Gospel Story Finder

One night I went with my friends to a youth activity at the local ice rink. Around and around we went on the cold, slippery ice. I was feeling pretty confident and carefree, and I was glad I had gone to the activity.
My mind wandered as I glided along—this was my mistake! It only took one regrettable second for my feet to twist together like a pretzel, and down I went, smashing my face into the ice. Embarrassed, I collected myself and headed for the side of the rink to assess the damage. I quickly realized that my two front teeth were dangling by the roots.
My ward family stepped into place. Brother Kearns called my parents, but by the time they arrived, my ward family was already making arrangements. Brother Bryson comforted me as he helped me into the car to go see a dentist. It felt just like my family had been with me the whole time. They had taken care of everything, and my mom and dad were grateful.

The two stakes selected several historic sites, significant during the Revolutionary War in eastern Pennsylvania, to visit as part of the group’s activities. But the visits had a purpose. As a service project, the youth conference offered 200 pairs of eyes and 200 hands to write down the information from the tombstones of an old cemetery. A complete index of the cemetery did not exist. The Warwick Presbyterian Church in Neshaminy, Pennsylvania, was used as a temporary hospital by George Washington’s troops. Many graves in the adjoining cemetery date from Revolutionary War times.
Some of the youth were more dedicated than others to doing a good job of recording the information from their assigned rows. Yet everyone seemed to take the opportunity to think about the people who once lived here. Of course, knowing about modern-day temple work gave an added luster to the hot chore of sitting in the sun trying to decipher weathered epitaphs.
“I liked working at the cemetery,” said Doug McMinn of the Wilmington Delaware Ward. “It was a neat thing that the names might be sent to the temple. Wouldn’t it be great to do a baptism for one of those names? That would be cool.”
Doug’s comment started a group of friends talking about the cemetery. Stacey Hollinghaus of the Wilmington Delaware West Ward looked a little sad when she said, “I found one that died on Christmas. It made me think about the family and how hard it must have been for them.”
Bill Ide of the Wilmington Delaware Ward remembered one tombstone he recorded, “Yes, and I had one that died right before his birthday.”
The gap between 20th-century teens and those who died to establish a new country was closing. Suddenly a service project took on a greater significance. For one morning, people who lived and died a long time ago became real. Present-day youth recognized their obligation to those who had gone before.

His testimony also became independent. Although he had been brought up in the Church, Jo had gone through a less-active stage earlier in life. He drifted in with the wrong crowd and did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned to the Church.
“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)
At the end of his first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop came to visit Jo and offered to take him for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through it, I was reminded of Joseph Smith’s first vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”
Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.

One day Heber J. Grant was playing marbles with some friends when a bookkeeper from the bank walked by.
Friend 1: That man makes a lot of money.
Heber: How much?
Friend 1: As much as you would earn polishing 120 pairs of boots every single day.
Heber knew he wanted to be able to make a living when he was older.
Heber: Someday I’ll be a bookkeeper at the bank too!
Friend 2: You’d better learn how to write. Your writing looks like lightning struck the ink bottle.
Friend 1: It’s worse than hen tracks!
Heber worked on his handwriting until it was beautiful.
To earn money, he wrote greeting cards, wedding cards, and legal documents. He was offered a large amount of money to be a professional penman in the state of California, but he didn’t take the job.
Eventually, Heber reached his goal of working at the bank. He also became a penmanship teacher at a university.

A mother of a son with special needs says: “When we moved to a new ward, I called the bishop to see if there was a class for Adam. I called back several times, but no one ever contacted me. My visiting teachers and home teachers began to ask why we weren’t attending. Again we asked if someone could help us with our problem. But as time went on and no one responded, we began to drift away from the Church. My husband and I were divorced, and I began to go to another church because they had a class each Sunday for special children. Anyone of any faith was welcome.”

Fortunately, this good woman later met and married a man who was contacted by the missionaries and joined the Church. The family moved to a new area where the leaders responded to the needs of the son, and the whole family has now been sealed in the temple.

Sometimes we are afraid of the difficulties we may face in striving to keep certain commandments. After Aaron put a ring on my finger (in June 1993), he left to go to China to study Mandarin for a semester. He was to come home 7 days before we got married on December 15. During our long distance engagement, we wrote letters that helped us get to know each other’s philosophies and feelings on certain things to prepare us for our marriage, like where we want to live and raise our children, how many kids we want to have and foremost when or how soon we want to have children. Because infertility is prominent in our family, I had this deep fear that I might not be able to have children of my own. When Aaron expressed how he wanted to wait for a little while before having children when we got married, I felt strongly that I had to tell him how I felt. We decided that we would pray and fast about it and write our answers and feelings in a letter and mail it to each other. I felt strongly about not waiting and so I wrote Aaron these very words, “If I’m not ready for motherhood, I’m not ready for marriage.” I feared this response would have a negative effect on Aaron especially if he strongly felt that we should wait. When I received Aaron’s response, I was overcome with joy that we both got the same answer “to not wait to have children after marriage.” It turns out that the reason he wanted to wait was to give us more time together since we were apart for our whole engagement, and not because he did not want kids right away. We decided that if the Lord wanted us to have kids right away, we would not hinder him from giving us that blessing.

I know that as we try our best to keep His commandments, he will guide and bless us in ways we can’t comprehend. Despite our efforts to have children right away, the
Lord’s timetable allowed us time together for 2½ years later before our first child came. I want to think that God recognized our need to grow in love and understanding as a couple before kids came. Or He probably knew that if we had kids before I graduated, I would easily and happily have given up school to care for my children. I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who knows me personally and understands my every need and the desires of my heart. As the Apostle John said, “There is no fear in love but perfect love casteth out fear” (1 John 4:18).

The day I married Aaron was one of the most peaceful days of my life as I felt Heavenly Fathers love and approval. My love for him cast out any fear of the unknown future. Whatever the future brought, he and I would face it together.

In 1872, a baby boy was born to a Shoshone family on the Fort Washakie Reservation in Wyoming. His father, Onda-Bow-Low-See, was a scout for the United States Cavalry, which meant his family often traveled by stagecoach.
One day, while on a bumpy stagecoach, the young boy lost his balance. He fell under a wheel and his leg was severely crushed, causing a deep injury. Knowing his son needed serious attention, Onda-Bow-Low-See turned to his parents: Anka-dewy-itse and his wife, Tza-gah.
The boy and his grandparents set off traveling west through a snowy pass. The boy lay on a horse-pulled sled made of deer hide. As they traveled, his leg swelled and became infected. After a long journey, they arrived at their sacred healing place, Baa-da-see (now Cache Valley, Utah) on the Shoshone “Holy Hill.” The boy was exhausted, and his grandparents set up camp under a teepee, staying by his side and praying for him for several days. Each morning, they awoke hoping the boy would recover.
Then one morning, at dawn, the boy heard a voice calling him: “Arise!” To his amazement, he stood and walked. The pain in his leg was gone. When his grandfather Anka-dewy-itse saw the boy standing alive and well, he gratefully proclaimed, “Our Damma Appa [Heavenly Father] has healed you!” Although healed, the boy had a slight limp and was renamed “Nee-a-ma-ah,” meaning “leaning to one side.”

When I was 12, I had pretty much the worst Christmas ever. I missed two weeks of school with strep and mono. When Christmas break came, I was still tired and sore. I barely had strength to get out of bed, and my brain felt so drained that I couldn’t even read a book.
Finally Christmas Day came, but I was so sick that I didn’t even want to get up to open gifts. My parents realized there must be something seriously wrong, so they took me to the hospital. There I learned that on top of everything else, I had type 1 diabetes.
My body felt weak, my mind was cloudy, and my emotions jumped from feeling bad for myself to frustration to not caring about anything. But after several confusing, miserable days, a large group of visitors came to see me—parents and siblings, grandparents from both sides, aunts and uncles and cousins.
There was a spirit in that room unlike anything I’d ever felt, a sure feeling of God’s love through the ministering angels he’d sent to comfort me. I knew then that I could cope with this trial. I learned that even when everything seems to be going wrong, even when all my expectations for the holidays were turned upside-down, one thing will always be right: I will always know how much I am loved. And that gives me strength to deal with whatever challenges life sends my way.
Alex H., Oregon, USA

“Why do we have to come so early?” Ashley grumbled as she and her parents and brothers sat down in the chapel. Mom and Dad wanted the family to be at church a whole 15 minutes before sacrament meeting started! She’d barely had time to eat breakfast and brush her teeth before it was time to go.
“I like to watch people as they come in,” Mom said.
Ashley noticed Mom looking at the people as they walked into the chapel.
“What are you looking for?” She glanced at the Mendez family as they walked in, but she didn’t notice anything different from usual.
Mom’s gaze moved from one person to the next. “I’m trying to see who might need some extra love.”
“How can you tell?” Ashley asked.
“I notice if anyone seems sad,” said Mom. “Or worried.”
“But how do you know?”
“I look at their faces, especially their eyes,” Mom said. “People’s eyes often show their true feelings.”
“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” Ashley paid closer attention to the people around the room. Mom was right! Some ward members had eyes that seemed a little sad. Sister Henderson looked like she’d been crying. Brother Henderson wasn’t there. Ashley remembered her parents saying that he was very sick with cancer.
Mom wrote down some names in a notebook she kept in her purse. Then the prelude music started, and she put away the notebook.
Later that day Ashley found Mom writing cards. “Are those for the people we saw at church?”
Mom looked up from her writing and nodded. “This is just my little way of helping others. We can’t always take away their problems, but we can try to help. A card shows that someone cares. It’s like an extra dose of love.”
An extra dose of love. Ashley liked that! “How can you know everyone who needs a card?”
“I can’t,” said Mom. “That’s why I pray first. I ask Heavenly Father for His help.”
“Does He tell you who needs a card?” Ashley asked.
“Sometimes I keep thinking about a person. That’s one of the ways the Holy Ghost can speak to us.” Mom signed the card she’d been writing. “I don’t know all the problems people have. Only Heavenly Father knows that. But I want to help where I can.”
Ashley remembered that Mom had wanted a box of cards and stamps for her last birthday. Now Ashley knew why.
That night Mom put a stack of stamped cards on the counter, ready for tomorrow’s mail.
“How many did you write?” Ashley asked.
Mom smiled. “Eight today. I may write a few more during the week as I think of people.”
Ashley thought of her friend Janine, whose parents were getting divorced. Janine was really upset about it and had been crying after school. “Can I use one of your cards?” Ashley asked. “I want to send one to Janine. Maybe it’ll help her feel better.”
“Of course you can.”
Ashley searched through Mom’s box of cards and picked one with bluebirds on it. She found a pen and started to write. “Dear Janine. …”

Annette swung her blue vinyl scripture carrier back and forth as she ran down the sidewalk and leaped up the steps of the church. Even though she couldn’t read yet, she had wanted her own scriptures, and today she was bringing them to Primary for the first time. “Look, Sister Harris! Look what I got for my birthday!” she said excitedly, waving her scriptures.
“That’s great! We’ll be using them in Sharing Time today,” Sister Harris said, smiling.
Annette watched curiously as Sister Harris carried a big blue dishpan of water, some building blocks, and various other things into the classroom. Annette couldn’t wait for Primary to begin.
“Today,” said Sister Harris, “we are going to learn about some Book of Mormon people called the Jaredites. They lived in a place called Babel. Wicked people there thought that they could get to heaven by building a high tower instead of by keeping the commandments.”
Sister Harris placed a red block on a green one, then added blue and yellow ones to make a tower. “Heavenly Father was angry with what they were doing,” she said, “so He made it so that the people couldn’t understand each other. Voulez-vous m’aider?” she asked, motioning toward the blocks and looking around the room. “Personne ne me comprend?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
All the children giggled. “What are you saying?” Annette asked.
“I was asking if anyone would like to help me build the tower. You couldn’t understand me because I was speaking French,” Sister Harris explained. “That’s like it was in Babel. The people couldn’t understand each other, so they stopped building the tower. The Jaredite family was righteous, though, and Heavenly Father allowed them to keep their language. He told them that He would lead them across the ocean to a promised land.”
Sister Harris picked up a round plastic container with a snap-on lid. It was painted brown to look like a boat.
“The Lord told the brother of Jared exactly how to build eight barges. Each barge, which is a kind of boat, was built to be strong and tight—like this container—and each had a closable hole in the top and bottom so that whichever hole was out of the water could be opened.”
Sister Harris put the container in the pan of water and pushed it under to make big waves go over its top.
Annette looked puzzled. “But how did they see when it was dark?” she asked.
“Good question, Annette,” replied Sister Harris. “They didn’t have electricity like we do, so the Lord told the brother of Jared to think of a plan. The brother of Jared prepared sixteen small clear stones, one for each end of each barge.”
Sister Harris counted to sixteen as she took some tiny rocks out of a box. “The brother of Jared asked the Lord to touch the stones with His finger so that they could give off light. He did as He was asked, and the Jaredites were able to travel safely to the promised land.” She swished her hand in the water until the container reached the other side of the pan, then dried her hands on a towel and picked up her scriptures. “The story about the Jaredites is in the book of Ether, near the end of the Book of Mormon.”
Annette’s teacher helped her carefully turn the pages of her new scriptures till she found the right place. “Now,” she said, “to help you always find the story of the Jaredites, draw a picture of a barge right in your scriptures. Then your mom and dad can read it to you.”
Annette chose several of Sister Harris’s colored pencils. She drew a purple boat, squiggly blue lines for water, and two tiny yellow circles inside the boat for the stones of light. Then she drew a finger so that she would remember that the Lord had touched the stones.
After Primary, Annette hurried to the Relief Society room to find her mother. “Look, Mom,” she said, opening her Book of Mormon right to the picture she had drawn. “I can find the story of the Jaredites all by myself now! Will you read it to me right after dinner, please?”

Previous to my time in college athletics, I worked as a guidance counselor and high school basketball coach. I loved helping young people in their academic and athletic pursuits. One of the wonderful student-athletes I was privileged to counsel and coach was Morgan Bailey. When I first met Morgan, she was a shy ninth grader who was tall but not particularly athletic or skilled. As I started coaching her, it was clear that she had the potential to play the post position and the desire and work ethic to be great.

One of the first skills Morgan and I worked on developing was how to effectively post up and receive all sorts of post entry passes. It is natural to think of receiving as something passive and dismiss its importance. We may envision passively sticking out our arms and letting someone else do the active work of providing us something. But receiving is an action word. And it is a skill that can and should be developed.

Morgan practiced getting to the right spot with her knees bent, her elbows wide, and her hands up to create a big target. She learned how to hold off the defense and confidently call for the ball to communicate to her teammate that she was willing and ready to receive the pass. Morgan struggled to catch the ball at first, which was frustrating to her. But with repetition after repetition, she practiced meeting the pass and seeing the ball into her hands. With consistent and continual practice, Morgan developed the skill of receiving and became a trusted target in the post.

Morgan Bailey, the shy ninth grader who couldn’t receive a pass, went on to play basketball here at BYU, eventually earning West Coast Conference Player of the Year and honorable mention All-America recognition. We have stayed in close touch, and I was thrilled when she told me she was preparing to receive her temple endowment last year. I texted her, asking what she had been learning during her preparation that stood out to her. She responded with the following:

It feels like every talk I’ve read lately and every conversation I have about the gospel is, “Don’t wait; get to the temple.” I’ve learned so much, but something that has stuck out through this whole process is the realization and my testimony that I am a child of God and that I am working to become more like Him so that I can return to His presence one day. The temple is where I need to be, especially in this craziness, to get me a step closer by making sacred covenants and receiving my endowment and the blessings it can bring as I keep those covenants. Through my preparation, I have gained a strong understanding and testimony of God’s plan and the Savior’s Atonement. I have an overwhelming love for our Savior, and I feel His love every day.

Morgan prepared to receive her temple endowment with the same focus and drive that she used in her basketball career. Through study, prayer, and keeping her baptismal covenants, she showed the Lord that she was prepared to receive more. It was a sacred privilege to accompany Morgan to the Provo Utah Temple last fall. My heart was full, knowing how well she had prepared to receive temple ordinances and make further covenants with God.

My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.

I recently visited my optometrist for an annual eye exam. My exam took longer than usual, and afterward he told me that I wasn’t seeing very well out of my right eye. At first, I was bewildered and frustrated. I thought, “These are my eyes! How does he know how I’m seeing?” You would think that I would not need someone else to tell me how I was seeing things out of my own eyes!

But once he informed me of this, the recent headaches and eye strain I had been experiencing came to mind. I could tell that he was right. It had happened so gradually that I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t seeing optimally. My doctor had helped me catch this early, so the fix was fairly easy, and my vision improved in the course of a few weeks. Some light intervention and a new prescription later, and I can see all of you again.

Similarly, as we move through life, the effects of sin and living in a fallen world creep in gradually. Before we realize what has happened, we are working from a disadvantage that we can’t recognize without some self-examination or the intervention of the Spirit, Church leaders, or loving friends and family. The sooner we are made aware that we are wandering from the covenant path, the easier it is to be restored to the path with minimal effort on our part and a lot of grace and mercy through the power and Atonement of Jesus Christ.

She also enjoys going to Young Women camp. “When I’m at Young Women camp, everyone is around me and I can feel the Spirit. It reminds me of when I was baptized.”

When Caroline was at Young Women camp, she bore testimony of the fact that she is a daughter of God, that He has a purpose for her in this life, and that her purpose is to bring joy and love to others. “A lot of people told me how much they loved my testimony.”

One special thing about this particular testimony was that everyone could clearly hear her and understand what she was saying. This made Caroline happy since that is not always the case. Caroline has Down syndrome, and she says it’s common for people to have a hard time understanding everything a person with Down syndrome says.

The Spirit was strong as she bore her testimony, and afterward many people said that hearing Caroline’s testimony was one of the most sacred experiences of their lives. She knew the Spirit clearly confirmed the truth of what she was saying.

After spending her childhood in different locations throughout the United States, Sister Jeannie Anette Dennis thought her dreams had come true when her family moved to Cottonwood Heights, Utah.
“I thought everybody in Utah was a member of the Church and that it was going to be a haven here,” she said.
During her first few days in ninth grade, she was excited to be invited to a party. But a girl who became her best friend warned her that people at the party would be using drugs.
“I learned very quickly that the world is everywhere,” she said. Her testimony and a gospel-centered home, however, kept her strong throughout high school.

How does someone with a degree in recreational therapy and 10 years of experience in the mental health field end up opening a dessert shop selling colorful brownies, blondies, and ice cream?
For Molly Kohrman, the answer is simple. In 2017 she took a 12-week Self-Reliance Services course on how to start and grow your own business. That course gave her the courage to pursue a dream.
“I did pastry school in Washington, D.C., and I went to culinary school in Utah,” she says. “When my stake said they were going to do self-reliance classes, I thought, ‘Maybe I should look into this. I’ve always wanted to have my own business. I’ve done other business classes. It wouldn’t hurt to learn more.’”
The course was different from any other business or pastry class Molly had taken. What made it unique, she says, was the presence of the Holy Ghost and the spirit of camaraderie among course members.
“The business discussions were good and helpful,” she says, “but it was the spiritual side tied into the business discussions that made the biggest difference for me.”
“I went through an inner turmoil,” Molly says. “I wondered if using all of my savings, time, and energy to start a business would really be the best use of my resources when, at the time, I was working in suicide prevention.”
During her first class, Molly and other attendees discussed the Lord’s desire that His Saints be successful and choose a livelihood that brings them joy. She asked the group, “How do you reconcile using the talents you’ve been given for weighty matters versus using your talents for something you just want to do?”
As the group discussed her question, Molly realized that she wouldn’t just be selling brownies. If her business proved successful, she would be employing people, she would have financial resources to donate to worthy causes, and, once her work hours slowed down, she could return to social work as a volunteer.
“It took me until that discussion to really understand. It didn’t sink in until I was in a room full of like-minded people,” she says. “We were all at different stages of the business process and at different stages of life, but the Spirit was there, and it definitely guided our discussion—in every class. I realized that if having my own business was really what I wanted, then Heavenly Father would support me.”
About halfway through her 12-week course, Molly began baking and sharing brownies with the 10 members of her self-reliance group.
“They weren’t mad at all about that, and some of them had really good feedback,” she says. “I started trying different flavors, frostings, and compositions. By the end of the class, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do.”
Molly says it was vital to get together weekly with her group, hold each other accountable for weekly commitments, learn how and whom to ask for help, and direct each other to needed resources.
“During the whole time we were together, I felt blessed and supported by the people in my group,” she says. “The class helped me become aware of all the things I had to figure out.”
After opening her brownie shop in the fall of 2018, Molly quickly discovered that running a business takes more time than she had imagined. But a principle she remembers from her self-reliance class continues to bless her.
“We discussed how we’re going to have extreme demands on our time, but it will make a difference if we set aside time for the Spirit,” she says. “I have found that to be true. If I am suddenly feeling overwhelmed and stressed, I listen to the scriptures or a general conference talk while I’m working alone in the morning, and it eases my mind and gives me peace.”
That sense of peace, coupled with excited, happy, satisfied customers, keeps Molly going—even after long workdays.
“I could not have started this business without Heavenly Father’s help,” she says. “And without the help and support of many other people, it just wouldn’t have been possible. This is such a great opportunity. I’ve wanted to do it for so long.”
And thanks to her self-reliance class, “I’ve been blessed with the chance to try.”

Before sunrise I knew it was going to be one of those days. I hadn’t yet eaten breakfast when I messed up my shoes on some really fresh—and really fragrant—cow manure in Grandpa’s barn. Then one of the oversized eager eaters in the hog pen gave me a pretty good shove causing slop to slop onto my shoes and pants.
After breakfast things went steadily from bad to worse to awful. This was the day Grandpa had selected to have us put “soil sweeteners” on a newly cleared piece of land. I didn’t realize it yet, but Grandpa had just sentenced the four of us—Uncle Lynn, the new hired man, my little brother, and me—to a slow death by asphyxiation.
As we pitched several million tons of really ripe cow manure into the spreader, my brother managed to miss the spreader and “accidentally” hit me with a pitchforkful of the stuff. After slipping and falling several times while shoveling, all I could say to no one in particular was “No 13-year-old boy has ever been this dirty.” I didn’t hear anyone disagree.
Things didn’t get any better as the day went along. After the manure had been shoveled, we had to take the spreader to the sawdust pile and load enough sawdust to cover all of North America. Not so bad, I thought.
Boy, was I wrong. First, my brother nailed me in the back of the neck with a shovelful of sawdust. I nailed him back. He tackled me. I stuffed a handful of sawdust down his shirt. He returned the favor. Over and over we rolled, wrestling like a couple of overgrown kittens.
Cow, pig, and chicken manure on my shoes. Cow manure in the center of my back. Hog slop on my pants and shoes. Chicken manure all down my left side. Sawdust inside my shirt, and enough sweat to give me a nice shine.
Now I’m as dirty as I can get, right? I wish. While we were catching our breath, the hired man decided to tell a really dirty, offensive story.
When he finished, there was this long silence. Nobody laughed. Uncle Lynn was the ward clerk and an innocent, virtuous man. I was a newly ordained deacon who wanted to be like Uncle Lynn. My 11-year-old brother hadn’t even understood. Finally, the hired man said something about guessing his story hadn’t been very funny. He had that part right.
By the end of the day, I was dirtier than I had ever been. Eventually, I took a long shower with lots of soap and shampoo. It felt so good to be clean again. My skin was clean. My hair was clean. Even my fingernails were clean.
But no amount of soap, water, or shampoo would wash the hired man’s lewd story out of my memory. Like an unwanted and unwelcome guest, it had arrived and now it wouldn’t leave.
It’s been decades since I heard that dirty story. I’ve never repeated it. I’ve tried hard to forget it. I know the Lord considers me blameless regarding that story. But every once in a while, it pops into my mind for just an instant, and I discover the uninvited guest still hasn’t gone home.
You see, there are some kinds of dirt which soap can’t reach.

“Mrs. Ramirez, who is that?” Sydney asked, pointing to a girl sitting at a desk. She had never seen this girl in their class.
Mrs. Ramirez smiled. “That’s our new student, Yulia. Yulia just moved here from Ukraine. We’re excited she’s here.”
Sydney looked at Yulia. She looked scared. Sydney knew she would be afraid if she moved to a new country. That would be hard!
Sydney went and sat next to Yulia. Smiling, she said, “Hi. My name is Sydney.”
Yulia timidly smiled back but didn’t say anything. Sydney tried to talk to her, but Yulia just shook her head.
“She doesn’t speak English,” Sydney thought. “She needs help!”
Throughout the day Sydney was Yulia’s buddy. She showed Yulia around the school and helped her with classwork.
At lunch, Sydney asked Yulia, “Do you want to play with me?” She pointed to the playground to help Yulia understand. Yulia smiled and nodded. They played together for all of lunch recess.
Sydney began teaching Yulia lots of English words. She wanted to help Yulia feel more comfortable talking to people. Sometimes it was hard to understand each other, but the two girls soon became good friends.
In class a few weeks later, the girls were drawing a picture together. Sydney drew flowers and insects while Yulia drew grass and trees.
“We made a beautiful garden!” Sydney said when they finished.
Yulia smiled. “Yes, it is pretty. I like to draw.”
Mrs. Ramirez came over to their desks. “What a beautiful picture! I’m glad you two are working together.” She took their drawing and taped it on the class bulletin board. The girls smiled proudly.
One day when Sydney got home from school, her mom said, “Mrs. Ramirez called. She wanted to let you know that Yulia is in the hospital. She is having surgery on her heart tomorrow. She’ll be in the hospital for a while to recover.”
Sydney thought about Yulia the next day during school. She looked at their drawing on the bulletin board. That gave her an idea.
After school, Sydney told her mom, “I want to take Yulia something to cheer her up after her surgery. She liked drawing in class. Maybe we can take her some art supplies.”
“That’s a great idea!” Mom said.
Sydney and her mom bought a drawing pad and some bright crayons. Sydney couldn’t wait to give them to Yulia. A few days later, Sydney and Mom went to the hospital. They found Yulia’s room and knocked on the door.
Yulia’s mom opened it and smiled. “Please come in. Yulia is resting.”
Yulia turned as they entered the room. Her face was pale, and she looked tired. “Hi, Sydney.”
Sydney pulled out the drawing pad and crayons. She shyly set them on the bed next to Yulia. “I thought these might help you feel better.”
Yulia’s eyes lit up. She reached for the crayons. “Thank you! I really like to draw. Can we draw right now?”
“Sure!”
Sydney pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. The two girls laughed and talked together while they colored. Sydney was glad they had come to visit Yulia. When she and her mom left the hospital, Sydney had a warm feeling in her heart. She was glad she had helped make her friend happy.

Kristy had just arrived home from school. She was excited because the missionaries were coming over for dinner. When she walked in the door, her mother called out, “Kristy, I have to run to the store. Your brother is in charge while I’m gone. I love you! I’ll be back soon.”
Kristy didn’t want her older brother watching her. She was ten years old—old enough to watch herself.
She went to her room and did her homework. When she finished, she found her brother. “Can I go ride my bike?”
Her brother looked outside. “No, Kristy, it looks like it’s going to rain.”
Disappointed, she went to her room to read a book. Before long, she heard the phone ring. Her brother called to her, “Kristy, Melissa’s on the phone for you.”
She hurried and picked up the phone. “Hi, Melissa, what are you doing?”
“I just got a new bike. Do you want to go riding with me?”
Kristy was quiet for a moment and then said, “OK. I’ll meet you at the corner.” She sneaked out the back door and rolled her bicycle off the porch and down the driveway.
When she got to the corner, Melissa said, “Let’s play follow the leader!”
They jumped on their bikes and took off. Melissa took the lead, and Kristy followed.
At first, the wind was blowing in their faces, and they were having a great time taking turns being the leader.
Then Kristy started to worry. Melissa was getting farther and farther ahead, and Kristy couldn’t keep up. They were also quite a long way from home, and there was lightning and thunder in the distance. Soon it started to rain. Kristy was getting cold and wet. She called out, “Melissa, stop!”
Melissa crossed an intersection, then stopped and waited for Kristy to catch up. When Kristy was near enough, Melissa yelled to her, “Come on!”
Kristy slowed down. She had a bad feeling inside—sort of a heaviness in her chest. She remembered a family home evening lesson on being obedient to Heavenly Father and to our parents. She knew she should have listened to her brother, like her mother had told her to.
But Kristy also wanted to please her friend. As she approached the busy street, she heard a still, small voice in her mind telling her to stop. She looked at her friend. Again she heard the voice telling her to not cross the street.
As she came to the curb, she pulled on her brakes and skidded to a stop. As soon as she did, a car raced past her.
Kristy started to cry. She knew that if she hadn’t listened to that still, small voice, she would have been hit by that car. She was frightened, and she felt bad. She shouted across the street, “Melissa, we need to get home.”
“I guess you’re right,” Melissa said. When it was safe, she crossed the street. As they turned their bikes around, they were starting to shiver. They rode home as fast as they could. When the two friends reached their street, they said good-bye and rode to their homes.
When Kristy walked in the door, she was soaking wet. Before she changed into dry clothes, she knew she had to apologize to her brother.
Her brother said, “I was worried when I saw that you weren’t here and that your bike was gone. I’m grateful that you listened to the Spirit. And I hope next time you’ll listen to Mom or Dad, or me. We only ask you not to do things because we love you!” He gave her a hug.
“I really am sorry,” Kristy said softly.
“I know, and I forgive you. Now go get cleaned up for dinner.”
After changing her clothes, Kristy knelt by her bed and let Heavenly Father know how thankful she was for Him, for the Holy Ghost, and for saving her life that day. She told Him how sorry she was for not being obedient, and she promised to do better.
She hurried and set the table for her mother. While she was finishing, her parents came home. Kristy sat down with them and told them what had happened.
They each hugged her, thankful that she was safe and that she understood the importance of listening to them and to the Holy Ghost.
The doorbell rang. “The missionaries are here!” her brother called out.
When they were all around the dinner table, Kristy asked if she could say the blessing. As she did, she felt great love for the Savior, and the peace of repentance and of being forgiven filled her heart.

I’d lost my cell phone. No matter how hard I searched my room, I couldn’t find it. I knew this phone was of no worth in the grand scheme of things, but it was still important to me. I decided, “Why should I keep looking? I’ll never find it,” when all of a sudden I felt the need to pray.
I knelt down and prayed for help. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a certain spot in between my bookcase and my bed. It was covered by my blanket, so I moved it. I looked under the bed, and there was my cell phone! I was so relieved.
I suddenly remembered all of the Friend magazine stories I’d read about children thanking their Heavenly Father for helping. So that’s what I did. I thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my cell phone, an earthly item that could have been replaced.