Today that I wish to speak.
A Church assignment had carried me across the vast reaches of the Pacific to the land of Vietnam. For me, this was more than a flight over an ocean. It was a step back in time. More than 40 years ago, I had served on the battlefields of that land as an infantry officer. Etched in my mind over those intervening decades were memories of that place, its people, and my comrades in arms with whom I had served. Jacob once wrote, “Our lives passed away like … unto us a dream” (Jacob 7:26). So it had been for me. And now I was returning from my hall of memories to that place of memory after a near half century. My Church business concluded, I determined to once again visit those fields of desperate struggle. Accompanied by my dear wife, I made the pilgrimage.
I am not quite sure what I expected to find after so many years. What I did find was most unexpected. Instead of a war-ravaged people, I found a youthful, vibrant population. Instead of a countryside pockmarked by shell fire, I found peaceful, verdant fields. Even the jungle growth was new. I guess that I had half expected to find Yesterday, but what I found was Today and the promise of a bright Tomorrow. I was reminded that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
My pilgrimage back in time completed, I looked around upon those peaceful fields of Today and saw in their fertility the promise of Tomorrow. I thought of my friend Sergeant Arthur Cyrus Morris. I thought of that fateful Palm Sunday of Yesterday. And I was profoundly grateful for the Redeemer of Easter morning, who grants us life, whose descent below all things makes possible our rising above all things—Tomorrow, if we but seize Today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

This is a change-about story. Color, then cut out the squares at the end of it and put them in a small paper sack or other container that you can’t see into, then read the story aloud with a friend or your family. Whenever you come to a blank, fill it in by drawing a word out of the sack.
From the time Benjamin woke up that morning, everything seemed to go wrong. To begin with, when he decided to wear ____________________ to school, he couldn’t find it because it was hidden under ____________________. So he had to put on ____________________, instead, even though it was upside down and inside out.
“It’s not funny!” Benjamin muttered grumpily when his reflection in the mirror showed ____________________ draped around his neck and ____________________ hanging down in front. He sighed. This was going to be a dumb, crazy, mixed-up day.
Just then Mother called, “Hurry, Benjamin, so you’ll have time to eat ____________________. Your teacher will be pleased if you have ____________________ for breakfast.”
“I’ll be late if I eat that!” Benjamin exclaimed. He snatched ____________________ out of the refrigerator and dashed out the front door, putting on ____________________ to keep him warm.
“Wait!” Mother called. “You forgot ____________________ and money for ____________________!”
But it was too late. Already ____________________ bus was rounding the corner and coming to a stop. Most of the seats were filled by ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________. In place of ____________________, the regular driver, ____________________ sat behind the wheel.
“Climb aboard!” he snapped, sounding just like ____________________. “We can’t wait here all day!”
With a great clashing of ____________________, the driver raced down the street, narrowly missing ____________________ and a lady pushing ____________________ in a baby buggy. In the back of the bus, a chorus made up of ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________ suddenly began to sing. There was no doubt about it—it was another dumb, crazy, mixed-up day!
At school, things were even worse. During math, the teacher asked, “Benjamin, what is nine times seven?” and he answered ____________________. During social studies, Benjamin tried to hand in ____________________ for his homework, and it spilled all over ____________________ on the teacher’s desk. And at noon he found that Mother had packed ____________________ and ____________________ for his lunch. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “When will this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day ever end?”
After lunch period it was time to practice with the band, one of Benjamin’s favorite classes. But when he reached in to take his horn out of the case, he found ____________________ there instead.
“Come, come, Benjamin,” the band leader scolded, “Whoever heard of playing that in a school band? If your horn isn’t here, borrow ____________________.”
Poor Benjamin was so embarrassed that he bolted out the door and ran blindly down the hall. On the way he bumped into ____________________ and ____________________. At last the bell sounded, and school was over for the day. Benjamin rubbed his jaw with ____________________ and sighed with relief.
After ____________________ bus took him home, Benjamin hurried into the family’s cheery kitchen. At least Mother always set out a delicious after-school snack. But not this time! There on the counter was ____________________ to eat and a glass with ____________________ in it!
Benjamin lost his appetite. “I’ll just put on ____________________ and go to bed,” he declared. “And I’ll stay there until this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day is over.”
And that’s what he did.

a purple puppy
a squashed skateboard
a green giraffe
a brass button
a prickly pelican
a limp lantern
a cuddly kitten
a wilted watermelon
a zany zebra
a dozing dodo
a pink porcupine
a leaping lizard
a helpless hippo
a jogging jackal
a snoopy skunk
a squeaky saxophone
a broken bicycle
a cinnamon camel
a strawberry soda
a toothless tiger
a sassy snake
an orange octopus
an angry alligator
a happy hobo
a nippy noodle
a crispy cracker
a leaky lemon
a rattling rollerskate
a grinning gorilla
a bouncing broom
a prancing pony
a dippy donkey
a frisky frog
some jiggling gelatin
a bent bucket
a polka-dot pumpkin
a croaking company
a rusty rainspout
a friendly fox
a dimpled doughnut
a quirky quince
an exotic explorer

My name is Eric, and I love to play basketball. According to Eddy, our team’s student manager, I’m the fifth grader most likely to make a shot. Mom says I play so well because I play so often. “Practice makes perfect,” she says. Today I discovered that I could use some practice at something besides basketball. …
At lunch, my friend Kurt and I were walking toward our usual table, when I saw Trevor sitting alone, picking green pepper bits off his pizza. All of a sudden, I had a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t entirely because of green peppers.
Trevor is a boy who comes to our ward sometimes. Yesterday Sister McQueiry, my Primary teacher, asked me to stay after class. She told me that the ward had set a goal to reach out to less-active members and that she needed my help. She knew that Trevor went to my school, and she asked me to invite him to Primary. I told her I would. When I saw Trevor, I knew I should talk to him right away, but I didn’t want to.
I mean, what would he think if I walked over there and just started talking? What would everyone else think? If he were an OK guy, why wasn’t anybody else sitting by him? Besides, this was only Monday, and I had all week to ask him to Primary. So I sat with Kurt at our usual table.
I must’ve felt a little guilty, though, because I ate my pizza, salad, corn, and chocolate cake a lot more slowly than usual. After about fifteen minutes, everyone else was out on the playground, but I was still eating my slice of pizza. The lunchroom was practically empty—except for Trevor and me.
I finally went over and sat by him. He was really quiet at first, but when I asked him about Boston, where his family had moved from, he started talking. I was so busy listening to him that I missed the entire lunch recess, and I barely remembered to ask him to church the next Sunday. I felt relieved to have my “Trevor assignment” over with.
I rushed home and played about ten games of one-on-one with Kurt before dinner. At family home evening, my sister, Kim, gave the lesson. It was all about the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31–46 [Matt. 25:31–46]. It compares the sheep to righteous people and the goats to wicked people. In verses 33–38 and 40, it says: “And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? …
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, … Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
As I listened to the parable, I thought about Trevor eating lunch all alone. Then I thought about Jesus. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Was I really ignoring Jesus when I ignored Trevor?
Kim ended her lesson, and Dad asked if anybody had any questions. I raised my hand.
“Eric?” asked Dad, a little surprised.
“I just wanted to know,” I started, not sure how to ask my question, “if you do something good, but it takes you a while to do it and you really didn’t want to do it, but you did it anyway, would you be a sheep or a goat?”
Dad gave me a look of real concern. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked. And so I told him about Trevor.
“It sounds to me as if you knew the right thing to do and you did it.” I felt relieved to hear Dad’s answer. “But,” he added, “your attitude could use a little work.”
“You’re a sheep,” Kim decided. “Pretty much, anyway.”
“Today you were kind because you knew it was right,” Mom added. “In time, I hope you will help others because you love them as Jesus does. But it will take time and practice.”
I wonder if you can be willing to practice love and service like you’re willing to practice basketball. I wonder if you can practice them while you practice basketball. I’ve decided to have lunch with Trevor tomorrow. He seems interesting. Besides, Trevor is even taller than I am. I wonder if he can hit the outside jumper.

Later, while working back in London, Patrick met some members of the Church.
“They were great examples of our faith,” he recalls. “One of them was from California, and I went and stayed with that family while I worked there.”
That experience gave Patrick a wonderful foundation of understanding the Church. He was touched by the joy the family found in service, but he had many questions about Church doctrine and beliefs. Back in England two years later, however, he met some “impressive missionaries” on the streets of London. After discussing the gospel with them for several months and being told he was not progressing toward baptism, they asked him if he would like a blessing.
“I agreed to have a blessing from a senior missionary I knew,” he recalls. “How I felt during that blessing was a key moment in my conversion. It was an absolutely undeniable sense of light and joy and peace that no words can describe. The words of the blessing proved inspired and definitely prescient.”
That experience, coupled with “a number of other things in my progress toward baptism,” led Patrick to a testimony of the Savior and His restored Church. A couple of months later, on Christmas Eve 1987, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
For those seeking a testimony, Elder Kearon says: “Choose faith, and respond to the invitation in Alma 32. Follow your spiritual feelings. They will guide you, and you will know.”

“Remember the time you stopped the airplane on the runway?” I asked. Grandfather’s eyes lit up and so I continued to go back with him to a day when I was 14 years old. Grandmother had decided that she and Grandpa would take me to Salt Lake City for April conference to celebrate my birthday. She had called for airplane reservations, but as usual, she was late. As we arrived at the airport, I panicked to see our plane starting its takeoff. Although she was tiny in size, Grandmother never had a minute’s hesitation about giving Grandfather orders. This time was no different. She turned to him and ordered, “Ed, get out there and stop that plane!”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Grandfather knew it would do no good to argue, so he just muttered a few words under his breath and crawled out of the car. He opened the large silver gate leading to the runway, and the next thing I knew, he was running alongside the plane waving his arms.
As we boarded the plane, my face was red with embarrassment, but Grandmother just ushered us to our places in her usual matter-of-fact way. As I recalled the episode with Grandfather, I started laughing, and although he couldn’t speak or laugh, his eyes spilled merriment. Once again we were sharing.

Another young man, Spencer W. Kimball, was about fourteen when Susa Gates spoke at their stake conference. He recalls: “She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures; … then she stopped … to ask … us, ‘How many of you have read the Bible through?’

“… My accusing heart said to me, ‘You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?’ I looked around me … to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. … When the meeting closed, I … rushed home … gritting my teeth and saying to myself, ‘I will. I will.’”

He went home, got a coal-oil lamp, and climbed the stairs to his attic room. “There,” he said, “I opened my Bible and began [with] Genesis … and I read well into the night with Adam and Eve … and through the flood even to Abraham.” (President Kimball Speaks Out, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1981, pp. 92–93.)

He continued to read a little each night. Although he didn’t always understand what he was reading, he had made a commitment to himself. At the end of a year, he had finished. This achievement set a pattern for his life. The sermons and the writings of President Kimball convince us that he has labored long hours to gain his profound insights into the holy scriptures.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), writing about the association said, ”The British Mission Association is active in keeping alive the happy memories of saints and missionaries who have lived in Britain. More than that, it is endeavouring in every way possible to cultivate the spiritual interests of its members.“
To the latter end of President Hinckley’s statement, its first annual winter social recreated a traditional British event—the fish and chip supper. At the door, the members paid 15 American cents and received in exchange one British penny, to be placed on a counter between vinegar bottles and salt shakers in payment for fish and chips, served in a piece of the previous day’s newspaper. That was the easy bit. In order to buy fresh suitable fish, it was necessary to telegraph to Seattle and import it by special delivery, a distance of 800 miles!
Dancing followed and the evening closed with the singing of “God Save the King.”
As one lad from Lancashire left, he opened the kitchen door slightly, took a deep breath and remarked, ”Eh, ba gum, ’twas a good party.“3

When he was just 10 years old, Joshua Dennis spent five days trapped in the pitch-black darkness of an abandoned mine. When rescuers finally heard his faint cry for help and pulled him out of the horrible darkness, he was disoriented, cold, and exhausted. Much to their surprise, he wasn’t afraid. Josh spent his time sleeping, yelling for help, and praying. “Someone was protecting me,” he explained. “I knew people were going to find me.”
Joshua’s simple but profound faith had been nurtured by his parents, who taught him that he had a Heavenly Father who knew where he was at all times. They taught him he had been born with the Light of Christ within him. Truly, Josh had been brought up in light and truth (see D&C 93:40) so that when he found himself huddled on a ledge 2,000 feet deep in a mine, he had drawn upon that light to sustain and comfort him, to give him courage and hope. Josh experienced what Abinadi taught when, speaking of Christ, he said, “He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened” (Mosiah 16:9).
Remember little Josh Dennis? He is now Elder Dennis, serving a mission far away from the dark mine which held him captive. Now Elder Dennis finds his way along the narrow, unfamiliar paths of Honduras, sharing a message of hope, salvation, and light. What he teaches every day is the paradox he experienced as a young boy lost in a mine: that amidst encircling gloom, amidst the darkest possible circumstances, it is possible to feel hope, peace, and comfort—all because of the light which is stronger than all darkness, the light of Jesus Christ.