Gospel Story Finder

When I was 12 years old, my bishop said I was the right age to become a deacon. The bishop explained that Heavenly Father shares His power with the Church through the priesthood. If I kept the commandments, I could act for Jesus Christ—passing the sacrament, teaching the gospel, and someday giving priesthood blessings to help people who were ill or sad. I wanted to have the priesthood and become that kind of boy. I said I would come to Sunday meetings, trying very hard not to miss.

Soon I was prepared to become a deacon, and my parents came to my ordination. I remember the next Sunday, when I passed the sacrament for the first time. I was assigned to take the bread up to the bishop and then to the others on the stand. As I was walking up the stairs, the sacrament tray came detached from the handle, and the tray and the bread fell onto the floor. I felt as if everyone in the whole universe was looking at me. The bishop came over, put his arm around me, and whispered, “Let’s just pick up this bread and put it in the tray. Then sit down here until they’re through passing the bread, and you can pass the water.” Luckily, I passed the water without any problems. The bishop’s kindness and warmth helped me not to feel embarrassed. I felt a great love for him and was glad that he was my bishop.

My best friend was born outside in the streets. Her mother was only 14. Following in her mother’s footsteps, she conceived her first child at the age of 13, making her mother a grandmother at age 27. She had her third child by the age of 19. After leaving her third boyfriend, she moved in with her mother, adding her three children to her mother’s six. My friend had the responsibility for nine children under the age of seven before she reached her twentieth birthday. As I looked at my friend’s life, I realized that I wanted something better for myself. I wanted a home and a family. I knew I had to leave the ghetto.

One Sunday my granddaughter Diana, who is four years old, was sitting next to her father at church. Diana sat reverently, enjoying the comfort of her father’s arm holding her close to him. However, when the bishop stood up and announced the sacrament hymn, Diana gently lifted her father’s arm from her shoulder and placed it in his lap. Then she sat up straight and folded her arms. She looked over at her father and encouraged him to do the same.
Diana’s message to her father was perfectly clear. She was telling him to turn his complete attention to the Savior.

I was born in Port Moresby, Papua, New Guinea, the third child in my family. Ours was a poor family. My childhood was not marked by happy occasions such as Christmas and birthday celebrations that most children remember as they grow up. In fact, it was at these times that we were the most unhappy, knowing and seeing how other children were given gifts and treats.
We were poor for the most part because my father spent his small paycheck drinking on weekends. We were always hungry. When my mother tried to make Father see how we were suffering, he would become violently angry and would strike her until she was hurt and sobbing. How hard she tried to defend us children and care for us.
Christmases came and went. It was always the same for us. There was no money for presents and goodies. My sister and I would wake early on Christmas morning to the shouts of excitement from the neighborhood children who had found Christmas presents waiting for them.
Sometimes we children went off to the city dump to find something we could use or play with to comfort us. I longed for something new and shiny, a special gift just meant for me at Christmas.
Our lives began to change spiritually, but financially we were still poor. My childish longing for a real Christmas with presents meant just for me never materialized.
I am a grown young man now. I am fulfilling a mission for the Church. Now I can look back and realize I have been blessed with some very special gifts—not the ones that children open at Christmastime, but gifts that are forever and can be cherished each day of my life.

Meeting the missionaries while breaking into a car might seem a little odd, but that’s exactly what happened to John Clout of the Enoggerra Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake. Actually, he was doing the missionaries a favor—they had locked their keys in the car—and to express their gratitude, they offered to share their message about Jesus Christ with him. After obtaining his parents’ permission, John, along with his sister Aimee, took the discussions.
“It was the night of the third discussion—the restoration of the gospel—that my mother became interested in what the missionaries had to say,” recalls John.
John, Aimee, and his mother were all baptized on Easter Sunday in 1989. John’s dad joined the Church four years later. John is now preparing to go on a mission, so that he might bring the gospel message to others, as two missionaries did to him.
“I have grown considerably since joining the Church,” says John. “The principles and teachings have taught me good standards and morals that have helped me in my youth and for my future.”

The completion of the Kirtland Temple was foundational for the entire Church. It was accompanied by spiritual outpourings, doctrinal revelations, and restoration of essential keys for the continuing establishment of the Church. Like the ancient Apostles on the day of Pentecost, many members experienced marvelous spiritual experiences in connection with the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. But, as in our own lives, this did not mean they wouldn’t face challenges or hardships going forward. Little did these early members know they would be faced with a United States financial crisis—the panic of 1837—that would test their very souls.

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph. He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations. Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him. Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

Abel Seiko was born on Lifou but was living in Nouméa when the missionaries knocked on his door. He and his future wife, Louise, received the discussions for two months and decided to be baptized. However, they faced two serious obstacles. In Melanesia, the tribe is considered an extension of one’s family, and all major decisions must be approved by a person’s parents and tribal chiefs. Abel and Louise had not received permission to marry.
The second problem was perhaps even more difficult. Protestant missionaries from London had come to Lifou in 1842, and Abel’s tribe had been members of that religion ever since. Changing religions was paramount to rejecting the tribe.
Still, Abel had received a testimony. He knew he needed to join the Lord’s Church, and he knew he needed to be married. He gathered his courage and went to Lifou to ask permission of his parents and tribe.
“I first asked permission from my father to marry. He said, ‘No. That is not the custom. You must wait until your oldest brother is married.’
“I said, ‘I can’t wait, because I know I’m not living the law of God, and I want to join the true Church.’
“My father said, ‘I will not give my permission, but you’re free to do as you want. If you decide to marry, I will not go to the wedding.’”
When Abel met with the tribal elders, he felt he was on trial. They told him not to be married or baptized into another church. Abel’s response was that he had received permission from his parents to do as he wished. And he wished to be married and join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That was when the elders asked for a big piece of wood with which to beat him. Fortunately, the high chief arrived before the beating began. “‘No one will be hurt here,’” Abel recalls him saying. “‘But we don’t want another religion in our tribe. If you want to join another religion, you’re out of the tribe.’”
So Abel returned to Nouméa and was married. He and Louise were baptized in 1977. They had a simple marriage, “not like on Lifou,” he says. “There it is very expensive, and everyone must give the couple whatever the chiefs tell him or her to give. Sometimes people must rent their homes or take out bank loans to come up with the money. We did it the way the Church advises—we had a simple ceremony with friends and family.” Abel’s mother attended the wedding, but true to his word, his father stayed away.

We also learned a beautiful lesson about consecration from one of the assistants to the president in our mission. A decision had been made that one of our missionaries needed to be sent home early from his mission. He had been disobedient on several occasions despite counseling, contracts, and repeated warnings. The airplane ticket had been purchased, and the appropriate approvals were obtained from the South America South Area Presidency and the Missionary Department to send this missionary home.

When the assistants brought the missionary in for his final interview, he protested loudly and tearfully that he did not want to go home. He promised to improve and said he would sign yet another contract. In desperation, President Oveson called the two assistants and Sister Oveson into his office and asked the elder to wait outside while the possible courses of action were discussed. Sister Oveson, somewhat out of patience with the situation, believed that sending him home was the only reasonable thing to do. “If he is allowed to stay,” she maintained, “the other missionaries might think that obedience is not important.”

One of the assistants said, “I have to agree with Hermana Oveson. I don’t think we really have a choice.”

When President Oveson asked the other assistant for his opinion, the assistant said, “I see much good in this elder. President, if you will let me go back out into the field, I will take him for my companion for the rest of my mission. I will take responsibility for him and help him to become a loving and obedient missionary.”

We all had tears in our eyes by the time this elder finished his remarks. We could not believe that anyone could be so loving and caring, especially a 20-year-old missionary. The decision was made to do as he requested. He found it exceedingly difficult at first, but slowly his junior companion learned a great deal from him and became a trustworthy missionary. When the senior companion went home, his companion stayed to finish his mission, becoming in time a senior companion and a trainer before he was honorably released. The follow-up to this true experience is that this once-wayward elder has since married and been sealed in the temple. He and his wife now have a son. They are active in the Church and are helping to build the kingdom. What a difference a consecrated, Christlike person made in the life of this missionary and his future family!

When I was six years old, my mother took me to the groundbreaking service for our new chapel in Santa Monica, California. As we arrived, Mother noticed that I had brought the small sand shovel that I usually took on our family outings to the beach. I had hoped that I could help by digging some ground at the chapel site. They let me use my shovel that first day, and my faith was increased because I helped to build a church for our Heavenly Father. My, how good I felt! The seeds of service and faith were planted in my heart. It is my wish to keep that same feeling of faith and desire to serve that I had as a six-year-old child.

While living in Salt Lake City in 1978, my wife, Linda, and I attended a reunion of returned missionaries. At one point, one of the former missionaries enthusiastically reported that his family had been rising early each morning to read the scriptures.
I had heard about people like that. It was all I could do to read the scriptures myself on a regular basis, let alone get the entire family our of bed early each day to read a few verses.
However, Linda and I knew it was something we should do. We realized that such a habit, formed when our family was young, could provide a great foundation for our children.
A few mornings later and a few minutes earlier than usual, we gathered the family to begin reading the Book of Mormon.
We chose the Book of Mormon because of its wonderful stories and plain presentation of gospel principles. It was also the only one of the standard works for which we had a large-type edition for the children. Angela was six years old, Jamie was three, and Dallas was newly born. At first, Jamie and Dallas had poor attendance, but Angela zealously showed up each morning.
About ninety seconds into our first morning, a few things became obvious: We were not going to finish for a very long time. Second, too much reading at one time would make this project miserable for all of us. And third, the children’s joy would come as much from reading to Mom and Dad as from the messages they learned from the Book of Mormon.
Keeping these things in mind, we decided to read one column of one page each day. We would each take a verse, in order, and read it aloud. For Angela, whose reading skills were limited, it usually meant that Linda or I would say one or two words and she would repeat them.
Discussions were prompted by questions from the children or the need for emphasis from Mom and Dad. Many times a short introduction to what was ahead made the reading more exciting. When a great prophet died, we felt sad and talked about it. When we came to a favorite story or favorite prophet, we mentioned it.
From the first, we recognized that reaching the book’s final verse wasn’t the point; the fun was in getting there. We soon lost any feeling of desire to get the book read in a hurry. If it took five years, so what? If the children, or even Mom and Dad, seemed to tire or become distracted, we would not read as much. We could always pick up the next day where we had left off.
We ended each session on our knees in family prayer.
As the weeks became months and the months became years, a miracle unfolded. We saw our children learning to read. Better yet, we saw them becoming acquainted with the prophets, stories, and teachings of the Book of Mormon.
As our family grew older, our children slowly mastered the text. They needed less and less help pronouncing words and names, and they rarely missed a word like Lamanite, even though they sometimes needed help with more common words. That large-type edition was soon passed from Angela to Jamie, from Jamie to Dallas, and then to our latest child, Jill. As the older children received their own copies of the Book of Mormon, their satisfaction grew even greater.
Along the way there were many triumphs. Whenever a child was able to read a whole verse without assistance, the family rewarded the effort with a spontaneous cheer. When we read 3 Nephi, we all sensed a special spirit. The children felt the importance of the verses. We read some of the passages more than once, pausing for discussion. As we read of the Lord’s love for the children and how he blessed them, our children felt that the Book of Mormon was written just for them.
We also had our setbacks. Summer was a hard time for our reading program. While the children had their school holiday, they had no need to get up as early as I did, and we missed many days during these summer months. Still, we had no trouble starting again once school started.
The greatest challenge came in 1983, when we moved. We lived outside of a city, and I commuted an hour each way to work. This meant that I had to leave home every morning before the children woke up.
We solved the problem by switching our scripture reading to evenings, just before bedtime. Reading then required much more discipline. Busy schedules, homework, television, and even Church activities competed for our time. But after a few weeks the routine was established, and we continued on our way.
About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.
We are convinced that the Lord provided a special blessing for our children. They have all learned to be fine readers. The have also learned to love the Book of Mormon. Above all, we are bound together by the knowledge that we have obey the prophet, by the strength we gained from the counsel in the Book of Mormon, and by the love we developed during those minutes every day when each child was the focus of attention and nothing else really mattered.

Somehow I knew that Melissa’s surprise would be chocolate chip cookies. We took them down to Mrs. Palmer’s because she invited us for dinner. She’s our landlady and lives on the main floor, under our apartment. She’s not a member of the Church, even though missionaries have lived in her apartment for many years. She invited Will to come to dinner, too, and we waited and waited, but he never showed up. It was very disappointing, and we felt sorry for Mrs. Palmer because we waited so long that the dinner was cold before we started eating. But Mrs. Palmer felt sorry for us, too, so she let us show her the video that we were going to show to Will. Then the three of us ate all Melissa’s cookies. They were delicious! Please give Melissa a big thank-you hug for me.

When I was 14, my school was across from a Latter-day Saint chapel. I watched men in white shirts going in and out of that big building. I wondered what they were doing inside.
One day my friends and I wanted to play soccer, but there was no more room on our school grounds. Someone said, “Let’s play at the church. They have a nice place outside to play.” That was my first contact with the Church—outside the building.
Two years later one of my brother’s friends invited my sister to go to the LDS Church, and I went along with her. I was excited to finally find out what they were doing inside that church.
When we got there, we saw some members playing a simple game. They looked so happy, and that got my attention. “Why are they so happy?” I wondered.
I found out when I took the missionary discussions and was baptized. Happiness comes from inside. My conversion changed my life, the life of my children, and generations ahead and behind.
Whatever you do outside the teachings of the Church will not bring you happiness. Maybe it will bring you a laugh or a small moment of excitement, but real happiness is within the gospel.
Even if your friends sometimes make fun of you, they will admire you for standing by your principles.
Your parents love you. Whatever they ask you to do is not because they are being hard on you; it is because they want to protect you.
Always be grateful for your parents and for the gospel and the happiness it brings into your life.

I was seven years old, and I didn’t know how to swim, so my mom enrolled me in afternoon swimming lessons with my friend Angie. At the end of each lesson, our teacher would take us out into the center of the pool to practice our strokes. We were always safe in the middle since our teacher supported us under our stomachs and we wore “bubbles” on our backs.
One day Angie and I didn’t have our bubbles on, so we clung to the side of the pool. Angie decided she wanted to try to swim across the corner to the adjacent wall, about four feet (1.2 m) away. I was hesitant at first, but then she dared me. So even though I was scared, I took in as much air as I could and plunged under the water, hoping to reach the other side. Instead of floating with ease as I had done before with my back bubble, I began to sink. I was in a state of panic. I knew I was going to drown. Then I remembered what my teacher had told me a few weeks earlier: “If you lose control while swimming, just stretch one of your arms straight up out of the water, and someone will come help you.”
With this thought in mind, I stretched my arm in the direction I thought was up. I didn’t feel any air. I stretched my arm in every direction, never finding the top. Just then my head bumped against the side of the pool. Angie was there waiting for me. I guess she hadn’t realized I was “drowning.”

Once when I was chosen to be in a play, I had one of the lead roles. I was very excited because it was my first chance to be a lead. One day before one of our performances, I got extremely sick to the point I couldn’t even stand. I managed to go with my mother to see my director, and my mom explained my situation to her. The director told my mother to take me home with my costume and makeup and, if I felt better, to bring me back dressed and ready to go. Meanwhile, the director would try to find a replacement.
After I got home, I asked my father to give me a priesthood blessing. Even though I didn’t feel better immediately, I did 20 minutes later after a good nap, and I was able to go on and perform. After that experience I always ask my dad for a blessing when I need help, and through the years my testimony of priesthood blessings has become stronger.

Illustration by Dave Bardin
The link jumped out at me from the computer screen. My little brother Ethan’s favorite author was coming to our local library in just a few weeks. Ethan would love this! Imagining his excitement, I clicked the link but then sighed. The event was on a school night—and would be in the way of homework and sleep.
My first impulse was to keep the news to myself. I had early-morning seminary the day after the event and would really need the sleep I’d lose if we went. After arguing with myself for several minutes, a prompting to tell Ethan about it won over.
I called out to Ethan, who ran quickly over to me. “Look who’s coming to the library,” I said while pointing at the computer screen.
Ethan let out a gasp and began dancing wildly around the room. “He’s coming to our library?” he asked. Without waiting for my answer, he hurried to ask Mom’s permission to go. Returning only a few moments later with a yes, he asked, “Are you coming too?”
I still hesitated at the thought of a late night and a tough morning. But the eagerness on Ethan’s face made it impossible for me to disappoint him. “OK,” I said and smiled in spite of myself.
He shouted excitedly as he pumped his fist in the air.
Over the next several weeks, Ethan constantly talked about the author event. He kept trying to think of new ways he could talk about it with his friends, and he asked over and over again how many days were left until it happened.
When the day finally came, I followed Ethan into the library. I couldn’t help but smile as he clutched one of the author’s books in his arms. There was a long line of people, and I worried we’d come too late to get a good seat. Luckily, after some shuffling we found a spot where we could watch the author speak from a video projection.
When the author finished, people flooded out of the room to get in line for the book signing. We had to wait another hour to get to the front of the line, but Ethan finally got his book signed.
Once outside, I glanced at my watch and gulped. It was late.
Ethan turned. “He’s the coolest person in the world,” he said, giving me a toothy grin, “but he’s not as awesome as you are.”
His words hit me so unexpectedly that I almost stopped walking out of pure shock. What I received in return for the sleep I gave up was far greater than any sacrifice I’d made. I’d strengthened my relationship with my brother and also gained a new perspective of myself. I walked away from that library glad to have gone and feeling like I was on top of the world.

I have always enjoyed reading the New Era, but not until recently have I realized how much goes into putting it together.
Our seminary visited the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City and went on the floors involved in putting together the magazines. We were amazed at all of the friendly people and all of the time and effort they put into making each issue the best possible.
After seeing all of this effort firsthand, I will always appreciate the New Era and be sure I read it from cover to cover.
Rebecca ClarkMidland, Michigan

We have been promised that as we “run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1), “in the strength of the Lord” we can do all things (Alma 20:4). We can run and not be weary, and walk and not faint as we wait upon the Lord to gain a fuller understanding of our life challenges. I testify that this is so. I bear solemn witness that continuing opportunities to wait upon the Lord have blessed my own life. I am sensitive to making reference to my own life experiences, but I’ll use the excuse of Henry David Thoreau, who said, “I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well” (Walden [1854], I, Economy).

As a young child my life was secure and happy in a home centered in the gospel of Jesus Christ. The pain of the death of my mother when I was seven years old was cushioned by the love of my family. I graduated from Brigham Young University, married in the temple, supported my husband through graduate studies, held Church callings, and had five beautiful children. I was blessed with a wonderful and secure life. I had multiple opportunities to serve.

Then came the test of the depths of my faith. Twelve years ago I found myself a single mother. I felt shock that anything could so disrupt our family, disbelief that divorce could happen to the “perfect family,” fear of the future, and anger. I held my sobbing children in my arms at night, trying to comfort their broken hearts. One of my little daughters carefully hid in her room a white envelope filled with tiny pieces of a photograph of her mother and father, shredded by the hands of a heartbroken child.

After 23 years of marriage and five children, after 14 months of litigation and thousands of dollars in legal fees, I found myself in a Kansas courtroom going through what was abhorrent to me. I was alone in that courtroom. I thought of another who was alone: he who said, “I have . . . trodden the wine-press alone” (D&C 76:107). There are some things that must be done alone.

I was determined that although the adversary had destroyed a marriage, he would not destroy our family. On the wall of our home hung an inscription of the stirring commitment of Old Testament Joshua: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15). I drew my children close in an intimate circle of love. We read scriptures on my big bed, my children like a litter of puppies sprawled across and around each other and me in a casual, happy atmosphere. Our family was strengthened by pillows of faith that cushioned and softened the blows of life with flexibility and resiliency. (See Lynn Clark Scott, “A Time to Heal,” Ensign, April 1989, pp. 56–63.)

President Howard W. Hunter said:
A line from Cervantes’ great classic, Don Quixote, . . . has given me comfort over the years. In that masterpiece, we find the short but very important reminder that where one door closes, another opens. Doors close regularly in our lives, and some of those closings cause genuine pain and heartache. But I do believe that where one such door closes, another opens (and perhaps more than one), with hope and blessings in other areas of our lives that we might not have discovered otherwise. [“The Opening and Closing of Doors,” Ensign, November 1987, pp. 54–59; emphasis in original]

Ten years ago, unsolicited and across many miles, came the invitation to join the faculty in the College of Nursing at Brigham Young University. My first response was no. It would not be possible for me to uproot my children from their childhood home when they had already experienced so much pain. It would not be possible for me to complete my graduate studies, take my comprehensive examinations, pack a household, sell a home, move a family halfway across the country—a single woman with five children—all to be accomplished in a few short weeks.

In turmoil and doubt I went to the temple, seeking the Lord’s guidance, and there came to me the gentle whispering: “Go.” And with that counsel came these reassuring words: “For I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way” (1 Nephi 3:7).

The way was prepared, my graduate studies completed, the house sold, the offer accepted, and the move negotiated. Then came the day when Dean June Leifson unlocked the door to my small corner office in the Kimball Tower. As the door closed behind me and I was alone, I looked out the window to a magnificent view of the Provo Temple: the house of the Lord with the mountains beyond. I fell to my knees with tears of gratitude streaming down my face for the many blessings of a loving Heavenly Father to one of the least of his daughters.

Nearly nine years ago I knelt again with tears in my eyes—this time kneeling across the altar of the Provo Temple with a man who loves the Lord. It is only when we have known the bitter that we may prize the sweet (see 2 Nephi 2:15, Moses 5:11). The philosopher Kahlil Gibran observed, “The cavity created by the suffering through which we go becomes a receptacle for compensating blessings.” I am grateful for the multitude of compensating blessings that have come as I waited upon the Lord. We were sealed in the house of the Lord, bringing together a blended family of 11 children. It seems significant that our first two grandsons were born only hours apart—and we planted two tiny spruce trees in celebration of those births. These two grandsons were baptized this month and are happily preparing to serve missions in only 11 short years! Missions and marriages and more grandchildren have come and keep coming. Our cup runneth over! We are rich in posterity. We anticipate two temple marriages of our last two children in the coming months and will be celebrating the births of three more grandchildren in the coming weeks. There are continuing challenges and opportunities for growth, including the death of a precious daughter, Lucianne, last July—but how blessed our family is.

Another of you wrote, “I love being a mother. I love teaching my children the gospel. I substituted in Relief Society one week and got to give the lesson on family scripture study. This is something close to my heart, something I can’t imagine family life without. After the lesson, a sister came up to me and said, ‘I can’t believe all you do. I don’t have the patience.’ But she sings and takes music lessons. At times I’ve envied people who could sing well or play an instrument, because I love music.
“After my conversation with her I felt that although I had not been blessed with great musical ability, Heavenly Father had blessed me with a love of motherhood and that this indeed was a gift and a talent for which I am grateful.”

Some years ago, a friend of mine was doing some work one morning on his garage roof. He looked down and saw a load of cement being delivered to his nonmember neighbor. He could see that the neighbor could use some help. My friend came down from his roof and, without being asked, carried his own cement finishing tools across the street and began helping with the job. Because he had experience doing cement work, his help turned out to be most welcome. Although the neighbor had expressed a dislike for members of the Church, he showed genuine appreciation for this one by the end of the day. This was the beginning of a long and lasting friendship.

“Saturday,” said David.
“And nothing to do,” sighed his friend Andy.
They sat on the steps and watched Mr. Hickle the postman.
“We could go roller-skating,” said Andy.
“My brother is using my skates,” said David.
“Why don’t we ride our bikes?” Andy suggested.
“Your bike has a flat tire, remember?” David answered.
They sat on the steps and counted the blue cars that passed by.
“We could play catch,” said Andy.
“Some dog ran away with my catcher’s mitt,” grumbled David.
They sat on the steps and counted the red cars that passed by.
Then Freddie walked up the street. “Hi, David! Hi, Andy!” called Freddie.
“What’s that bulge in your shirt?” asked David.
“Nothing,” said Freddie.
“Where are you going, Freddie?” asked Andy.
“Nowhere,” answered Freddie. Then he hurried away.
“What do you think Freddie is hiding?” asked David.
“And where do you think he is going?” asked Andy.
“Let’s follow Freddie. He must be going to do something special,” suggested David.
They followed Freddie.
When Freddie came to a fence, he stopped. It was too high for him to climb. He found a hole and crawled through it.
David and Andy were too big to get through the hole. But they were big enough to climb the fence.
Freddie came to a nice green lawn. He hopped on one foot ten times.
David and Andy hopped on one foot ten times.
Freddie ran to the playground. He slid on the slide. He swung on the swings. Then he went whistling away.
David and Andy slid on the slide. They swung on the swings. They were having a lot of fun.
“David, where did Freddie go?” asked Andy.
“I thought you were watching him,” said David.
“He went that way, I think,” Andy said.
“I think he went that way,” David said, pointing the opposite way.
Suddenly they heard whistling. They followed the music. Sure enough—it was Freddie whistling.
Freddie came to an alley. He stopped. David and Andy hid behind two oak trees. Freddie looked all around, but he didn’t see David and Andy. He went down the alley. David and Andy followed him.
“Where do you think he’s going?” asked Andy.
“He must have a secret. What do you think it is?” asked David.
Andy thought and thought.
“Maybe he’s found some buried treasure, and he doesn’t want anybody to know where it’s hidden.”
“In an alley?” asked David.
“Why not?” answered Andy.
Soon Freddie stopped in front of an old, worn-out box. Slowly he lifted the lid of the box.
David and Andy crept closer and closer.
“What do you think is in the box?” whispered Andy.
“Let’s find out,” David whispered back.
They quietly crept up behind Freddie. Freddie was leaning over the box and looking inside.
“Hi, Freddie!” said both David and Andy.
Freddie slammed the lid down on the box.
“What’s in the box, Freddie?” asked Andy.
“We can keep a secret. Honest,” said David.
“If you promise not to tell, I’ll show you.”
After David and Andy promised, Freddie opened the box. David and Andy looked in and saw five kittens.
“I found them in the alley and put them in this old box. Their mother’s dead,” explained Freddie. He reached inside his shirt and brought out a container of milk.
“So that’s what you had under your shirt,” said David. “Can we help you feed the kittens?”
“Sure, then we can take turns coming to feed them,” replied Freddie.
“Now we’ll have something to do every day,” Andy said happily.