Gospel Story Finder

November 2024 marked the 50th anniversary of my encounter on Exhibition Road in West London with Benny Latham, at the time a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Latham saw me approaching and felt a strong impulse to ask me a singular question, “Excuse me sir, do you believe in God?” He had never used this approach before; they didn’t seem like his words.
For my part, a young student, hungry and tired at the end of a busy Monday, I had logged this gentleman threatening to interrupt my brisk walk home to food and rest and had determined to walk on by.
But that question! It stopped me dead in my tracks. I had thought about God a certain amount, but nobody had ever asked me so directly as to whether I actually believed. “I don’t know,” was the response of my soul.
At that moment there was a connection between us. He invited me back to see him the following Monday in the church building behind him. And I came.
The missionaries started teaching me about the “Restored Gospel” and I was intrigued, but I resisted with a strong dose of rational skepticism.
At the end of every session, they invited me to pray. Again I resisted. I had never prayed and felt very awkward at the very thought. Eventually, they wore me down – I agreed. They suggested a simple format, and I knelt and voiced a prayer.
And while I grappled for words, I felt a bright effusion of light in my mind. It was something real and profound. I suddenly felt that there were other ways of knowing beyond the limits of human reason. This spiritual experience unlocked my soul to God and all the associated possibilities.
I read the Book of Mormon and the Bible with new eyes and a new heart. One morning I came across a passage that once again penetrated my defences.
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever [suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to him in vain] the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.” (Mosiah 4:16-18)
This spoke to the fact that I was ignoring a beggar who lived on the street on the way to college. I would cross the road to avoid her petition. I told myself it was her fault she was in that position. Suddenly I was convicted as having “no interest in the kingdom of God.” I was determined to change.
A couple of days later, I was confronted in the street by a rough-looking man who asked me for £2.68 - the cost, apparently, of the local night shelter. For a moment, I felt hard-hearted, but then remembered my resolve – I gave him the money, and continued.
Almost immediately, my being was overtaken by a warmth that spread from the centre out through my arms and legs. Again, it was real and profound. I understood from the missionaries that this experience was a confirmation from the Holy Spirit. But of what, exactly? I felt that it was not a reward for being charitable, but a witness that I had read the word of God (in the Book of Mormon) and applied it in my life. I had repented, and that was pleasing to Him.
These three life events have a common root: the influence of the Holy Spirit as a vehicle for God’s grace and love.
The Spirit placed meaningful words in Elder Latham’s mouth, replied to my reaching prayer with deep peace and light, and fired my desire to be transformed by living the doctrine of Christ.
It was later that I read Alma’s address on planting the seed (Alma 32:27-35). He describes the other ways of knowing in these terms – Swell, Enlarge, Enlighten, Delicious – SEED.
He goes on to ask, “Is not this real?[…] Yea” He is saying that there are more ways of knowing just as real as the fruits of thought and reason. To know God we need the full spectrum: thought experiments, soul experiments, and experiments of intention. And not just one-off, but over a lifetime.
Fifty years and counting.

The Smith family needed a home to live in, so Charles began making adobe bricks so that he could build a house. Charles also worked at his trade and was the first watchmaker in Salt Lake City.
Not long after the Smiths were settled in their new home, Charles Edward, who was two years old, fell into a pot of boiling water and was scalded to death. Of the nine children born to Sarah and Charles, only five lived to adulthood.

A young friend named Emily discovered this for herself. Emily did not yet have a testimony of the gospel and was contemplating whether to remain active in the Church or try to find happiness elsewhere. As she searched for answers, she began to notice that the people and families around her who were the happiest were the ones who were active in the Church. After that discovery, she determined that even if she didn’t yet have a complete testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, she wanted to be part of something that helped people to be so happy. The word gospel means “good news,” and, as Emily discovered, the good news is that the gospel can make us very happy.

At an age when many kids are trying to establish their personal independence and want to avoid their parents as much as possible, it’s a little unusual to see that Treasure and Mindy’s parents are their best friends.
“They say we can tell them anything, and no matter what we do, they’ll still love us, even if they don’t love what we did,” says Treasure.
“And I believe that,” says Mindy. “They’ve proven it.” One time Mindy was out with a group of friends who were doing a little mischief in people’s yards. Mindy wasn’t actually involved, but a few hours later a state trooper pulled into their driveway and collected Mindy to go help them clean up.
“My parents told me I shouldn’t have been with those kids, and they were right,” says Mindy. “I got punished, but they hugged me first and told me they loved me. It’s always been like that.”

Another week we had a rough time at church; the children were more restless than they should have been, especially during the sacrament. The next night we talked about the sacrament in family home evening. We discussed its purpose and how we should behave as the sacrament is being passed. I asked the children what they thought about during the sacrament. Our 10-year-old, Sharanne, commented that she thought about the life of Jesus Christ and the words from “The Living Christ.” Nothing more needed to be said.

A former missionary from Africa wrote a senior Church leader, apologising and seeking forgiveness for being offended by his teachings about a certain cultural tradition, which then led him to leave the Church. He humbly expressed: “Sadly, the fact that I took offense 15 years ago has made me pay an extremely heavy price. I lost so much—much more than I ever imagined. I am deeply embarrassed by the harm I may have caused along the way, but above all else I am pleased that I have found my way back.”

The landscape was nothing like she was used to. Hot, dry, and not a snowflake in sight, Texas seemed almost like another planet to Kayli C. For a girl who grew up in Alaska, that’s an understandable reaction.

“In Alaska, during the summer we called our hot weather anything above 50 degrees,” Kayli said. “In Texas it was hard to breathe because it was so humid and hot outside.”

For Kayli, the weather shift from Alaska to Texas was only one change among many. Her dad had just died in an unexpected tragedy, and their mother was unable to care for Kayli and her two younger sisters. At the time, Kayli, now a junior in high school, was 13, and her younger sisters, Jada and Rhianna, were only 10 and 8.

Extended family decided that the best solution would be for the three siblings to move in with their older sister and her husband in Texas.

Even though Jenny, Kayli’s older sister, and Jenny’s husband, Matt, welcomed the three siblings with open arms, this was anything but an easy transition.

First there was the weather. There was also the fact that, to the small-town sisters, the huge schools of Texas were overwhelming.

And then there was this whole practice of attending church …

“I loved growing up in Alaska,” Kayli says. “I loved the snow and cold. I loved going outside. Everything was so pretty. And I loved ice skating, sledding, and all the winter stuff.”

She’s also quick to point out a few other things about life back in Alaska. “My friends and I saw that doing bad things was how you got popular. And to me, being popular was how you became happy. So I wasn’t headed in a good direction.”

One of Kayli’s friends became pregnant. Another got involved with drugs. Some of her other friends started becoming extremely negative all the time.

“I liked living in Alaska,” Kayli says again. “But I really have to wonder where my life would be if I’d stayed there. A lot of my friends in Alaska are not in a good place now.”

One important event in Kayli’s life happened before she was even walking and talking. While Kayli was still very young, her older sister Jenny met the missionaries in college and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After attending one year of college in Alaska, Jenny transferred to BYU–Idaho, where she met her husband, Matt. After graduation, Matt and Jenny moved to Texas.

When they took in the younger siblings, Matt and Jenny had two rules about religion: “The first was that they would attend church with us, as part of the family,” says Jenny. “The second rule was that Matt and I would never require them to be baptized or even to take the missionary lessons. That had to be their own choice.”

So, Kayli started attending church as well as midweek activities. At first, it didn’t really do much for her. “I attended, but I didn’t believe anything,” Kayli says. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

However, she began to notice something unusual. “Every time I went to church or youth activities, I’d be happy.”

After a couple years of noticing this, Kayli was ready to meet a very special friend.

“I met my friend Maddie when we moved to another part of Texas the summer before 10th grade,” Kayli says. “She introduced herself and became such a great example to me.”

Kayli says that Maddie always seems upbeat and joyful, even when times get tough. As their friendship grew, Kayli looked forward to attending Church meetings and activities more.

“Maddie is such a good friend,” Kayli says.

Photographs by Aubrey Stock

Another big influence in Kayli’s life was seminary. Unlike when she first attended church, this time Kayli truly started paying close attention to what was being taught. “The reason why I started paying attention in seminary is that the people around me were really good at answering questions and participating. I wanted to be a part of that.”

The stars were aligning, as they say. Between studying the Book of Mormon in seminary, seeing the gospel bring happiness to her older sister, brother-in-law, and others in the ward, and making some key friendships, Kayli was ready to say yes when Maddie asked if she’d like to take the missionary lessons at her house.

From there, things moved quickly. Kayli and her younger sister—who was asked independently and by a different friend to take the lessons at that friend’s house—decided to be baptized on the same day.

“In Alaska, my happiness came from hanging out with my friends and trying to be popular,” Kayli says. “Now my happiness comes from the gospel. I’ve learned so much from the members here. I’ve learned that happiness and light come through Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.”

Kayli’s testimony of the gospel grew, in large part, with a close study of the Book of Mormon in seminary. These days, the Book of Mormon is still just as important to her as ever. “The Book of Mormon is one of the main things that has been bringing me happiness,” she explains. “It’s changed me so much. I want others to feel that too and have been trying to share it.”

She carries the Book of Mormon with her everywhere she goes, including school. “There are so many things that kids at school do that drive the Spirit away, like using bad language or trying too hard to be popular,” Kayli says. “Keeping a Book of Mormon in my backpack helps me remember my goal: to keep the Spirit and share the positivity that the gospel brings us.”

She doesn’t know if her testimony would have had that chance to grow, though, if it hadn’t been for the faithful examples of Church members around her. “Members of the Church were a part of me being baptized,” she says. “Without their examples and spiritual light, I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything different in them and would have continued not paying attention to anything Church-related.”

Kayli and her siblings have definitely been through some hard times in the past. Yet Kayli has found hope for her future, and it’s a hope she wants to pass on to anybody else struggling through a hard time right now.

“Remember to press forward and keep focusing on the positive side of things,” Kayli says. “And if you’ve lost a loved one, remember that Heavenly Father has a plan for you and for others. We’ll be able to live with our families forever if we do what’s right.”

I was recently going through a really hard time, and I didn’t know what to do, so I prayed for help and guidance. I went to my Young Women class that Sunday, and the lesson that our Young Women president gave was the answer to my prayer. She gave us a piece of paper that read, “Who Am I?” at the top. We had to see how many words we could come up with to describe ourselves. We came up with a few, and then we watched a talk by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and we had to write down more things about ourselves that we’d heard in the talk.
I liked that so much that I came home and wrote this on a poster and hung it on my wall: “Who am I? I am a daughter of God. I am a friend. I am a leader. I am known and loved by my Savior. I am strong. I stand for truth. I am Camryn.” I also wrote that on a piece of paper and hung it in my locker. Whenever I was feeling frustrated about my situation, I just thought about what I had written. I am so grateful for getting an answer to my prayer from that lesson.
Camryn T., Utah, USA

After receiving a call to the Australia Perth Mission, William faced another dilemma—not only would he be giving up his music career, but he learned that very little music of any kind would be permitted on his mission. Two years without music seemed impossible for William, who hadn’t gone a day without music in 15 years. But his testimony of the gospel was now firm, and he trusted in the Lord’s wisdom in sending him to this mission.
Fortunately, William’s mission president recognized his special talent. Over the course of his mission, William had the opportunity to both write and perform music. He says, “I was a missionary first and a musician second.” He performed at special firesides, where investigators were touched by the Spirit and doors were opened for the missionaries. William never regretted the choice he made to accept a call to serve a mission.

Jody had five older brothers and sisters. When Jody was little, being the youngest was fun because she got special attention. But now that Jody was getting bigger, being the youngest sometimes meant being overlooked.
For example, today when Jody came home from school she had lots of exciting things to tell her mother, but Mom was busy in the garage helping Jody’s brother Derek repair his bike. Later, before dinner, Jody’s oldest sister, Lisa, was in the kitchen with Mom. Lisa was helping fix dinner, chatting endlessly about boys. After dinner, Jody’s sister Amber needed help with her math homework. Then it was time for family prayer, and Jody was off to bed.
On days like these, Jody was grateful she had her secret journal friend. That night she wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I wish I could spend more time with Mom. She is always busy with the family, but I wanted to tell her about school today. I got 100 percent on my spelling test, we did gymnastics in P.E., and in art, I made a beautiful flower out of tissue paper. I like my teacher a lot, but I love my mom.
Your friend,
Jody
Jody felt better when she had finished writing. She put the journal next to her bed, said her prayers, and went to sleep.
The next day, when Jody got home from school, her mother wasn’t there. Lisa told her that their sister, Ellen, who shared a room with Jody, had gotten sick and Mom had taken her to the doctor.
When Jody went into her bedroom to drop off her backpack she saw her journal on her pillow. She opened the journal and read the reply from her secret journal friend.
Dear Jody,
Your mom loves you very much too, and wants to spend more time with you. Why don’t you invite her out for ice cream on Friday night? You know how much she likes rainbow sherbet.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
Jody smiled. The ice cream was a good idea. It sounded like fun. But right now Jody was worried about her sister. She wanted to do something to make her feel better.
Jody took out her pencil and wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I am sorry that Ellen is sick. I want to give her my tissue-paper flower, even though I made it for Mom. Do you think Mom would mind?
Your friend,
Jody
Then Jody remembered something else she was feeling bad about and wrote:
P.S. Today in art I got mad at my friend, Sara, because she spilled my paints. I even pulled her hair. Later I told her I was sorry. Will you still be my friend even when I do bad things?
The next day after school Jody found Ellen resting in their bedroom and gave her the brightly colored flower. Ellen’s eyes lit up and she grinned.
“Thanks, Jody,” Ellen said. “It’s really pretty. It makes me feel cheerful just looking at it.”
Jody smiled. Then she sat down on her bed and started reading her journal.
“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.
“I’m reading a message from my secret journal friend,” Jody told her.
“Your secret friend?” Ellen asked. “I think I saw your secret friend writing in your journal today. Do you want me to tell you who it is?”
“No thanks,” Jody responded. She took her journal out to the living room couch so she could be alone. She sat down and read:
Dear Jody,
I’m sure your mother won’t mind you giving away her flower. She will be very proud of you for being such a thoughtful sister.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
(who loves you always, NO MATTER WHAT)
Jody turned to a blank page, thought for a moment, then wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
Ellen liked the flower. I’m glad I gave it to her. Last night I prayed that she would feel better, and now she does!
I used to wonder how Heavenly Father can hear everyone’s prayers when there are so many people in the world, but now I think I know. Because Heavenly Father loves us no matter what, He will always find a way to answer our prayers.
Then Jody wrote in extra big letters:
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
Thanks for being my secret friend and my mother.
Love,
Jody
P.S. Don’t forget—tonight is ice-cream night!

As a boy I dreamed of someday going to the islands of the Pacific. These places came to life for me in books and stories, and through the travels of others.

I doubt very much—no, you never dreamed of coming to the island where I lived as a boy. It was a small farm near a tiny town in Tennessee—surrounded by an enormous ocean of dense, hardwood-covered hills—deep forests on steep inclines that went on forever.

"Out of the way" and "insignificant" were understatements in describing it! It was so isolated that the sound of a passing car or truck motor on the road some distance from our farm house qualified as excitement.

I was one year old and my mom was 23 when my dad died; I never knew him. Seven years later, out of the need for a family circle, we continued to live with my grandparents.

As you might expect, my mother was a great influence in my life. She was a doer—a petite and beautiful woman with drive. She owned a restaurant, had traveled some, and always paid her own way in life. She read to me, laughed with me, and she took me to the Presbyterian Church every Sunday morning. We didn't miss.

Life had become a comfortable routine; you know, secure. I had my own bedroom. I had a horse to travel the farm's acres and sometimes trot into town. And I had a faithful dog that shared my every adventure. Granddad sometimes even let me drive his new, red Farmall tractor. What more could an 8-year-old boy ask for?

. . . Well, there was one thing I wanted in the worse way: I wanted to know something that I had long thought about. Mom didn't have the details and neither did my grandparents. Brother Davis, the minister at the Presbyterian Church couldn't really explain it; and even seemed annoyed—more like frustrated—at my persistence in asking.

So I thought I would turn to someone who did know. I clearly remember offering a prayer on my knees one summer night—a secret prayer—that was different from the rote prayer I had repeated every night since I could remember. The prayer was simply to know how I could see my father some day. It was a simple, but sincere prayer and I continued to ask and think about it. I knew that God was there; I just didn't know if he ever heard me.

I had also been thinking a lot about what it would be like to have a dad. It didn't seem complicated, and I determined that it was awfully important to a boy who had never had one.

Now I share this because exactly a year later, my mom sat me down, looked into my eyes and explained that she was soon to be married; that I was going to have a dad. She couldn't mask her excitement.

Frankly, I was shocked—in awe! I didn't know how to react. How could just thinking about having a dad actually produce that kind of results? Maybe God had considered it to be a prayer, I thought!

Living on my little island ended abruptly. In what seemed like minutes, my instant family was speeding on its way to Detroit, Michigan, 700 miles north, where my new dad worked in Ford Motor Company management.

As the last familiar farms and landmarks flashed past the car windows and then disappeared, so did my huge ocean vanish a few hours later. I felt a kind hopelessness; something akin to mild terror.

I knew things were never to be the same again. The journey that was beginning was filled with uncertainties I couldn't begin to articulate. It was time to add some more requests to my long-standing prayer about knowing my father someday, and then really hope that God would hear it.

The cultural shock was instant. I did not blend in. School confirmed that American English was not spoken in Michigan. It sounded like English, only spoken with lightening speed. After a couple of days in class, I resolved to speak it faster than anyone in the state. I think I came close!

Needless to say, my world had been turned up-side-down, but eventually it became righted. Dad loved baseball and spent years trying to teach me the art of pitching. Mom placed a premium on education. And home became a haven.

And, yes, every Sunday morning Mom and I went to church. Dad was always asked to come, but declined.

One Sunday morning, however, when I was seventeen, mom gathered the magnitude of her southern communications skills and almost pleaded for Dad to go to church with us: "It would mean so much to me, Joseph, if you would come," she said.

Dad opened the phone book, made a call, put on a suit and tie, and unceremoniously announced, "Let's go."

The building was rather plain, but stately. One cornerstone pronounced: A.D. 1928. The other read, Glory to God. A stone panel above the door read, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

We couldn't leave the building that day after the meeting until we shook hands with everyone there; some people twice. It seemed to be a tradition. Some guys with whom I ran track in high school offered slaps on the back, and the man who directed the meeting walked us out to our car.

It turned out that dad was a member of the Church since he was a boy in Tennessee; had left the farm as a teenager to survive the after-effects of the Great Depression, and had become inactive.

After mom and I were baptized, we went to church as a family and it brought her immeasurable happiness. Dad never missed again—ever.

The missionary lessons answered the very questions I had longed and hoped would be answered: who God really was, and, how I might someday see my real father. I consider finding that information, and the gospel, a miracle.

Having a dad come into my life, a great dad, was a wonderful bonus; the catalyst in my finding the gospel.

The most practical principle to me in finding the restored Church was that prayers are answered. That knowledge became increasingly profound while serving a mission, while at BYU, in the process of finding my sweetheart, also in being a father and grand father, during long years of a career, and while serving in the Church. That principle has never been more apparent than now while being with you on this unique campus.

I do not fully understand why the prayer of a little boy who was not a member of the Church, in a place known relatively to a few, was answered. I just know that it was and my entire life was changed. Every day I marvel. And I am still grasping to capture words to thank my Heavenly Father.

“The Joy Is in Becoming” in the June New Era really made an impression on me because I had been questioning some of the new styles. They seemed to look really good on my friends and on models, but something just wasn’t quite right. They looked cheap.
About a week ago I purchased a two-piece bathing suit. It was very pretty, but I didn’t feel comfortable in it. Well, I thought about it, prayed about it, and I knew finally that I was not to own it. I returned it. The article in the New Era helped me a lot; I was afraid to do what I knew was right, and it helped give me courage. From here on in I’m going to try to be a good example of high moral standards.
Debbie ThompsonTustin, California

When I was a very young boy I had pneumonia, and both my lungs filled up with fluid. My father asked me if I wanted a priesthood blessing. I told him I did. I remember asking him to call my uncle to come. When they placed their hands on my head and through the holy Melchizedek Priesthood called down a blessing of heaven, I felt different. I felt something flow into me, and I knew that the priesthood was very real. The doctor had told my mother that I was in very serious condition, but the next morning I felt great. My mother took me back to the doctor, and he checked my lungs. They were completely empty of fluid.

The number 40 was symbolically significant to ancient Hebrews. In scripture it is mentioned 146 times and can represent a long period of time. For example, Moses lived 40 years in Egypt, then 40 years in the wilderness when he led his people out of slavery. The Saviour fasted for 40 days after being tempted by the devil, etc. For the Saints in the Cook Islands, many have indeed waited a long period of time to receive their patriarchal blessings—and in April 2023, 40 members received their blessings. Several miracles were evident around this special week.
Earlier this year, when leaders of the New Zealand Auckland Mission planned to visit the remote island country of the Cook Islands for the district’s semiannual conference, they invited the Auckland New Zealand Harbour Stake patriarch, Steven Stebbings, to join them to provide an opportunity for members there to receive their patriarchal blessings.
Brother Stebbings and his wife, Kathy, who is also his scribe, arrived in the country during a torrential rainstorm. One might have thought that would discourage people from venturing out—it did not. Two young elders happily gave up their car for Brother and Sister Stebbings to use while they were on the island. The missionaries were more than happy to use bikes for the week.
The Saints came in that heavy rain. They came with hearts full of gratitude and excitement for what was about to happen. They came to listen to and feel the love of their Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. They came to learn more about their potential and the blessings the Lord has in store for each of them. The people kept coming—the Spirit was strong, and the Stebbings experienced the sweet joy that comes from serving the Lord.
Brother Stebbings is used to giving about four blessings a week; he anticipated he’d interview and bless 15–20 people, so he was more than surprised that 40 members aged 12–74 came in from the outer islands to Rarotonga to receive their blessing.
Sister Stebbings said they started working early each morning and worked long into the night—and through their exhaustion, the Lord sustained and strengthened them to be able to accomplish all that they did.
The experience began in February 2023 when Elder Doneal White and Sister Claudia White arrived in the Cook Islands to serve a mission where there was no stake patriarch. In an early morning seminary class, they heard that 14 students told their teacher they had not received their patriarchal blessings. Wheels were set in motion and soon thereafter Brother Stebbings was authorised to travel to the Cook Islands to provide the desired blessings.
Elder and Sister White said they had prayed the Stebbings there—to the Cook Islands, and the timing was perfect—with a district conference during that time, and it was school holidays—plus a national youth soccer tournament the following week had brought in two groups of members for the tournament—and they could receive their blessings.
Brother Stebbings said patriarchal blessings are given to worthy members of the Church and contain personal counsel from God. “This blessing is intended to be like a road map that helps guide a person through their life,” he said.
“As a patriarch, I have no blessings to give,” Brother Stebbings said. “When I place my hands upon a person’s head, I receive inspiration and revelation for them by the power of the Holy Spirit, which then becomes their blessing.”
“These blessings are not to be neatly folded away and forgotten, and they’re not to be framed or published,” Brother Stebbings said. “It is to be read, followed and loved, and it will see a person through their darkest nights, and will guide them through all of life’s stages.”

I have just been ordained as a teacher and go to early-morning seminary. A few of us from our youth program attend the same high school. Every day we meet up after seminary and bike to school together. We encourage each other every day to make good choices. When school is over, we all bike home together. I enjoy being around other youth who share my beliefs and hope to one day serve a mission. I know that if I continue to spend time with others who share my beliefs and standards, I will realize this goal. I have a testimony that if you choose your friends wisely, they will encourage you to choose the right.
Darhys S., New Zealand

The New Era is a great comfort to me. I am a convert to the Church, and I have learned many wonderful things this past year just by reading this great magazine! I go to a Catholic school, and I have to take a course in religion. In this class I was assigned to give an oral report from a magazine or book on “My Personal Happiness.” I chose the article “The Business of Being” in the July 1983 issue of the New Era. Elder Cuthbert really knows the meaning of maturity. When I gave that report, I know that the Spirit was with me. He helped me to touch the hearts of many in my class, and I am grateful for that. By the way, I got an A!
Linda VillaromanSan Francisco, California

It was hot—too hot to do anything but think about how to get cool. The grass-hoppers were popping from spot to spot like sprinkles on a hot griddle, and the grass along the roadside was singed brittle and brown.
Papa liked the hot weather. He said it was good for the crops.
“I think I’ll just walk down to the field and listen to the corn grow,” he announced after breakfast. “Anyone want to come along?”
“Not me,” I said. “It’s too hot.”
“Me neither,” Ed agreed.
“What are you going to do, hon?” he asked Mama.
“As long as it’s miserable anyway, I figure I might as well do a hot job and get it over with,” she said. “I’m going to make apple butter from the windfalls the kids picked up last night. I’ll save my resting time for a day when I can enjoy it.”
“Do you ever have any resting time?” Papa wanted to know.
“Not much,” she answered. “‘A man works from sun to sun, but women’s work is never done.’”
Then turning to me, she said, “Dora, if you’ll just wash the bottles for me, you can go play when you’re through.”
Washing the bottles was a nice sloshy job in the sudsy water and usually good to cool me off, but today the effort left me sticky and uncomfortable. I sat down under a tree and leaned against the rough bark. How I longed for a nice drink of cool water. The drinking water in the barrel got warm so fast in hot weather that it was no use to try to keep it cool. I looked up idly at our water tank. The water was always cool after the windmill pumped it from deep in the ground. If I climb up the ladder with a cup, I mused, I could have my drink. But I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to lie in the shade of the tank with a little trickle of cool water running into my mouth. If I had a long, thin tube, I thought, I could siphon it out and do just that. I could even let it drip over me and cool me off. But I’ve never seen a small one like I need. What can I makeone with? Straw? Not big enough, probably, and not long enough, either, unless I slide one length inside the other.
“I know,” I almost shouted. “Onion stems!” There were long, hollow ones in the garden holding up the fat white blooms, tapered just enough that the top of one would slide into the bottom of the next one. It would take a lot of stems to reach all the way to the top of the tank, but we had a big onion patch.
I forgot how hot I was and ran to make my long green pipe. Then I climbed with it to the top of the tank. I had separated it a few links short of the top and sucked up enough water to start the siphon action when I accidentally let the long piece fall to the ground. That meant another trip down the ladder to get it and one up to connect it again. By the time my refreshing onion-flavored drink was flowing, I was nearly melted with the heat. I lay under the tank and let the water drip over me and into my mouth. What luxury! A little breeze danced by and already I felt cooler. I didn’t want to move—ever—just lie there and guide the end of the hose around to cool me off.
I drizzled water over me until my hair had shrunk into corkscrew curls and my clothes were damp. I was cool as a cucumber. I guess I smelled a little like a pickle too. Whenever I’d had enough water for a while, I’d shut it off by tying a knot in the end of the onion stem. Soon this one section was wearing out and I needed to replace it.
“Dora … Dora!” Ed was calling me in his coaxing voice. That usually meant he wanted me to do something for him. I dropped my spigot and walked over to where he was.
“We’re going to go swimming. Do you want to go with us?”
“Nah, I don’t want to.” I started to walk away.
“How come you never want to swim?” he asked.
“I don’t like drowning. That’s why.”
“You’ve never drowned yet,” he reminded me.
“I don’t intend to either,” I told him. “Even if I did go swimming, it wouldn’t be a hundred miles up in the air where you can’t climb out on the ground.”
“Ah, come on, Dora,” he coaxed. “We need you for a lookout so we don’t get caught.”
“What’ll you give me?”
“A pretty bottle. I found one where Papa was digging. Been buried a long time, and it’s purple.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Will you come?”
Why not? I thought. “If it’s as pretty as you say,” I finally agreed.
He pulled a piece of lavender colored glass from his pocket.
“It’s broken,” I said.
“Didn’t say it wasn’t,” he replied. “But just look at the color when the light shines through it.”
He was right. It was beautiful.
It was a long walk to the swimming spot we had found on the other edge of town. I guess it was worth it to the boys, who liked to be sweating hot when they climbed up the side and dropped into the cool water of the tank that stood by the tracks to fill the tenders of the train locomotives when they came by.
All my coolness had evaporated in the heat, and I stood waiting for the boys in the shade below the tank. I was grateful for any breeze that stirred the air to cool me off, and I kicked back the hot sand with my bare feet to see if there was a cooler spot underneath.
“When are you coming down?” I shouted up. I was answered only by loud splashes and playful laughing. They didn’t hear me. They didn’t even hear the mournful wail of the faraway train whistle or my shouts of “Train’s coming!”
They did hear the wild shriek of the brakes, though, as the engine shuddered to a stop. The sudden suspension of splashing in the tank told me that. I knew it was too late for them to climb out now without being caught, so I hid down in the shadows and tried to look invisible.
The engineer jumped out and turned on the spigot to fill the water tender on his train. If he noticed me, he ignored me. Soon he closed the valve, climbed back in the engine, and with a double toot of the whistle was on his way again.
After the train sounds died away, Ed shouted down, “Turn some more water into the tank.”
“What for? Aren’t you wet enough already?” I teased.
“So we can get out. That train drank half the water, and we can’t reach the top.”
“Can’t reach the bottom either,” Frank added.
“Where’s the tap?” I asked, looking around for it. I could only see the one the engineer used to drain the tank.
“I don’t know,” Ed shouted impatiently, “but find it!”
Finally I found another valve. But the tap had been shut off by stronger hands than mine. “I’m not strong enough,” I cried.
“Oh, come on,” Ed encouraged. “Try harder.”
“Why don’t you stand on each other’s shoulders?” I suggested.
“We tried that, and it doesn’t work. We still can’t reach.”
“Climb up the sides then.”
“It’s too slippery,” Ed called.
“Go get Papa,” Frank insisted.
“He’ll be mad,” I reminded him.
“He sure will,” Ed said, reconsidering.
Finally, however, there seemed to be no other solution, so I started off on a run to find Papa.
I was stumbling from fatigue and panting for breath when Mr. Leslie, one of our neighbors, came along on his horse.
“Why, what’s the matter, Dora?” he asked.
“My brothers will drown in the water tank. They can’t get out.”
“The train tank? They shouldn’t be in there.”
“I know they shouldn’t, but they are. They were swimming and the train came along and took most of the water. Now they can’t reach the top to get out and I can’t turn on the tap and they’ll drown.”
“There, there, now calm down. We’ll get them out,” Mr. Leslie said soothingly. “I have my rope right here.” He reached down and pulled me up behind him on the horse, and we loped all the way back to the tank.
“Ed?” I called to the silence that had settled down as we rode up. “Mr. Leslie’s going to turn on the water.”
When the water started running into the tank in a slow trickle, Mr. Leslie climbed up and pulled the boys out one at a time with the rope. When they were all out and scrambling into their clothes, Ed asked Mr. Leslie, “You aren’t going to tell Papa about this, are you?”
“Can’t think of any reason why not,” Mr. Leslie replied.
“ ’Cause he’ll whip us good,” Frank said.
“A little whippin’ never hurt any boy that I know of,” Mr. Leslie teased.
“He’ll never let us go swimming again,” Frank pleaded.
“It’ll save us a lot of trouble if you could just forget this happened,” Ed suggested. “We’re willing to pay by working for you. We’ll both pull weeds for you for half a day.”
“I’ll help too,” I offered.
The next morning when we got up Papa was waiting with a little green willow.
“Somebody needs a whipping,” he said. I couldn’t figure out how he’d heard about swimming in the train tank so soon.
“Come over here,” he directed, and he led us out by our water tank. “Look at that mess.” He pointed to a mire where the cows had sloshed up and down all night in the mud made by my siphon. He picked up the onion hose that had been pulled from the tank.
“Who,” he thundered, “thought of this?”
“I didn’t do it,” Ed said.
“Me neither,” Frank insisted.
“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t Georgie,” Papa said. “Dora, was it you?”
I turned my face down so I wouldn’t have to look at his blazing eyes, and he could tell I was guilty.
“Run along, boys,” he said. “I have some private business with Dora.”
He had to switch me a little so I’d learn my lesson. Then when he was through he said, “That was really a smart way to get a cold drink, but it sure made a mess, didn’t it? Next time remember to turn it off.”
(To be continued.)

Susanna can still remember the good feelings she had when she was baptized. A week before her baptism she had a dream she remembers very clearly. In the dream she saw a huge mountain in front of her and a path that went straight to the top of the mountain. She saw another path that went sideways up the mountain, but it seemed well lit. She chose the sideways path and soon found herself in deep darkness. She had a sad feeling and turned around.
“Sometimes we choose the wrong path,” she says, “but we can always turn around and find the way to Heavenly Father.” Susanna is courageous enough to always find her way!

Valentine’s Day can be a lot of fun. A couple of years ago my wife and I decided that we didn’t need to get Valentine’s gifts for each other. However, on Valentine’s Day I could not resist and bought her a gift as I was going home from work. I slipped it into the house and hid it under her pillow so she would find it as she prepared to go to bed. That night, I watched in anticipation as she moved her pillow and enjoyed her happy surprise at the gift. I then removed my pillow only to find she had hidden a gift for me. What a happy Valentine’s Day!

In late December a chill mist shrouds the bare vines in the predawn darkness. The vineyard is silent except for one section, which is filled with voices and a bright, crackling bonfire. It is Christmas morning, and elsewhere in this valley, people are still warm in their beds or gathered around Christmas trees watching excited children. But not the small group in the vineyard. They have come to give a gift.
To understand the meaning of the gift, you must know that this vineyard in Madera, California, USA, is part of the Church’s welfare production system. Each year it produces about 400,000 pounds (180,000 kg) of raisins. Half of the harvest goes to the shelves of bishops’ storehouses. The rest is used for humanitarian response around the world. Wards and branches from eight stakes are assigned certain tasks to complete and rows of vines to care for.
One crucial task is pruning the vines. The tangle of the past season’s growth must be cut out, leaving just the few canes that will grow to produce the next harvest. Without this dormant-season pruning, the vineyard becomes overgrown. Too many vines overwhelm the roots’ ability to sustain them. Too little fruit is produced, and the harvest is greatly diminished.
Why do this work on Christmas day? Because many of the ward members are fieldworkers by trade, pruning vineyards and orchards for their livelihood. Their work is intensive at this time of year, so this is the only day they have off in several weeks. It’s Christmas—and they spend it here in the Church’s vineyard. In fact, they have come here 8 of the past 15 Christmases. For these members of the Spanish-speaking Madera Third Ward, it is their gift to El Niño—to the Christ child.
One worker, Miguel Chavez, explains that it’s a way of giving something back for all of the blessings they receive from the Lord: “We are giving something to needy families. Our small contribution becomes a great blessing to other people.” Another ward member says simply, “This is the best work we can do because this is God’s vineyard.”
And so, on this particular Christmas day, once these members of the Madera Third Ward finish pruning, wrapping, and tying their assigned vines, they finish parts of two neighboring wards’ rows. It is a gift fit for a King.