Gospel Story Finder

I opened my eyes just as the sun started to peek under my flowered drapes. Excitement flooded my body, but for just a moment I couldn’t remember why. Then I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. “Today is the day! Today is the glorious day!” I sang quietly—it was way too early to disturb anyone. I stood there thinking about how wonderful today would be: I was going to get a puppy of my very own. Well, not exactly of my very own, for I would have to give it up in a year. Still, I’d have him practically forever. A year is an awfully long time.
I had always wanted a dog, but Mom said that she had enough to do with me and Jeffy and her part-time job at the library, without having a dog underfoot.
I tried to explain that it wouldn’t be underfoot and that I’d take complete care of it. “I already know how to take care of a dog,” I argued.
For several weeks I’d worked after school at Pete’s Pet Shop. It wasn’t a real job, but Pete said that he’d hire me when I grew up, so it was almost a job. I watered and fed the animals, then played with the pups until it was time to go home for dinner.
One day Pete had introduced me to Mrs. Evans. “Meet my friend Tracy Stevens. She’s my right hand. I don’t know what those dogs would do if she didn’t come in every day and get them fresh food and water.”
“I like dogs, too,” Mrs. Evans had said. “I find people to take care of pups until they are trained enough to give to a person who needs them to see.”
How would a dog help someone to see? I had wondered. After she went out, Pete explained to me that she worked for the Society for Seeing-Eye Dogs. When she picked Blacknose, one of Pete’s dogs, to use in the program, I felt my heart sinking. That meant that I wouldn’t see Blacknose again. He was one of my favorites. They were all my favorites, for that matter, and I felt a little sick every time I came to the store and a pup had been sold.
I listened carefully as Pete explained to me just what Mrs. Evans did, and then I ran home to explain it to my folks. At dinner I told them about the seeing-eye-dog program and that I really wanted Mrs. Evans to choose me to help her. I didn’t think that Mom was listening, because Jeffy threw his potatoes on the floor just then. But she winked at Dad, saying, “Now wouldn’t that be something—a dog to lick up Jeffy’s mashed potatoes.” Then she got serious and said, “I have plenty to do without running after a dog when I get home. No, Honey, I just don’t think that it would work.”
I’d argued and talked, and finally they’d agreed to see Mrs. Evans to hear what she had to say. And today was the day! Mrs. Evans was bringing a live puppy with her while she explained the training program.
I thought that noon would never come. Finally I saw a car drive up. Mrs. Evans got out, shook hands with Mom and Dad, and handed me the cutest little puppy that I had ever seen. Then she started to explain what would be expected of me. “You’ll have to keep him with you as much as possible. You’ll have to show him love without getting him spoiled. You must never let him jump up on you, because blind people can’t anticipate that kind of thing. You must feed him properly—no snacks!”
After Mrs. Evans had explained everything about the program and what my responsibilities would be, Mom and Dad agreed to let me train the puppy.
“I hope that we’re doing the right thing,” Mother said to me as we all signed some papers, “and that it won’t break your heart when you have to give him up.”
“A year is a long time,” I answered. I spent as much time with Chip as I could.
I took him walking where we’d see cats and bikes and dogs. He must never run or bark without a reason. I taught him to heel and sit, and he even learned about traffic. I couldn’t bear the mournful look in his eyes when I ate cookies, so I’d slip him a tiny piece from time to time. That’s why I called him Chip, for chocolate chips.
Then one day we got that awful phone call from Mrs. Evans. “I’ll be over next Saturday to take you and the dog to the center,” she told me.
“The year isn’t up yet, is it?” I wailed.
Mrs. Evans laughed. “Not quite, but I hope that you aren’t getting too attached to that dog. He will have to go in two months, you know.”
“So what will we do next Saturday?”
“He’ll be tested by a professional handler. If he tests out, he’ll be ready to help a blind person.”
“What if he doesn’t test out?”
“We couldn’t use him and would have to give him away,” she answered.
Only a week, I thought. How can I bear to lose him? I had a wild idea: If I could make Chip forget everything, they wouldn’t want him. So why not try to make him act disobedient? “Heel,” I shouted. When Chip obeyed instantly, I yelled at him, “You bad dog! You are so dumb.”
“Sit,” I ordered next, and when he sat, I pulled on his collar and told him how bad he was.
He began to look more and more bewildered as I gave him orders, then punished him for obeying. It broke my heart when I saw his sad eyes looking at me. “Please understand. I’m doing it for your sake,” I told him.
By Saturday Chip was slinking around with his tail between his legs. “What’s wrong with Chip?” Dad asked.
“He’s been acting strange all week,” I answered. I felt terrible about lying like that, but I wanted to keep Chip with me.
When we got to the arena, Mrs. Evans met us and smiled. “Well, here is one of our young handlers. What a fine looking dog. It looks as though you did a good job.”
A man came up and took the leash from my hands. I wanted Chip to sit down and growl at him or do anything except what he was supposed to. But he obediently followed the man to the center of the big floor. I watched as Chip performed perfectly. He came bounding happily back to me with an expectant look on his face, and I realized that I’d failed in my efforts to keep him. “Couldn’t you have run after a cat or something?” I muttered sadly.
As we drove home, Dad chattered pleasantly about the beautiful day, and I sat there wishing that I could crawl into a big hole and just die. I was going to lose Chip. I’d have him for just two more months, and I knew that I wouldn’t try to confuse him any more. I did keep praying that I could keep him, though.
Every Saturday we drove to the center and watched as the handlers put Chip through his paces. They took him into traffic. They had a man run at him with a club. They used horns and whistles and records of screaming crowds. Chip responded perfectly. I couldn’t help but be proud as I watched him work.
Then came the Saturday when Dad said, “You’ve done a superb job. Your work is over now. I’m sure that the person who gets Chip can hardly wait. Imagine waiting for a whole year to finally walk in the sun! You’ve helped someone be able to do that.”
I huddled in the seat with my arm around Chip. I felt miserable. What did it matter that Dad was proud of me? I had lost Chip. Hot tears spilled down my face. Without a word, Dad handed me his handkerchief and squeezed my hand. “We are all born with different talents. Maybe this is one of the things that you were born to accomplish,” he said softly.
When we got to the center, I took Chip’s leash and walked as tall and proud as I could. I didn’t want Chip to be ashamed of me this last day. Mrs. Evans pointed out a young man sitting in a corner. “That’s Mike. He’ll be getting Chip. He’s waited a long time for this.”
The expression on Mike’s face was expectant, and his head was turned slightly. I realized that he was listening harder than most people because he couldn’t see.
“This is Tracy,” Mrs. Evans said when we reached him. “She’s trained your dog for you.”
Mike got up and held out his hand. I took it and felt strong, warm fingers close over mine.
“I want to thank you for everything.” His eyes were bright with unshed tears, and his voice choked in his throat. “What do you call him?”
“I call him Chip.” I hesitated, then added, “I’ll tell you why later.” Then, when Mrs. Evans walked away with Dad, I whispered to Mike, “We aren’t supposed to give him snacks, but I give him a piece of cookie now and then. He loves it.”
Mike laughed and whispered back. “I love cookies too. Don’t worry—I’ll slip him a cookie sometimes.”
Mike reached down and took Chip’s leash. Chip watched me with a puzzled look, whining softly. Mike put his arms around Chip’s neck. I saw Chip wag his tail, and his tongue came out and touched Mike’s hand. I knew that he’d agreed to go with Mike. I suddenly felt warm and light inside. I’d done my best, and I had helped someone. It really felt good.
And after Chip had been gone for a month, the very best thing happened! Mrs. Evans came back and handed me a little ball of fur. He looked something like Blacknose. Mother groaned, but there was a smile on her lips. I remembered that Dad had said that maybe this was one of the talents I was born with. If it was, I always had to do my best. Grateful, I took the wriggling puppy in my arms and thought, I’ll have you for a whole year. And a year is a long time!

One day I sat with a handsome, young, prospective missionary as he poured out his sad story through sobs of sorrow, anguish, and remorse. I wanted to cry with him. Pressured by his so-called friends, he found himself at a mixed party where liquor was served. Against everything he knew to be right, he succumbed to the taunts and jeers of all those present, became drunk, and before the evening was over, lost his virtue.

Unable to resist the peer pressure he faced, his resolution to stay chaste being dissipated by the circumstances he found himself in, he had seen his lifelong dream of a mission and a temple marriage change to a nightmare—and now he felt ashamed, unclean, unworthy.

“Have I forfeited my opportunity for a mission, for marriage in the temple?” he asked. “How can my Father in Heaven forgive me for what I have done? I wish the earth would open up and swallow me!” My heart ached for him.

Almost overriding my sympathy for him was the anger I felt toward those who had led him down that “primrose path,” seemingly oblivious to the pain they had caused, listening to Satan’s siren song that chastity is outdated.

The full force of his actions was obvious to my tearful friend, who understood, at last, the reality of Alma’s words: “Wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.)

In the jungles of Indonesia dwells a tiny member of the deer family called a mouse deer. Its Indonesian name is Kancil (CAN-chill). Because it is so tiny—no higher than two or three feet—and because it provides a delicious snack for such jungle inhabitants as the tiger, crocodile, or panther, it has to rely on its intelligence to outsmart these large predators in order to survive.
One afternoon while ambling down a jungle trail to the river Ciliwong (CHEE-lee-wong) to quench her thirst, Kancil overheard two crocodiles talking quietly together.
“Wait here, my darling,” Buaya (crocodile) whispered with clacking jaws. “When Kancil comes down to drink, I’ll grab her and we’ll share a tender snack. Just wait and see how I trick her.”
Buaya’s girl friend floated on the Ciliwong, her beady eyes and nostrils barely above the water. She was terribly hungry and could hardly wait for her snack.
Buaya waddled up onto the shore, tucked his feet under him, and hid his long tale-telling snout with the razor-sharp teeth underneath a pile of rotting leaves. He was sure he looked like a fallen tree trunk.
No sooner was he settled than Kancil stepped daintily into view, her large eyes rolling from left to right, her short tail trembling nervously.
Buaya’s mouth watered, and he worked even harder at looking like an uprooted tree.
“Oh, my!” Kancil called out loud. “That tree must have fallen down during the night. It wasn’t here yesterday!”
“Let’s see now …” Kancil said, pondering. “If you really are a dead tree, turn around. But if you are a crocodile, lie still!”
At her first words Buaya started to move, then he realized his mistake. Too late! Kancil quickly retreated into the jungle, while Buaya’s girl friend laughed. “Fooled by a dumb mouse deer,” she sneered. “I’m going to find myself another boyfriend!” She dived into the river and Buaya never saw her again.

Insight Number Two
In 1982 Brother Crabtree had a heart attack. Open-heart surgery followed—five bypasses! A week after he was out of the hospital he insisted that his wife drive him out to the project. When she wasn’t looking, he climbed aboard a D-8 Caterpillar tractor and took off through the trees. He was gone for forty-five frantic minutes. He returned smiling and said everything seemed to be in place.

In closing, I share an experience of a dear friend who served as a stake president of a neighboring stake: One year we had a regional training for stake presidents with Elder Quentin L. Cook. Me and my dear friend both arrived early for the meeting. We were very excited about this training with Elder Cook. As we waited for our meeting to start, somehow, we got into a discussion of how we were called as stake presidents. He told me the Lord revealed to him that he was going to be stake president while he was still serving as a bishop. He told his family about these promptings. Well, eventually there was a reorganization of the stake presidency, but he wasn’t called. He was a bit perplexed and wondered why he had received those promptings. Later on, as he was serving as the ward Young Men president, there was another change in the stake presidency. And again, he had those same promptings that he was going to be stake president. But this time, he reluctantly told his wife about the promptings, and she was the only person he told. A ward Young Men president normally did not get an interview with the General Authority assigned to seek the Lord’s will on who will be the next stake president. But there was a mix up in the paperwork and they accidentally scheduled an interview for my friend. The General Authority told the then stake president that it was okay and that they would still give my friend an interview. Well, this time he was called as stake president. He told me it was a tender mercy from the Lord, because the Lord knew Him. The Lord knew that he needed time. He needed time to digest things. The Lord was mindful of him personally as the Lord prepared this great brother to serve as stake president.

The Lord’s promptings and revelations may not always come in the time or in the way that we expect. But, if we are worthy they always come in the best time and in the best way for us because our Heavenly Father is all knowing and all powerful, but most importantly, His divine love is perfect and pure.

Nearly eight years ago, on a sunny October morning, I was attending an early meeting with our student team when a FaceTime call came through on my coworker’s phone. It was unusual for her to receive a call like that during a meeting, so she let it ring. But when the phone rang again, she excused herself to answer it. After a moment, she turned to me and said, “Yes, she’s right here.” Then, looking at me, she added, “Jen, you’re going to want to step out to take this call.”

I took the phone, feeling confused, and stepped outside. On the other end, I heard the familiar voice of a colleague. Gently and with compassion, he told me that Cary, my husband, had been in an accident on the Archer/Lyman Highway and that the ambulance was on its way.

I quickly left the meeting. My team kindly gathered my things and walked me to my car. In a logical moment, I decided I should drive myself, so I’d have my own vehicle. So, my dear friend and colleague offered to go with me in her car. We left the Kimball parking lot and headed south toward the temple.

When she turned into the temple parking lot, I wondered, Why are we stopping here? Then I thought, Oh, right. We should say a prayer. What a perfect place to do that. I noticed she was on the phone, so I stepped out of my car to join her. That’s when I realized my hands and legs began to tremble. I knew then that it would be best for her to drive, so I left my car in the temple parking lot.

After finishing her call, she told me that Cary was now in the ambulance, headed to the hospital in Idaho Falls, so we should go directly there. Before leaving, we paused and said a prayer together, and I felt a rush of calmness and clarity settle over me. On the drive to Idaho Falls, I made a few phone calls to family to let them know of the situation, but I really had no information or details to share. Despite the distance to the hospital, the drive went by quickly.

When we arrived, I rushed into the ER only to be handed a stack of paperwork that had to be completed before I could see Cary. I filled it out calmly; the needed information came quickly to my mind. I was anxious to be by his side. When I finally saw him, our eyes met, and he said, “I can’t move or feel anything.” That was when I began to understand the severity of the accident.

It was a miracle that he was alive and coherent—and I was so grateful—but we still didn’t know the full extent of his injuries. While we waited, a family friend and nephew gave Cary a priesthood blessing. That moment brought me great peace. I knew God was aware of Cary and would be with us in the hours and days ahead.

Soon, the neurologist came in with the awaited test results. Cary had no internal injuries, which was truly miraculous, but he had a chipped tooth, a broken rib, minor lacerations on his head and leg, and a shattered C4 vertebra. His spinal cord was bruised but not severed. Surgery would be needed to repair his broken neck. The neurosurgeon on call that day was confident, despite the complexity, that he could perform the procedure in just a few hours. Cary was stable.

Soon after the plan was presented and the proper authorization was given, Cary was moved to a room in the ICU as he waited for his surgery time. My heart wanted to speed up the clock. The sooner his surgery started, the sooner he would be OK. The nurses began to prep him, then the surgery team came to wheel him away. I remember feeling left all alone in that hospital room, hoping, wishing, praying that he would survive the surgery, and he would come back to me. I could not lose him—not now, not ever!

The next few hours of his surgery gave me time to talk to my Heavenly Father. I shared the worries of my heart. I pleaded for understanding: “Why Cary?,” “Why Now?,” “Why us?”

Our family had been obedient to gospel teachings and commandments. Our oldest son, Logan, had just been married to his sweetheart in the temple six weeks earlier. Our other son, Kaden, had left to serve a mission in Mexico City just one week prior. We were faithfully serving in our Church callings. My list went on and on.

What would happen next? Would Cary’s body heal? Would he have movement and functionality? Would he ever walk again? The uncertainty was overwhelming.

In my grief and pleading, the Lord began to calm my troubled heart. I started to feel the tender mercies and prayers of others give me peace. I was lifted and sustained with the thought that sometimes accidents just happen.

When the surgery was over, they brought Cary back to his room in the ICU. The doctor explained that his surgery was successful.

He was wearing a neck brace, had a tube down his throat, and had oxygen tubes in his nose to allow better breathing, as it was very difficult for him to do this on his own. Pillows were placed under all his limbs to provide comfort and protection since he couldn’t move. A towel was rolled up and positioned next to his head for support and alignment.

So much was going on around us, but in that moment, I felt hope. Hope in his ability to recover.

Evening came quickly, as I was completely absorbed in the steady rhythm of nurses, techs, and custodial staff coming in and out, all providing critical care. I was watching monitors, adjusting sensors, and learning intently what to watch for and how to keep him comfortable. Eventually, the lights dimmed, and the calmness of night settled in.

Cary was awake and was trying to communicate with me, but he couldn’t move or speak due to the breathing tube. He could blink and make some guttural noises.

I tried to guess what he was saying or needed. “Is it your head? Your legs? You need your nose scratched?” I was guessing all the little things he couldn’t do for himself. It was the hardest communication we had ever experienced—what a mess!

I started spelling out words. I began reciting the alphabet aloud: “A … B … C … D … E … F … G … H … I … J … K …”

He blinked and made a sound. “K?” I asked. He blinked again. Yes, that was right. I wrote it down and started guessing words with “K” with none being right.

So, I began again: “A … B … C … D …”

When I reached “I,” he blinked again. I wrote it down. “Kick? Kit?” I looked around the room for something that might help me guess—still nothing.

One more time: “A … B … C …” All the way through, I was watching his eyes. “P … Q … R … S …”

Another blink. I wrote it down and I looked at my paper: K, I, S.

“Kiss!” I exclaimed. “You want me to kiss you?”

I suddenly felt sheepish that it had taken me so long to figure out something so simple yet so far from my thoughts. But in that tiny, tender moment, I felt his worry—not for himself, but for me. He was trying to comfort me.

My eyes instantly filled with tears. I longed to embrace him, but I couldn’t. So, what do you think I did? You’re absolutely right—I leaned over that hospital bed rail and kissed every little space on his face that wasn’t covered by a bandage, monitor, tubing, or brace.

In that moment, the Spirit comforted my soul. I knew Cary was of sound mind. He was 100% with me. My miracle man was still by my side, and I knew that together we would face this trial.

Cary’s recovery journey was filled with unknowns. Each day brought new information and new steps forward. He worked tirelessly, moment by moment, pushing his body and brain to remember what they once knew how to do. When he was accepted into a remarkable rehabilitation center in Colorado, we treated each day as a sacred gift. We did our best to recognize the daily blessings, focus on the positives, and move forward with unyielding determination as Cary spent his days working with five to six different therapists. The schedule was demanding. His body was exhausted. Our family was separated. But we pressed on with faith.

During this time, we often found ourselves wondering, Does “Thy will” match the desires of our hearts? What if the righteous desires for Cary to walk again, to be highly functional, and to possibly make a full recovery are not God’s will for us?

This spiritual wrestle—aligning our hopes with His will—became a constant theme in our prayers. It was a plea offered not only by us, but by our family, friends, ward and stake members, coworkers, temple patrons, the missionaries serving alongside our son in the MTC, and the countless others who knew of Cary’s situation.

I can testify of the peace that comes when we choose faith over fear and our hearts surrender to God’s will. Fear is “what if?” Faith is “even if.”

Our first two children were beautiful little girls. During my third pregnancy, a critical situation developed. It was soon recognized to be life-threatening. Medical experts advised us that there were two alternatives—my probable death, or therapeutic abortion of the child growing within me. The Holy Ghost testified there was no option—I would continue to carry our unborn child. Others in similar situations may well receive a different witness from him. This was personal revelation and was accepted. Anguishing months followed, months of pleading with the Lord that those near to me would have the same conviction, months of applying the power of the priesthood through my husband’s administrations. At last a healthy child was born—our first and only son. My life was spared. This is background for the incident that I feel prompted to share with you this evening.

It occurred when this most treasured, little son was nearly three years old. One day, suddenly and without warning, he stopped breathing and fell to the floor, apparently lifeless. My husband was not home, and I called my ten-year-old daughter, Nancy, to get help as I carried him to the bedroom. As I worked to revive him, I literally, cried out unto the Lord. I begged him to spare our only son. I promised that I would dedicate myself to training him up to be an instrument in the hands of God if he would be spared. The police arrived with their emergency equipment. I continued in fervent, vocal prayer to the Lord, petitioning him to restore our little boy. The doctor arrived. Just as a stimulant was to be injected directly into his heart as a final emergency measure, he cried. My prayers had been answered, but I was to receive further testimony of this in a most unexpected way.

The next morning, our son climbed on his daddy’s knee. “I was sitting on the lap of Jesus,” he said. Then he went on, “He looked into my eyes. I was so happy. I wanted to stay there with him, but he told me I had to go back home to you.” Even now, twenty-four years later, our son remembers vividly the reciprocal love he experienced during his brief “step out of time.” He is vigorous and well, living with his lovely wife and a little son of his own as he continues to serve the Lord.

Just as this child, for that one brief moment, knew and felt the love of the Savior, may we, as women of all ages, as daughters of God, as wives, as mothers, as contributing members of society whose identities are being challenged, seek to know him well enough to love him, well enough to serve him. Seek his face. Reciprocate his love. Reflect it to others. Consider this sobering thought as expressed by C. S. Lewis: “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and godesses” (The Weight of Glory, Grand Rapids, Mich: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1965, pp. 14–15.)

Jesus Christ is our Savior, our brother, our friend. He is as near as we allow him to be. Our only ultimate joy and happiness is predicated upon our relationship with him. Our only peace, through disappointments, sorrow, and challenges, will come as we draw nearer unto him. With such love for our Redeemer, every difficult experience may be met with courage, acceptance, and even gratitude. His love for us is a gift beyond price. What does he ask in return? “Love one another; as I have loved you.” (John 13:34.)

To these truths I bear solemn witness, for I know this is God’s church. I know God lives, as does his Beloved Son, our Savior Jesus Christ; and the Lord’s word will go forth this night through his chosen mouthpiece, President Spencer W. Kimball. May we listen to a prophet’s voice, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Oliver Cowdery came to stay at Joseph Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith’s home while he taught school near their farm.
Oliver heard about their son Joseph and the gold plates. He wanted to know more.
Oliver was fascinated to learn how God gave Joseph the power to translate the gold plates.
I want to help with the translation.
Once school is over, I will go and help Joseph.
You should pray and ask the Lord if that is right for you.
That night Oliver prayed and asked the Lord what he should do.
Oliver felt peace when he prayed about helping Joseph translate.
Soon Oliver set out to meet Joseph Smith. He travelled with Joseph’s brother Samuel.
Joseph, I’m here to help. I can be your scribe.
Thank you. I am grateful for your help.
Joseph and Oliver start translating. This experience thrilled Oliver, but he still had questions.
One day, Joseph received a revelation for Oliver reminding him of the answer to his prayer.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”1
I prayed to know if I should come and help you, and I felt peace. No one could have known about this except God.
Oliver knew for sure that the work was true. He and Joseph finished the translation that became the Book of Mormon.

Jackie didn’t like Mrs. Baxter very much.
When Jackie and her friend Tara played in the street, Mrs. Baxter shouted at them to be quiet. She chased Tara’s kitten away with her newspaper. And when Jackie’s Frisbee landed in the grumpy neighbor’s window box, she wouldn’t give the Frisbee back.
So when Jackie and Tara saw Mrs. Baxter come out of the grocery store and something flutter from her open purse, they didn’t run to pick it up for her.
“She’s mean,” Tara said.
“The meanest lady in town!” agreed Jackie. “She wouldn’t even listen when I said I was sorry that the Frisbee broke her flowers.”
They watched Mrs. Baxter put her sack of groceries on the hood of her car and rummage in her purse. She pulled out her keys, unlocked the car, put the groceries in the trunk, and drove away.
“She doesn’t know she dropped anything!” Tara exclaimed, watching the big black car turn the corner.
Jackie ran to see what Mrs. Baxter had dropped. “It’s a five-dollar bill!”
“Too bad for her!” Tara said. “Finders, keepers—losers, weepers!”
“We can’t keep it!” Jackie looked at her friend in surprise. “We saw her drop it. We have to give it back!”
“What about your Frisbee that she kept?” Tara said. “She owes you for a new one! It isn’t stealing!”
“Wellll …” Jackie looked at President Lincoln’s picture on the five-dollar bill. He seemed to be looking back at her. Quickly she stuffed the money into her pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t be stealing if I get a new Frisbee with it. Come on, let’s look for one.”
There was a sports store nearby. The girls squeezed past a display of gleaming bikes and headed toward the Frisbees.
“I wish she’d dropped a five-hundred-dollar bill!” whispered Tara. “Then we could both get new bikes!”
That would really be stealing, Jackie thought. Keeping five dollars is a lot different from keeping five hundred dollars! Or is it? She tried to ignore the tight feeling in her stomach. Of course it wasn’t stealing—Mrs. Baxter owed it to her.
“How about this one?” Tara held up a fluorescent pink Frisbee.
Jackie put her hand in her pocket, twisting the five-dollar bill around her fingers. She thought about President Lincoln. He was known as “Honest Abe.” What would he think of her if she spent the money?
Tara was waiting for her answer. “I’m not getting a Frisbee,” Jackie said. “It’s Mrs. Baxter’s money.”
“Wait—”
Tara tried to say something, but Jackie didn’t listen. She knew that her friend was saying that it was stupid to give the money back.
Hurrying out of the store, Jackie unlocked her bike and rode off. As she turned into her street, she saw Mrs. Baxter climbing the two front steps to her apartment building, struggling to get out her key with one hand while still clutching the grocery sack.
Jackie hesitated. She’ll probably just yell at me, she thought. Maybe Tara’s right.
Mrs. Baxter was inside by the time Jackie set her bike down and walked slowly toward the door. As she passed the window box, she noticed the broken geraniums. They had been propped up on sticks and tied in place with green yarn. Mrs. Baxter may not like children and kittens, but she loves her flowers.
Jackie stared at the doorbell. Slowly she lifted her finger and pushed. Was that thumping sound her heart pounding, or was it Mrs. Baxter’s footsteps? It was Tara running up the path to stand beside her. Jackie smiled at her friend.
The door opened two inches and Mrs. Baxter peered out from behind the security chain. “What do you want?”
“You dropped this by the supermarket.” Jackie held out the five-dollar bill. As she passed it through the gap in the door, Mrs. Baxter grabbed it, then slammed the door.
She didn’t even thank me for returning the money! She’ll probably always chase the kitten and shout at us and keep our Frisbees, Jackie thought.
Jackie still didn’t like Mrs. Baxter. But she liked herself. Mrs. Baxter may not like me, but I’m glad that I returned the money. She was sure that Heavenly Father was pleased with her, too, and that was what mattered.

Lana Fonnesbeck of Bear River City, Utah, won second place in pole bending at the National High School Rodeo Finals. She won the chance to compete when she took first place in the Utah high school finals earlier in the year.
Pole bending is done by riding and weaving a horse between six vertical poles placed in the middle of the rodeo arena. Points are awarded for the time of the run made with no poles knocked over.
Lana competed against 120 contestants from 34 states and 2 provinces of Canada. Lana and her horse, Bullet, finished just seven hundredths of a second behind the winner.
Lana is a member of the National Honor Society. She is a member of the Bear River First Ward, Brigham City Utah North Stake.

Equipped with wheelbarrows, gloves, shovels, trash bags, and plenty of energy, youth from the Salt Lake Holladay South Stake joined with young members of the Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, and Catholic faiths to share similarities and offer service in the community. Braving a light spring drizzle, the group of about 200 teens filled the banks of a nearby river, clearing out weeds, laying fresh soil, and planting new shrubs. Eli Fullmer, a priest from the Holladay 18th Ward, explained how meeting youth of other faiths increased his desire to reach out. “I’m more ready to serve because I feel like I’m friends with everybody.”
By starting the project out with an interfaith worship service, the youth were able to focus on their common beliefs and devotion to God. After rendering service together, the teens participated in a memorial tree planting. They were reminded that they are all children of God. “We’re all similar,” reflected Danielle Chard, a Mia Maid from the Holladay 14th Ward. “We have similar standards. We’re all good people.”

The Fowkes family had been having emergency drills during family home evenings for several years. This training helped them instinctively do the right things when the quake hit. Nathan, 13, who was studying in the library, immediately dove under a table that protected him from being hit by a tall cabinet of books. His younger brother and sister ducked under the kitchen table at home and missed being hit by falling china. just three weeks before the quake, Sister Fowkes had shown her son Kendall, 9, how to turn off the gas, electricity, and water in the house, so he could earn a Cub Scout achievement. This knowledge saved the family from a flooded basement, since the quake caused a water pipe to break.
Ten years earlier the Fowkes had made some other preparations. Following two consecutive dreams about being in an earthquake, Sister Fowkes insisted that her husband string wire in front of the shelves in their fruit room before they left on vacation. Eventually their foresight paid off. While they had over 200 bottles stacked seven shelves high, none were broken.

Luisa Fernanda Espinosa Sachica, a young Colombian woman, had come to the church meeting at the invitation of a young man who worked with her at a bank.

The little ward in Bogota, the nation’s capital, did not really impress her favorably. The Church members were nice, but Luisa just didn’t like the meetings. They were too long, she thought, and there didn’t appear to be anything of interest for people of her age.

But, during Relief Society, the teacher used the June 1987 Liahona, the Church’s Spanish-language magazine. On the cover was a picture of the Savior teaching in the synagogue. In the painting, the Savior had a glow about him that attracted Luisa’s attention. Not wanting to stay, she left the building following Relief Society, but she thought to herself, "I want a copy of that magazine."

Later that week, Luisa was on a crowded bus in Bogota and, as she was getting off, she noticed a copy of that same issue of the Liahona on the dashboard of the bus. She thought that it was quite a coincidence. The next day, as she was shopping, she saw behind the counter another copy of the magazine. She began to think that it was more than a coincidence. She wanted to ask the store clerk about the magazine but couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Then, at the end of the week, while she was working in the bank, a man carrying a copy of the magazine approached her teller’s window. She just had to ask him about getting a copy for herself. "I can’t understand what it is about that magazine," she explained. "It seems to follow me around." The man smiled and gave her his copy.

She took the magazine home and read it all the way through. The First Presidency Message, by President Ezra Taft Benson, was "Valiant in the Testimony of Jesus," and it described Joseph Smith and the First Vision. The more Luisa read, the more her interest grew.

She told some friends, who were members of the Church, that she wanted to meet the missionaries. Before the first discussion was finished, "She bore her testimony to us that the Joseph Smith story was true," said Elder Doug Fulsome, one of the missionaries who taught her. Luisa was eager to hear the rest of the discussions and was soon baptized.

"If the Lord wants someone to be baptized," said Elder Fulsome, "he finds a way. Even if he makes a copy of the Church magazines ‘follow’ them."

“It’s time to go water the flowers,” Mom says.
“Yay!” says Tomoshi. He puts down his toys. It’s time for his favorite job. Twice a week he helps Mom water the flowers at the Church building.
Tomoshi finds his bike helmet. Mom helps him tie his shoes. Now he’s ready to go!
Tomoshi loves riding the bike with Mom. He even has his own special seat. He can see lots of fun things as they pass by.
“Look!” Tomoshi says. He points at a beautiful black butterfly.
“It’s looking for flowers,” Mom says. “It’s one of God’s beautiful creations.”
“Look!” Tomoshi says. He points at some bright flowers growing by the road.
Mom stops the bike. She picks up a flower petal that has fallen. “Here you go,” says Mom.
Tomoshi touches the soft petal. He holds it gently in his hand.
Now Mom is biking again. When will they get to the flowers they will water?
“We’re almost there,” Mom says.
Tomoshi waves at a smiling old man as they ride by. He waves at a girl holding her grandma’s hand.
And he waves at the Church building as they pull up in front. They made it!
Mom unbuckles Tomoshi’s helmet. She hands Tomoshi his yellow hat. He puts it on to help block the sun.
Then Tomoshi helps hold the bright green watering can. Mom fills it up with water.
Now it’s time to water the flowers! Tomoshi waters yellow flowers and blue flowers and pink flowers. He makes sure every plant gets a drink.
“All done!” Tomoshi says.
“Thank you,” Mom says. “You are helping serve Heavenly Father. You help His church look beautiful.”
Tomoshi smiles big. He’s glad he can help.

My mother and I were baptized on 5 October 1997. It was such a great blessing for me. I had always felt something important was missing in my life, and I could not understand what it was. But while studying the Book of Mormon I felt that this book was true and that the Church was true. This feeling grew stronger and stronger. My faith grew too. I read the Book of Mormon every day. When the missionaries came to visit us, they asked my mother and me if we had asked the Lord if the Book of Mormon was true. I told them I did not have any doubts about the Book of Mormon. My feelings about the book were strong from the minute I started to read.
Julia Martynova,Obukhovsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia South District

Right before I left for my mission to southern Brazil, Grandma attended stake conference with me. Afterward we held a small testimony meeting with family and friends. To my surprise, Grandma wanted to say something.
“Ever since Leonardo joined your church, my family started becoming a real family,” she said. She then listed ways our entire family had grown closer: We now spent time together. We started saying “I love you” to each other, when we never had before. The fighting and arguing stopped. Real friendships developed among all of us. We had more to eat and were blessed with abundance in other areas.
I had noticed these changes too, but I hadn’t realized the timing could be linked back to when I was baptized.
“I may not be a member of your church,” she said, “but I am a friend of your church. And I know our family has been blessed because of Leonardo’s choice.”
I could hardly believe it! And yet, as Grandma spoke of how our family had grown closer, I suddenly remembered the photo the missionaries had shown me years before. Back then, I thought my only way to have a happy family was with my future family.
But I was wrong. My current family was happy! We had grown to love each other.

I had gained a testimony of the goodness of one seed of faith, but I had yet to see it grow to fruition (see Alma 32:35–36), and I had not yet received a confirming witness of other gospel principles. My trial of faith was not yet over.
Not long after I was baptized and confirmed, doubts crept into my mind. I felt conflicted between the very personal experience I had had when deciding to get baptized and my old logic, which did not accept faith-based knowledge.
Soon I again felt the haunting feelings of confusion and sorrow, and I did not know what to believe. Nevertheless, I had made a commitment, and I determined to remain active in the Church and apply the principles I had been taught until the trial of my faith resolved my conflict one way or another.
The Lord did not leave me to wander alone. I was given a calling to serve with the missionaries, and as we went proselytizing each week, the missionaries continued to shepherd me. My home teachers were faithful. My home teaching companion was prompt and consistent. Many ward members developed friendships with me by involving me in their lives, inviting me into their homes for dinners and for family home evenings. They prayed with and for me. The bishop and his family cared for and encouraged me. I could sense the honest intentions of their hearts, and that strengthened my resolve.
One day, some months later, it dawned on me that every time I read the Book of Mormon, I felt a subtle, familiar feeling of peace, much as I had felt during the discussions and baptismal invitations. I had a sudden moment of clarity: this was the Spirit. As I thought the words—“If this is the Spirit, then this book must be true”—that subtle feeling swelled in my heart, and my faith turned to spiritual knowledge of that principle.

Last spring Mom and Dad went into town for a little while. Since I had turned twelve, they let me baby-sit my two younger sisters and baby brother. Everything went fine, but when they got home, Mom was feeling sick.
That night there was a stake Young Women and mothers’ dinner and the General Young Women Meeting broadcast from Salt Lake City. I really wanted to go to it, but with Mom’s being sick, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to.
Mom lay down to rest for an hour. After she got up, we dyed some Easter eggs, and then she told me to get ready to go to the meeting. She said I could wear my new Easter dress. She still wasn’t feeling great, but we were going!
At the church, we ate a really good dinner of lasagna and salad, with brownies for dessert. After dinner, Mom said that she had a bad headache, but we went into the chapel with everyone else to watch the broadcast. During the broadcast she started to get really sick and told me that she needed to go home. She asked me if I wanted to stay and see all of the meeting, saying that I could get a ride home with a friend. I said, “Yes.” But I got a feeling inside me, and a voice said, “Go home with your mom, or she will crash.” Another voice said, “Don’t go—she’ll be fine.” I couldn’t decide which voice to listen to.
Mom sat there a few more minutes, then again said that she was going home and asked if I wanted to stay or go with her. The first voice came again: “Go home with your mom.” This time I listened to it and went with her.
As we left the church, I could see that my mom was getting worse and was very sick. On the highway going home, she could barely drive and told me, “Talk to me, Kendra, and tell me that we are going to get home.” I talked and talked and kept reassuring her that we would get home. We did.
I made the right choice to get us home safely. My dad helped my mom into bed; then we had family prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for getting us home safely and asked Him to help Mom get better.
That night I had a bad dream. I dreamed that if I had not gone home with Mom, she would have been hurt in a wreck.
I’m grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost and that I was faithful enough to listen to His promptings to go home with Mom.

At BYU-Hawaii I was standing outside a religion class in the hallway and a student came out of his Book of Mormon class and said: “I hate that class.” I asked him “why, is it the teacher?” He said no, and then explained: “I can’t stand to read the Book of Mormon and to continue to live my life the way I am living it.” Sometimes reading the Book of Mormon is like a two-edged sword—you are either soothed and settled by the sweetness of the Lord’s spirit, or cut in the heart, for, as Nephi taught, “the guilty [take] the truth to be hard.”[45]

“When I was 18, as I was preparing to serve a mission, my bishop called me to teach the Sunbeams. I had never before learned to love others more than myself until I had served those children in such a simple assignment. …

“One day I invited Mike to come to church and sit in my class. Mike was my age but had stopped attending church completely by the time he was 12. … Once in a while Mike would accept my invitations to come to an activity. It always surprised me when he did, so I kept inviting him.

“At that time, Mike had long, black hair and a beard. His complexion was dark and pleasant. I don’t remember when I invited him to my Primary class, but one day he showed up.

“Class, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mike,” is how I began my lesson. “He is visiting us today.”
Read the rest of “The Visitor,” by Ken Merrell, in the May 2000 New Era.