Gospel Story Finder

Kelly and her mom walked up to the church building and looked around. It was beautiful, with palm trees swaying outside. The sign on the building said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”—in three different languages: Malay, Chinese, and English!
Kelly didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. And she had never been to church before. Her mom’s friend, Liza, went to church here. She had invited Kelly and her mom to come with her.
As they went inside, people smiled and said hello. Everyone was so nice. Kelly and Mom followed Liza upstairs to a big room. Liza said it was called a chapel.
Kelly sat down next to Mom and Liza in a row of chairs, and soon church started. She listened to the music. She liked how it made her feel, even though she didn’t know the words.
At the end of the meeting, a woman got up to say a prayer. Kelly looked around as everyone else folded their arms and closed their eyes. She still felt something really good inside. What was it? It felt different than anything she had felt before!
As they left the church later, Kelly told Mom about the feeling she’d had during the prayer.
“Well,” Mom said, “I didn’t feel anything special.”
But Kelly kept thinking about how she’d felt at church. She had liked the prayer. And she had liked hearing about Jesus.
“Can the missionaries teach me?” Kelly asked Mom. “I want to learn more.”
“If that’s what you want to do, that’s fine,” Mom said.
The missionaries taught Kelly how to pray and how to read the scriptures. They taught her about Jesus and how He loves us. Kelly liked what she was learning.
One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge.
“Will you try to pray during the week?” asked Elder Parker.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she had practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She knew she wanted to keep praying every day.

Have you ever stood on a high cliff with your toes on its edge and your back to the abyss below? In rappelling, even though you are securely connected to a system of strong ropes and equipment that can deliver you to safety, standing on the edge is still heart-racing. Stepping backward off the cliff and swinging into thin air requires trust in an anchor secured to an immovable object. It demands trust in the person who will apply tension to the rope as you descend. And although the equipment provides you with some ability to control your descent, you must have confidence that your partner will not allow you to fall.
I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.
Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

I testified that the covenant people of the Lord today indeed are armed with righteousness and with the power of God in great glory. I have witnessed faith, courage, perspective, persistence, and joy that extend far beyond mortal capacity—and that only God could provide.

I witnessed the righteousness and power of God in great glory, received through faithfulness to covenants and ordinances, in the life of a young Church member who was partially paralyzed in a horrific automobile accident. After this individual’s grueling months of recovery and adapting to a new lifestyle with restricted mobility, I met and talked with this stalwart soul. During our conversation I asked, “What has this experience helped you to learn?” The immediate response was, “I am not sad. I am not mad. And everything will be OK.”

I witnessed the righteousness and power of God in great glory, received through faithfulness to covenants and ordinances, in the lives of newly baptized and confirmed members of the Church. These converts were eager to learn and serve, willing but often unsure about how to set aside old habits and strong traditions, and yet joyful to become “fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”

I witnessed the righteousness and power of God in great glory, received through faithfulness to covenants and ordinances, in the lives of a family who cared tenderly for a spouse and parent with a terminal disease. These valiant disciples described times that their family felt all alone—and times they knew the hand of the Lord was lifting and strengthening them. This family expressed sincere gratitude for the difficult mortal experiences that allow us to grow and become more like our Heavenly Father and our Redeemer, Jesus Christ. God succored and blessed this family with the companionship of the Holy Ghost and made their home as sacred a place of refuge as the temple.

I witnessed the righteousness and power of God in great glory, received through faithfulness to covenants and ordinances, in the life of a Church member who experienced the heartache of divorce. This sister’s spiritual and emotional distress was heightened by a sense of unfairness associated with her spouse’s violation of covenants and the breakup of their marriage. She wanted justice and accountability.

As this faithful woman was struggling with all that had happened to her, she studied and pondered the Savior’s Atonement more intently and intensely than ever before in her life. Gradually, a deeper understanding of Christ’s redemptive mission distilled upon her soul—His suffering for our sins and also for our pains, weaknesses, disappointments, and anguish. And she was inspired to ask herself a penetrating question: since the price already has been paid for those sins, would you demand that the price be paid twice? She realized that such a requirement would be neither just nor merciful.

This woman learned that binding herself to the Savior through covenants and ordinances can heal the wounds caused by another person’s unrighteous exercise of moral agency and enabled her to find the capacity to forgive and receive peace, mercy, and love.

One day a fisherman named Kupe, his friend Ngahue, and their families set out in large canoes from a land called Hawaiki. One legend says they were following a giant octopus that had been stealing their fishing bait. After sailing into unknown waters for many weeks, Kupe’s wife sighted what appeared to be a long, low white cloud. She called, “He ao! He ao!” (“A cloud! A cloud!”) Kupe called the land they were nearing Aotearoa, which means Land of the Long White Cloud.
This is the Maori legend of how the Polynesian people first discovered New Zealand about A.D. 900. Kupe and his companions did not remain in Aotearoa, but returned to Hawaiki to tell of their discovery.

All of the Authorities who are here tonight could testify that in the reorganization of stakes they have had remarkable and inspiring experiences. I recall being assigned to reorganize a stake about 40 years ago. The president had suddenly died. The Brethren asked me to go down and speak at the funeral and reorganize the stake. I had never done this before. I was new as a General Authority. I was to be all alone.
When I arrived, I was taken to another town, where I participated in the funeral service. I asked all of the stake officers and the bishops to remain after the service and announced that a reorganization of the stake would take place the next evening.
I asked the mission president to sit with me as I interviewed the brethren, none of whom I knew. We interviewed late into the evening. I soon discovered there were problems in the stake. There were divisive feelings. When we were all through, I said to the mission president, “I am not satisfied. Are there not others?” He said, “I know of only one man whom we have not interviewed. He moved here rather recently on a transfer in his company. He is the second counselor in a bishopric. I do not know him well. He resides in another city.”
I said, “Let’s go see him.” We drove and went to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Here I was, having interviewed all of these brethren and having not found one that I considered worthy to preside and having scheduled the reorganization for the next evening.
We arrived late at the hotel. I called the man; a sleepy voice answered the phone. I said that I wished to see him that evening. I apologized for calling him so late. He said, “I’ve just gone to bed, but I’ll put on my clothes and come.”
He came to the hotel. The conversation that followed was most interesting. He was a graduate of BYU in petroleum geology. He worked for a big oil company. He had served elsewhere in positions of responsibility in the Church. He knew the program of the Church. He had served a mission. He knew the gospel. He was mature in the Church. And the territory for which he was responsible as an employee of the oil company was exactly the same as the territory of the stake. I told him we would telephone him in the morning and excused him.
The mission president went on his way, and I went to bed.
At about three o’clock the next morning I awoke. Doubts began to flood my mind. This man was almost a total stranger to the people of the stake. I got out of bed and got on my knees and pleaded with the Lord for direction. I did not hear a voice, but I had a very distinct impression that said, “I told you who should be stake president. Why do you continue to ask?”
Ashamed of myself for troubling the Lord again, I went to bed and fell asleep. I phoned the man early the next morning and issued to him a call to serve as president of the stake. I asked him to select counselors.
That evening when people gathered for the meeting, there was much speculation as to who would be the stake president, but no one even thought of this man. When I announced his name, people looked at one another for a clue to discovering who he was. I had him come to the stand. I announced his counselors and had them come to the stand.
Even though they did not know him, the people sustained him. Things began to happen in that stake. The people had known for a long time that they needed a stake center, but they had been uncertain and argumentative as to where it should go. He went to work and within 18 months had a beautiful new stake center ready for dedication. He unified the stake. He traveled up and down, meeting the people and extending his love to them. That stake, which had grown tired, came to life and literally bubbled with new enthusiasm. It stands as a shining star in the large constellation of stakes in this Church.

Joseph was most sad and lonely when he was separated from his family for any length of time. How distressed he must have been to so frequently have to hide or live in seclusion for fear mobocrats would take his life. On one occasion, his friends were transferring him to another hiding place when Joseph insisted that they drive past his home. Upon seeing that there were no enemies nearby, Joseph rushed into the house, knelt beside the beds of his children, and uttered a brief prayer for them. He kissed each child and his beloved Emma, then rushed out the door on his way to a new hiding place (E. Cecil McGavin, The Family of Joseph Smith, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1963, page 138).

I recently learned a modern story that parallels this situation from Old Testament times:
A Latter-day Saint couple bought a restaurant that had not previously been highly successful, but they planned changes to put new life into the business. Sunday had been one of the restaurant’s busy days, and some of their acquaintances—including a close friend who had loaned them money to buy the business—urged them to keep it open on Sunday. The couple agonized over whether to close the restaurant on Sunday; after all, it defied good business logic. But they finally decided to close it, follow their own beliefs, and trust in the Lord. The succeeding months saw an immediate increase in sales, and since then the business has steadily and consistently grown.
This couple’s experience, along with the experiences of others, teaches us that the Lord rewards those who obey his commandments. Just as he promised the Israelites of Moses’ day a double amount of manna on the day before the Sabbath (see Ex. 16:29) and a more bountiful harvest during the sixth year to provide for the seventh and eighth years (see Lev. 25:3–7, 20–22), in a modern restaurant, he can increase sales on Friday and Saturday to compensate for—and often exceed—what could have been earned on the Sabbath.

“One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.”

From Christian Olsen family records, in Carter, Our Pioneer Heritage, 15:199.

The tardy bell rang just as I ran through the front door of the seminary building. Quickly, I slid into my seat, the third desk back on the first row, expecting another ordinary day in fifth period and not the memorable experience I was about to have.
“I’d like to welcome you all here today,” our teacher began. He said that every day, but we all knew he meant what he said. He was affectionately known as Brother C., and it was his genuine concern for each of his students that made this class of impatient ninth graders put aside their important conversations and daydreams to listen to him.
“Today we’re going to do something a little different,” he said. “I’ve prepared a special lesson centered around a concept President Kimball taught, and it starts with a very important question.
This should be a good change, I thought. I wonder what this important question is.
“Okay. Here is the question. What is the most important word?”
I sat up with a start. I knew someone was going to say boys, girls or something else ninth graders think about. I heard Brother C. call on someone.
“Kathy, what do you think is the most important word?” he asked.
“Um … um … boys!” she said, as the entire class became swallowed in laughter. Someone had to say that.
“All right, quiet down,” Brother C. said. “Let’s be serious.” Slowly, Tony raised his hand and said he thought families was an important word.
“That’s a good answer. Any other ideas?” questioned Brother C., as he sat down on the corner of his desk. “Let’s hear some response.”
David said, “I think love is the most important word because if we all love each other, then we’re happy.”
I liked his answer, and I was fascinated by the question. The class hour sped by as people were called on to tell what they thought the most important word was. Each time an answer was given, Brother C.’s kind voice said, “That’s a good answer, but it’s not the word I’m looking for.”
We went through what seemed like a thousand words: love, family, scriptures, prayer, faith, Christ, priesthood, prophet, resurrection, temple, and eternity. I began to wonder if there was really an answer. Finally, Brother C. looked at the clock.
“You’ve all given wonderful answers,” he said. “But the word I was looking for encompasses all of the beautiful words you’ve mentioned. The most important word is remember.”
“If you remember,” he said, “you won’t forget to pray. You won’t forget to serve or love. You will remember to read the scriptures. You will not forget your family and friends. You will remember to obey the prophet. You’ll keep in your heart the knowledge that Jesus Christ sacrificed his life for us, and you will love him as he loves you. You will remember why you came to this earth. And you will remember you are sons and daughters of God. You can return home to him if you remember to keep his commandments and live your lives the way he has asked.”
Then he bore his testimony and told us how much he loved us. We knew he did. I felt his love for me when I saw the twinkling smile in his eyes as he came over and shook my hand. I knew he loved me when he asked, “Will you remember?”
I almost told him yes, but just then the bell rang—but I remembered.
Most of the things I learned in seminary haven’t remained as vivid in my mind and heart as that lesson. But that lesson, and that day, I did not forget.
When temptations came, I remembered to get on my knees and pray. When I was discouraged and felt alone, I remembered that families can be forever. And no matter what crisis came, I remembered. I knew my Father in Heaven was near, and I knew he loved me.
But more important than anything else, I remembered who I was and why I was on earth. It kept me trying when I wanted to give up, and it helped me remember things like giving, learning, scriptures, and love.
Now, when I think of those important gospel truths which have become so precious to me, I also remember that day I ran in late to seminary. I am grateful for a caring, loving seminary teacher, and in my mind I see the twinkling smile in his eye as he shakes my hand. I hear him ask me if I remember, and I do. Will you?

It was Little Wind’s unusual compassion and regard for the buffalo that caused his father to give the old four-legged special consideration. A great scaffold was prepared and its body carried on a litter to the sacred burial grounds that stood on the high jagged cliffs above the village. It was the first time such a thing had been done for any but a Sioux in the history of their people.
Little Wind climbed the steep trail in the icy November wind to the top of the butte to pay final tribute to the old buffalo. He watched as the mighty beast was hoisted up onto the scaffold, covered with furs, and secured with rope. Little Wind’s mother and little sister, Night Fawn, along with a few other village women, heaped brambles at the base of the scaffold to keep away wild animals. Then Ten Days Walking and the others left Little Wind alone to express his mourning.
When the sun had made its journey across the heavens, Little Wind turned from the wind-lashed scaffold and descended the darkened mesa to the village below.

In 1841 the Walker family consisting of father, John Walker, the mother, Lydia Adams Holmes Walker, and their ten children, moved to Nauvoo. This faithful family had survived the Haun’s Mill Massacre and the persecution of the Missourians in those terrible days of 1838 and 1839. Now very poor, they arrived in the Mormon capital filled with hope and expectation. Staying with their father’s brother they were introduced to Joseph Smith that first evening. Summer brought chills and fever into the Walker home and left Sister Walker in a helpless condition. Joseph, upon hearing of her delicate health, came with Emma and took this good sister into his own home believing that the change might lead to an improvement in her health. Not content to be away from her children for very long, the still ill Lydia persuaded the Smiths to return her to her home. Placing the bed in a sleigh, covering her with blankets, because now winter had come, she was carefully taken there; and calling her children together, exhorted them never to depart from the truth and to so live that she might meet them “in the world where there will be no more suffering, no more tears of anguish.” Closing her eyes, she died leaving a heavenly smile on her dear face.
Sister Walker’s death left ten motherless children, the youngest not quite two years old. The weight of sorrow seemed to break the health of Brother Walker and soon the family feared that he would die.
Learning of their great distress, Joseph again came to help. He told Brother Walker that unless he went away for a rest he would join his wife and then said, “You have just such a family as I could love. My house shall be their home, for the present, I would advise you to sell your home, place your children with kind friends, and the four eldest shall come to my house and be treated as my own children. And if I find the little ones not content, or not treated right I will bring them home and keep them until you return.”
This was done and Lucy records that frequently the Prophet would loan them his carriage so that they could go visit their brothers and sisters now living in other parts of the city. Then Lydia, just eight years old, got brain fever. Fearing for her life and true to his promise, the Prophet took her into his home where he prayed for her recovery, nursed her as one of his own, only to see her linger a few days and then join her mother in the spirit world. Emma and Joseph accompanied the children as the body of little Lydia was taken to its final resting place. One by one all the remaining children found their way into the Prophet’s home where they remained until he, too, was taken by death. Then their father returned in good health and in due time they accompanied him across the plains. They would never forget the kindness, love and genuine concern Joseph and Emma had shown their family.

There are special weeks for secretaries, pickles, and Boy Scouts among other things, so why not an Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women week?
That was the question posed by youth leaders of the Ogden 49th Ward to adult leaders in the bishop’s youth committee meeting. The answer they received was, “Why not? Now what will you do?”
To open the week a fireside was held on Sunday evening. A local seminary teacher was the featured speaker, and the group enjoyed homemade cookies and punch.
The youths spent Monday with their families, and parents were encouraged to have the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women programs as the theme for family home evening.
Tuesday brought a carnival featuring a dart game, a dunking machine, a water-filled balloon toss, and a balloon bust.
On Wednesday the youth met at the church and cooked a potluck dinner.
On Thursday there were softball games and a weenie roast. In addition, nearly 50 people enjoyed volleyball and a marshmallow roast that evening.
A service project began on Friday and lasted well into Saturday. An elderly couple in the ward had put their home up for sale, and the youth of the ward volunteered to paint it for them. The house was over 100 years old, and the wife had been born there 82 years ago on land once owned by Brigham Young. The house was scraped, washed, and painted by Saturday afternoon.
That evening the successful week was climaxed with a campfire in Ogden Canyon.
The ward plans to make “Busy Week” an annual affair. They received additional support from the Ogden Standard-Examiner, which said the city “would be a better place in which to live if more residents of all ages would take pride in the appearance of their houses, yards and out-buildings. The 49th Ward MIA young people have shown the way.”

When he entered the hospital emergency room he was just another vagrant. His thin, hunched, and sore-ridden body slowly limped forward. His blind eyes stared blankly into a private world of darkness. The offensive smell from his poorly-clothed body was enough to discourage anyone from getting close to him. But, as a doctor, it was my job; so I invited him to come with me.
As I examined him he told me over and over that he was sick and needed help. After describing all of his symptoms he mumbled in rejection, “I don’t have a family or a home where I can sleep or eat.” I felt compassion for him—there were so many just like him. But what could I do?
As I treated him we talked about God. He understood the importance of the teachings of Jesus Christ and the need for them in our lives. However, he expressed difficulty understanding people who say they believe in God but neglect to show concern and compassion for their neighbor. He had acquaintances who claimed belief in God, but when he asked for food they wouldn’t give him any.
The one person who actually offered help was a woman almost as poor as he. She worked hard to help support her family by collecting and selling old clothing and rags. She had invited him to stay with them in her small tin-walled house. It was tiny, there were flies and rodents—but he would be welcome there.
We walked and talked together for three hours. Though his eyes were blinded his heart was not. Most of our conversation was about God. He asked, “Doctor, do you believe in God?” Quickly, I replied, “Yes I do, and you are my brother.” My reply came without thinking. But, as I said it, the words swelled in my heart and I realized that it was true!
As we talked, my love for him grew. I was in awe as I began to understand what it meant to be a brother. I experienced gratitude for the lesson I was learning from one whom, I thought, had nothing to give. I gave him of my time, and a little food, but he gave me understanding.

A student once shared a story with me that effectively illustrated this point about honesty. While he was growing up, his father’s business had failed. By working hard, his father developed a new business that promised eventual returns but provided scant income for the family in the beginning. The student’s mother had gone to work too. This was distressing for the family, especially for the father, but he promised that it would be only for a short time. Within a year, the business had improved enough that the mother was able to quit working. Later the family became quite comfortable.
When my student, a business major, began working for his father, he learned that his parents had paid off all the debts from the earlier business failure, even though the debts had been canceled under bankruptcy laws. His father had begun paying them as soon as he started the new business. This was also one of the reasons his mother had gone to work. When my young friend questioned the wisdom of paying debts that had been legally canceled, his father explained that although he realized many honest people are unable to pay legally canceled debts, he felt his situation might allow him to pay his debts over a long period. His concern over his unpaid obligations forced him and his wife to reexamine their personal commitment to the Lord and to the covenants they had made with him. They felt that morally they owed those debts and that to do anything less than paying them would be stealing. So his father and mother had joined as a team to pay what they felt they owed, and they and their family had been blessed.

As we moved along the line exchanging handshakes and greetings, one slight young woman shyly extended her arm. As I took it, I realized that she had no hand on it or on her other arm. We exchanged smiles and moved along.
I next encountered this young sister after she and her husband were invited to speak as a young couple married within the last eighteen months in the Manila Temple. When she arose to speak, I noticed that in addition to being born without hands, this young woman had an artificial leg. As first she and then her husband spoke, there unfolded a most remarkable story about their lives.
The stake president was her father. Despite what to others may have been a handicap, but what to her must have been only a difficulty, this young sister had completed a full-term proselyting mission. She described in beautiful terms her feelings about going to the Manila Temple to be married. Hers was a talk of such maturity in gospel understanding and humility that it would have been difficult to equal anywhere in the Church. Then her husband stood and told of how he had written to his girlfriend after being in the mission field two months and later toward the end, of how he wanted to marry her in the Manila Temple when he returned home. There were no second thoughts, no change of heart when far removed, but instead, a growing understanding of the meaning and blessing of temple marriage for them both.
As they proudly showed us their baby after conference, and when we considered the splendid achievements of this young husband and wife, we recalled the Savior’s words, “Blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it” (Luke 11:28).

Mark felt a tightness inside as he sat in his class chair. This was the third school that he had attended in the past few years. And although the first day in a new school was always the hardest, something far worse was bothering him: Grandpa was dead. And nobody in his family could explain to Mark what really happens to someone when he dies.
He noticed the girl across the aisle staring at him. What is she looking at? he thought. He felt like making a face at her, but instead he got out his new note book and the worn, mechanical pencil Grandpa had given him.
“I want you to have this, Mark,” Grandpa had said. “It has been with me for many years. I used it to write my best ideas and thoughts in my journal. I’ve had some wonderful adventures while going idea hunting, and I believe you’re ready now to start your own search.”
Oh, Grandpa, Mark had thought, you’re not finished with adventures! And how can I search alone? Don’t leave me, Grandpa. But Mark hadn’t said anything except “Thank you” in a very quiet voice.
But Grandpa’s adventures did stop. One winter afternoon Mark had stood aching and helpless beside a silent grave. Even Grandpa’s pencil in his pocket gave him no comfort.
Mark got through his first day at school by avoiding everyone. After school he walked home alone. Two blocks from his house, someone came up behind him. The girl who had stared at him in class fell into step beside him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Sarah. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
“I live on the corner, down from your house,” she said. “It’s nice to have someone my age on our street. I’m glad that you moved here.” Mark was reluctant at first, but Sarah asked him to do something nearly every day after school. Their favorite pastime was exploring in the forest behind her house. They talked a lot. And their friendship grew.
“Let’s have a picnic,” Sarah suggested one afternoon. “I know a place along the creek where there’s a deep pool full of fish. Do you fish, Mark?”
“I used to,” said Mark, suddenly serious. He hadn’t taken out his fishing pole since Grandpa had become too weak to go with him.
They met early Saturday morning and walked to a nearby pool. “It’s really beautiful here,” Mark said. He almost felt happy.
They baited their hooks and cast into the water.
Very soon Mark’s fishing pole bent double. He stood firmly on his feet and began reeling in a large, speckled trout.
“That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” Sarah cried. As Mark reeled it in, she added, “He must be awfully old to be so big. I bet he’s a grandpa.”
Mark went cold inside. He looked down at the fish. A grandpa. And he was about to send him to his death. He reached down, unhooked the frantic fish, and threw it back into the water.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Sarah.
“I couldn’t let him die. He’s a grandpa.” His eyes filled with tears in spite of his efforts to prevent them.
“Oh, Mark,” said Sarah. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my Grandpa,” choked Mark. “He died last winter. I miss him so much. I don’t understand why he had to leave me. I don’t know where he went or if I’ll ever see him again.”
Sarah reached out and took Mark’s hand. “You will see him again, Mark,” she told him. “I know why he died, and I know where he is.”
Mark looked up at her, startled. “Where?” he whispered. “Where is he?”
“His body is dead,” Sarah explained, “but his spirit lives in the spirit world.” She smiled at Mark. “Did your grandpa believe in Jesus?”
“Yes,” he said. “He did. I don’t know much about Jesus, but Grandpa told me one time that some of his best ideas came from the Bible. Grandpa liked good ideas.”
“Here’s one of Jesus’ teachings,” Sarah said. “‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’” (John 11:25–26.)
“So, you see,” Sarah went on, “only your grandpa’s body died. His spirit is still alive. Someday, because of Jesus, his spirit will come back into his body, and he will be alive again. That’s why Jesus said that He was the resurrection and the life.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” Sarah told him.
“Why?” Mark asked.
“Because my dad died two years ago. At first I thought that I would never be happy again. I missed him so much! I still do, but I’m not sad anymore. My dad believed in Jesus, and so do I. Mom had us memorize that scripture so that we could be comforted.”
“Sarah, will you help me learn that scripture, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Sarah. “I wrote it in my journal on the day that we buried my dad.”
“Grandpa wrote in a journal. He gave me his pencil to write in my own journal, but I haven’t started one yet. Maybe I’ll do it today. Do you have any more good scriptures that I could write down?”
“Lots,” Sarah told him. “In fact, I can give you a whole book of them when we get home. You can use your pencil to underline them right in the book because there will be too many to copy.”
“What book is that?” asked Mark.
“The Book of Mormon,” said Sarah.
Mark looked at her beaming smile and felt a warmth creep into his heart.
“The Book of Mormon,” he repeated. He’d never heard of it before. But if the Book of Mormon helped make Sarah happy, he thought, maybe it can do the same for me.

On the way, there’s a perfect chance to talk about life as a Latter-day Saint.
“I love living in Florida,” says Erin Mitchell, 13, one of three Beehives in the Panama City First Ward. “It hardly ever gets cold. And because it’s a tourist area, we get lots of visitors at church.”
Erin was “born and raised here. I’ve been a member for four years. Baptized April 27.” She rolls off the date like a great anniversary or a birthday, because for her it is both.
“I was in third grade. Our baby-sitter’s son’s friend, Lisa, started talking to me about the Church, and she asked me to go with her. I introduced my mom to her mom, and my mom joined the Church.” That was April 6. Then Erin was baptized. Then her father on June 21, and her brother James on February 25 the following year.
“I’m sure glad Lisa talked to me,” Erin says. “She brought our whole family into the Church.”

When I went to Delaware this summer, my papa and I took his dog Kayla for a walk at a bird sanctuary. We walked so far into the woods that we got lost. We tried for hours to find our way back to the car. We thought we might have to build a shelter and sleep there because it was getting dark. The Holy Ghost prompted Papa to let Kayla off the leash, and she would lead us back to the car. Papa listened, and we found our way out of the woods. I know that if we listen to the Holy Ghost we will be blessed.

Benjamin Ballam is the special spina bifida child of Michael and Laurie Ballam. He has been such a blessing to them and many others. Also spiritually precocious, Benjamin is a constant source of love and reassurance. Having had 17 surgeries, resilient Benjamin knows all about hospitals and doctors. Once, when an overwhelmed attendant became vocally upset—not at Benjamin, but over stressful circumstances—little three-year-old Benjamin exemplified the words of another Benjamin about our need to be childlike and “full of love” (Mosiah 3:19). Little Benjamin reached out, tenderly patted the irritated attendant, and said, “I love you anyway.” A similar episode occurred recently in an Israeli hospital, where little Benjamin, going through a necessary but very painful procedure, used the same loving words to reassure a physician. No wonder, brothers and sisters, in certain moments we feel children are our spiritual superiors.

Sometimes the late summer rains would wash out the dams and leave all the valley dry and the canals all dry. Then the older boys, my brothers, answered the call to rush up to the headwaters of the canal with their teams and scrapers and wagons to haul rocks and brush and gravel to fill up the dam again to divert the water from the river to the farms and homes.
Years later we learned to make the sausage dams. The sausage dam was a long wire mesh filled with rocks to fill the water holes of the river and divert the river water back into the canal.
Nearly all the boys and girls were baptized in that famous old Union Canal.