Gospel Story Finder

Photograph courtesy of Alessandro E.
Location: Amazonas, Brazil
Experience: Missionary work
Follows promptings of the Holy Ghost. Shows determination and dedication in doing his duty.
This young man did his duty so well that, partly as a result of his service, six people joined the Church, including a couple that got married.
Alessandro E., a newly called deacons quorum president, wanted to increase the number of members in his quorum. He tried to activate some of the deacons but without much success. He tried sharing the gospel with his friends at school but also without success.
So Alessandro sought his mother’s advice. “She said I should fast and pray,” he explains. So he did, and he felt a prompting from the Holy Ghost to go back to one of his friends from school. “This time,” Alessandro says, “he agreed to come to a sacrament meeting.”
Missionaries began teaching the friend, and soon he and his brother were baptized, along with two cousins. The friend’s parents initially showed no interest in the Church, even though they permitted the discussions to take place in their home and approved when their children sought permission to be baptized. But after some discussions and visits they changed their minds. They believed what they were learning, gained their own testimonies, and wanted to become Latter-day Saints. However, before they could join the Church they had to be married first. Soon they were, and soon after that they were baptized.
That was a happy day for many people, including Alessandro. As president of his deacons quorum, he now had brought new members into the quorum and into the ward. He had learned that a good leader seeks counsel from those he trusts, that Heavenly Father answers prayers, and that it is important to follow promptings.

In just a few years, the efforts of the Simarrón family bore great fruit. May 30, 1999, became a day of celebration in Guayacana when a large baptismal service was held. President Intriago recalls, “We arrived with Roberto Garcia, the mission president, and both participated in that glorious day, where on the beaches of the Canandé River, two missionaries baptized 60 people. Then, President Garcia on one side and I on another confirmed as members of the Church all who were baptized. It was a privilege that will never be erased from my life.”

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Saturday morning at the Cooper house
Don’t tell me Matt and Dad are still sleeping. I thought I was the lazy one on Saturdays.
Oh, they’ve already had breakfast and left. They went to see Matt’s new friend, Franco.
He has a new friend already? That’s not fair. I haven’t found any new friends yet. I wish we hadn’t moved!
We’ve only been here a week. Just give it time. You made lots of friends at your old school. You’ll make friends here too.
Remember, if you want to have a friend …
I know, I know. If you want to have a friend, be a friend.
Meanwhile, at Franco’s house …
Hi, I’m Josh Cooper.
I’m Hector Delgado.
Some of these rocks are really cool. What’s this one?
That’s a geode. Lots of them are hollow, and some have awesome crystals inside. My dad says geodes are like some people—not much to look at on the outside, but pretty cool inside.
If they’re like people, are any of these rocks musical?
What do you mean?
Because then we could have a rock concert!

The Monson’s oldest son, Tom, said he hardly ever had free time with his dad during those demanding years in the Canadian Mission (the Monsons had three days in three years when they ate alone as a family, without missionaries or other mission guests). Nevertheless, every night before young Tommy went to bed, he would go upstairs to his father’s office and whatever his dad was doing would be put aside for a game of checkers. “In its own way, that memory is as sweet to me as the one I have of my father flying all the way to Louisville, Kentucky, years later to give me a blessing against the pneumonia I had contracted during my military basic training there,” Tom said.

In one of my stake conference assignments in the Salt Lake Valley, I invited a young deacons quorum president to join me to talk about the keys of the priesthood. I wanted him to understand that he held a very special office that included the keys to preside over a quorum of the priesthood. We talked about the great responsibility it is to hold keys and how special it is to belong to a quorum. At the conclusion of the little presentation, I asked him how many members he had in his quorum. His answer was 14.
Then the question: “How many are active?”
The answer: “12.”
Then I asked, “What about the other two?”
His response was, “I need to get to work and make them an active part of our quorum.”
I asked him how long that would take. He thought maybe three months. I encouraged him in his efforts.
Three months later, almost to the day, I received a letter from him informing me that all the members of his quorum were now active. He said he had befriended them, and one was now attending deacons quorum meetings, and the other had been ordained a teacher by the bishop. I was overwhelmed with his response. What an example of one honoring his priesthood and using priesthood keys to carry out an assignment the Lord has given him to fulfill. I could not help but marvel at the design the Lord has established for the administration of His work here on earth using the powers of the priesthood.

In the Japanese translation of the hymn “Called to Serve” (Hymns, no. 249), the English words onward and forward are translated as susume (pronounced soo-soo-may). That word has significant meaning for me because of something that happened a few years ago when I was a stake president in Fukuoka, Japan.
The President of the Church, Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), was visiting, and I was asked to accompany him. During one meeting, 300 full-time missionaries gathered to listen to the prophet. The Holy Spirit filled the chapel, and many of us shed tears of joy. We sang “Called to Serve” in Japanese, repeating over and over again susume, susume. President Hinckley asked the mission president, seated next to him, “What does susume mean?”
“It means ‘go forward,’” the mission president replied.
The meeting was wonderful. President Hinckley encouraged and motivated the missionaries. Afterward, he waved to them in farewell and left the building. As he got into my car to go back to the hotel, he said one word to me, in Japanese: “Susume!”
That word became a motto for me: “Go forward! Be positive! Face the future with faith!” It is the same message given to the youth of the Church in the concluding section of For the Strength of Youth. After reviewing the blessings that come from obedience to the Lord’s standards, in a section titled “Go Forward with Faith,” it says: “As you do these things, the Lord will make much more out of your life than you can by yourself. He will increase your opportunities, expand your vision, and strengthen you. He will give you the help you need to meet your trials and challenges. You will gain a stronger testimony and find true joy as you come to know your Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, and feel Their love for you” ([2011], 43).

After completing a full-time mission in the Brazil São Paulo North Mission, Elder Koch studied statistics at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, USA. “On a trip back to Brazil, I visited the ward of a friend, where I met my future wife,” said Elder Koch. “She walked up to me and asked me if I was married.” After an eight-month, long-distance courtship—and only 15 actual days together—he married Liliane Michele Ludwig on April 26, 1988, in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. They have two children.

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
I was left half-blind when a truck knocked me off my bike. A little over four years later, during the Christmas season in 2011, I felt prompted to ask a brother I had known in a previous ward for a priesthood blessing. I saw this brother only from time to time, so I didn’t understand why I should ask him. I knew there were other worthy priesthood holders I could ask instead.
In the weeks that followed, the feeling that I needed a blessing became stronger. I was serving as a temple worker in the Frankfurt Germany Temple, so I decided to ask one of the brethren there for a blessing.
After I made this decision, the brother I had been impressed to ask entered the temple. I immediately knew this wasn’t a coincidence—Heavenly Father wanted me to ask this brother specifically. I worked up my courage and asked to talk with him after his session. He agreed.
Later, I explained that I didn’t know why, but I felt I needed a blessing from him. He said he would be happy to help. He invited another brother into the room and then began giving me a blessing. As he finished, I was confused. The blessing was nice, but there was nothing particularly special about it.
Then I opened my eyes.
When I opened my eyes, I could see the whole room almost clearly. I couldn’t believe it! I asked the brother if he knew why he was the one who needed to give me this blessing. His response humbled me.
“I don’t think this blessing was only for you,” he said. “It was for me too. I’m giving my niece a blessing tomorrow because she is getting baptized. Our family is not active in the Church, and she is the first family member to be baptized in almost 20 years. Many in our family will attend the baptism, and I wasn’t sure my faith was strong enough to give the blessing. Now I know I can do it.”
In the days that followed, my vision improved enough that I no longer needed my white cane. I wrapped it and gave it as a Christmas gift to this brother along with a letter. “I know this is not the staff of Moses,” I wrote, “but I hope it reminds you of the priesthood power that you hold.”
Heavenly Father loves us and delights to bless us. This blessing at Christmas not only restored my sight but also gave a humble priesthood holder confidence in his priesthood service.

Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father,” (Hymns no. 139) and it was published in modified form in the Primary songbook.

She seemed to know instinctively that selfishness never led to happiness. I remember one summer being eager to give a birthday present to a young boy whom I babysat regularly. My mother didn’t give me a lecture on resources. Instead, we walked down to Main Street, where she purchased thirty-five cents’ worth of white broadcloth.
I helped tend my little brother as I watched her cut out a shirt with sleeves, interfacings, and a collar. After she carefully sewed the shirt together, she put on buttons from a worn-out shirt and made carefully hand-stitched buttonholes. The process seemed to take forever, but the new shirt was pressed and wrapped in time for the birthday, I remember the wonderful feeling I had as I presented the gift to the young neighbor. My mother’s gift to me was her time and effort and her support of my own desire to give.

Jeff stood in his room, admiring his newest first place archery trophy. It was the third one he had won this year. He was thinking about how much he enjoyed archery—it had no pushing or shoving, like football did, and no need to be a good jumper or runner, like in basketball. There was just quiet practice until you were good at hitting the bull’s-eye.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his mother coming down the hall. “Jason and I are going to clean up the frog pond,” he said. “We won’t be gone long, Mom.”
“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Mother asked. “You still have a bump from yesterday.”
Jeff rubbed his forehead and felt the egg-shaped bump. He had gotten it in a fight with a new boy in the neighborhood, but he had told his mother he had fallen off his bike. Now he felt ashamed about lying to her. “Mom,” he said.
“Yes, Jeff?”
“Mom, I feel OK, but I didn’t really fall off my bike.” He lowered his head. “I got into a fight with that new boy down the street.”
“I see. Well, I was sort of wondering if that would happen.”
“You mean you thought I’d get into a fight with him?”
“Well, I hoped that you wouldn’t, but when some of the other mothers in the neighborhood told me that he’d picked fights with their sons, I figured that sooner or later he’d get around to you.”
“I didn’t even do anything to him,” Jeff began to explain. “I just told him that I didn’t believe that his father had been a general in the Army during the war. Why did he punch me for that?”
Jeff’s mother sat on his bed so that she could look him right in the eye. She spoke softly. “Some people hurt inside themselves almost all the time. And many times these people make up stories, thinking that they will help the hurt go away. Then when someone else points out that the stories aren’t true, they feel hurt and embarrassed, so they fight. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think so. But what does that have to do with the new boy?”
“I think that maybe the new boy is hurting inside and feels that no one likes him. About two years ago, his mother and father died. Since then he’s lived with seven or eight different families. He’s staying with the Wilsons now, and although they hope to adopt him if things work out, I think that having lost his parents, and all that moving around between foster homes, makes him feel that no one wants him.”
Jeff could feel a hard lump in his throat as he thought about how bad he would feel if his own parents died.
His mom reached over and gave him a hug.
“Mom, what can I do if he keeps wanting to fight me?”
His mother thought a minute. “Well,” she began, “I’d say you should show him that you don’t want to hurt him, that you’d like to be his friend.”
“How do I do that?”
“I’m not sure, but there must be some way. Why don’t you pray about it? And if you see him today, you could invite him over for some cookies. I’m going to be baking some right away.”
Mom left, and Jeff was just getting up from his knees, when someone knocked on the front door. “That’s Jason,” he called to his mother. “We’ll be home for lunch.”
“You still have the lump, I see,” Jason said, pointing to Jeff’s forehead as the two boys headed towards the frog pond.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry—we’ll get that kid. Billy’s going to meet us at the pond. If that new kid’s there, we’ll get him.”
“I don’t know, Jason. Maybe we should try to be his friend.”
“His friend? I’m not going to be his friend. Not after the way he’s been beating people up.”
“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t have any friends.”
“Well, he won’t get me for one.”
By this time, the boys had arrived at the small band of trees that surrounded the frog pond. By looking between the trees, they could see that the new boy was indeed there, his back to them. They could see him standing on the bank of the pond, holding a bow and arrow. As they watched, he suddenly set them down, gathered a bunch of large rocks, and started chunking them into the frog pond.
“What’s he doing?” Jeff asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason answered.
Billy came up behind them. “What’re you guys watching?”
“Shhh,” Jason told him. “It’s that new kid. He’s throwing rocks at frogs or something—we can’t see what.”
The three boys continued to watch, hidden in the trees. Pretty soon the new boy reached down and pulled a small green and yellow turtle out of the pond. Jeff felt sick as he watched the turtle wildly wave its legs in a useless struggle to get away.
“What’d he do that for?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jason, “but let’s get him!”
Before Jeff could say anything, his two friends were scrambling through the trees toward the new boy. When he caught up with them, Jason and Billy had backed the new boy up to a tree.
“Why’d you grab that turtle?” Jason demanded.
“Yeah,” Billy added. “It never did anything to you.”
“It’s none of your business. It isn’t your turtle, is it?”
Jason jumped towards the boy and snatched the turtle out of his hand.
“Give it back,” the boy demanded.
“Make me,” Jason challenged as Billy moved over next to him.
Jeff saw traces of tears starting in the new boy’s eyes and thought about what his mother had said: “Try to show him that you don’t want to hurt him.” But how could he do that? He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure it would work. One thing he did know, though he would never help by doing nothing. He took a deep breath and stepped between Jason and the other boy.
“Let me just explain something,” he began. “It’s not our turtle, but we don’t like to see helpless things getting hit by rocks. Besides, you have a bow and arrow—why not try to hit something worthless”—he looked around for something he felt the boy could hit—“like that plastic milk jug over there?” Jeff pointed to a jug about twenty feet away.
“That? That’s easy. Watch this.”
The boy fit his arrow to the bow, took careful aim, and let the arrow fly. It hit the jug almost dead center.
“There! What’s so hard about that?”
“Well, it’s harder than throwing rocks at turtles, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I wasn’t throwing at the turtle, just near it so I could catch it for a pet. Anyway,” he said, pointedly changing the topic, “I bet you couldn’t hit the jug at all, let alone dead center.”
Jason and Billy, who had been watching this exchange with some questioning in their eyes, now erupted in laughter. “Jeff is the best shot in the neighborhood. He has his own target in his backyard. He could shoot better than you with his eyes closed!”
The other boy quickly glanced at Jeff, and Jeff could see the distrust in his eyes. “Well, I do have my own target, but that doesn’t make me the best shot. Besides, we came over to clean up the litter, not use it for target practice. If you want to have a contest, though, let’s go to my house and do it there. Besides, my mom’s making some cookies right now, so we can get some while they’re warm. How about it?”
Jason and Billy didn’t say anything. They were still trying to figure out what was going on.
“I don’t know,” the boy replied. “What kind of cookies are they?”
“I’m not sure,” Jeff answered. “We’ll have to see when we get there.”
The boy thought a minute as he looked first at Jeff, then at Billy, then at Jason.
“OK,” he finally said. “But if I don’t like the cookies, I might leave.”
When Jason heard this, he started to say something, but Jeff spoke up quickly, “That’s OK—you can stay or leave or whatever you want.”
The other boy nodded his approval, Jason took the turtle back to the pond, and they all started off toward Jeff’s house.
Somehow Jeff knew that no matter what kind of cookies they were, the new boy would stay. And he had a feeling that there would be four boys cleaning up the frog pond that afternoon—as friends!

Hung Hseng Chr sat on the grass by the edge of the river and watched the water lapping on the rocks. The sun felt hot against his skin, and the air was thick and humid. A tear ran down his cheek, and he brushed it quickly away with the back of his hand.
Hseng Chr’s ancestors had lived in Taiwan for many years. He was proud of his people, for they had once been great warriors, and he wanted to be strong and brave, as they had been.
But it was hard to be brave when his sister, Hung Mei Lin, was so sick. She was in the hospital in Tai Tung, and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her except that she had a terrible fever. They had said that there was nothing more that they could do. The last time Hseng Chr had seen her, she had looked as still and frail as a bundle of old rice straw.
“Hello,” said a voice.
Hseng Chr looked up and saw the dark eyes and smiling face of Aunt Hung. She was his father’s sister, and she had recently joined a new church. Hseng Chr remembered that she had been taught by two young men who were called Mormon missionaries. Since that time, his aunt hadn’t visited them so often; every time she did, she and his father got into an argument about religion.
“Hello,” Hseng Chr answered her now in a listless voice.
His aunt sat on the grass beside him and gave him a big hug. He suddenly felt better, as he always did when she came to visit. “I was thinking about Mei Lin,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “So was I.”
“I don’t want her to die.”
His aunt gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to ask your father to let my friends give Mei Lin a blessing.”
Hseng Chr stared at his aunt in surprise. “A blessing?” he asked. “What is a blessing?”
“Well,” said his aunt slowly, as if she was trying to explain something very difficult. “A blessing is a special prayer given by men who hold the priesthood.”
Hseng Chr was even more confused. “What is the priesthood?”
“It is the power and authority to act in the name of God. These men—these friends of mine—will pray for Mei Lin, and if God wants her to live and if we believe that God can save her, she will live.”
A strange feeling came over the boy. It was as though something frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. He knew that he wanted Mei Lin to have a priesthood blessing so that she would get well.
He waited on the grass as Aunt Hung walked toward the house. He watched as she opened the door and called Father’s name. He saw the stern face and stooped shoulders of his father as the door swung open, but he was too far away to hear the words that his aunt spoke. Father shook his head and turned away.
Aunt Hung talked some more, her hand on Father’s arm, her face turned up to his. Father shrugged his shoulders and went back inside the house. Aunt Hung came partway back and waved for Hseng Chr to follow. “He gave his permission,” she called. “Let’s hurry!”
A little while later he stood at his sister’s bedside while two young missionaries laid their hands on her head. As they spoke, a warm feeling came into his chest. When the blessing was over, he and his aunt walked home silently, the hot sun beating down upon their backs.
At suppertime Hseng Chr’s whole family went to visit Mei Lin, as they had at every suppertime for the past week. The boy had grown used to his stomach growling at him all the way to the hospital and back. He didn’t mind the hunger anymore, for lately when he ate, the food seemed to get stuck partway down.
Hseng Chr couldn’t keep from hurrying. The closer his family got to the hospital, the faster his feet moved. Finally he just couldn’t hold them back. He left Father and Mother behind with the younger children and ran the last block by himself. He dashed up the steps and into the hospital. He ran down the hallway and burst into Mei Lin’s room. He stopped. The bed was empty.
He stood for a long moment and stared, not believing his eyes: Mei Lin was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking at pictures in a book. Her dark eyes were clear, her skin was back to its normal healthy color, and her arms no longer hung limply at her sides. Suddenly he realized that Aunt Hung had been right. There really was such a thing as power from God. He would see his aunt again soon and ask her to explain more about the priesthood.
Mei Lin looked up at him and smiled. Hseng Chr ran forward, his hands reaching for hers.

Two weeks ago we were riding a plane from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia. We noted a young man in a nearby seat reading the book Joseph Smith, an American Prophet. When opportunity presented itself, I spoke to him. I told him that I had read the book, that I had known the author, and asked him what his interest was. He said, among other things, that he had an interest in prophets and that this matter of a possible modern prophet had intrigued him. He had picked up the book at the library. We had a lengthy conversation in which I bore my witness that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet. Not only did he speak of things to come, but more importantly, he was a revealer of eternal truth and a testifier of the divine mission of the Lord Jesus Christ. I am hopeful that that young man, as he continues his studies, will have come into his heart a similar testimony. I feel confident that he will.

But being an all-star can go to your head. Every now and then Scott has to remind himself what’s really important.
“Once you put the hockey jacket on it’s instant popularity,” he says after practice. Scott’s with his older brother, Troy. They sit cross-legged in their basement, trading hockey cards and playing video hockey. “Some of the guys think they’re pretty hot. Once in a while I might join them and put somebody down—let it go to my head. When I put somebody down I always end up thinking about my brother, Troy.”
Troy, 17, has had a slight motor-skills problem and learning disorder since birth. It’s not serious enough to affect his life much, but it does make him a little different from the other kids. “When he was in elementary school he got picked on a lot,” adds Scott. “I think about that and stop. I try to get the others to stop, too.”

Several years after the difficult trial the Alvarez family faced, I witnessed how another faithful family dealt with great adversity. Several members of the Quero family had died in a terrible car accident. Brother Abraham Quero lost his parents, two sisters, his brother-in-law, and his niece in that accident.
Brother Quero showed an admirable attitude when he said the following:
“This was the time to show loyalty to God and to acknowledge that we depend on Him, that His will must be obeyed, and that we are subject to Him.
“I spoke to my brothers and gave them strength and courage to understand what President Kimball taught many years ago, that ‘there is no tragedy in death, but only in sin’ (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Spencer W. Kimball [Melchizedek Priesthood and Relief Society course of study, 2006], 18) and that the important thing is not how a man died but how he lived.
“The words of Job filled my soul: ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord’ (Job 1:21). And then from Jesus: ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live’ (John 11:25).
“This was one of the most spiritual experiences we had as a family—to accept the will of God under such very difficult circumstances.”

Eleven-year-old Cassie sat on the front porch, frowning at the yellow stains on her fingernails. Since early morning she’d helped peel bushels and bushels of peaches, and the fuzzy skins had not only stained her fingers but made her hands itch. She never wanted to see another peach as long as she lived.
It had been a good summer for her family. The garden had given them lots of vegetables, and they’d already bottled beans and peas. The corn and the apples looked promising, but the peaches had been the best crop that Cassie could remember.
“Come inside and wash up for supper,” Mama called. “We have to go to bed early because we’re making peach jam tomorrow.”
Peaches, peaches, and more peaches, Cassie thought. Too many peaches! I’ll be dreaming all night about peaches.
“I see Papa and the boys coming up the back way,” Mama said. “Please hurry.”
Cassie hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Mama’s beef stew was wonderful, and even the peach cobbler tasted good.
After supper, Papa, Willy, and Jon took the bottles of peaches down to the fruit cellar. “These will be mighty tasty this winter,” Papa said. “How many bottles did we get?”
“Nearly two hundred,” Mama answered. “Almost twice as many as last year, even after we took the tithing bushels to the storehouse.”
Papa smiled. “I hope you children realize how much the Lord has blessed us.”
Cassie offered the family prayer that night and thanked Heavenly Father for all their blessings, including the peaches, though it was hard to feel grateful when she was so tired.
Cassie fell asleep right away. She awoke to the sounds of people shouting and wagons rattling down the road. She looked out the window and saw a smoky orange and red glow coming from the direction of the Ashman house. She jumped out of bed, her heart pounding. Sara Ashman was her best friend! She wrapped her quilt around her and ran downstairs. The floor felt cold on her bare feet. Mama was shaking out their extra quilts.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“I’m glad you’re up, Cassie. The Ashmans’ house caught fire. I don’t know how bad it is yet, but Papa and the boys are helping to put it out. The Ashmans are going to have to stay with us awhile, and I need your help to get the house ready. Brother and Sister Ashman will stay in your room. You, Sara, and Molly will stay in the boys’ room, and the boys can sleep down here on the floor.”
Cassie dressed quickly and moved her things to her brothers’ room. She put fresh sheets on her big double bed that had belonged to Grandma Bingham. The boys’ straw mattresses wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as her down-filled one, but she was happy to share it with Sara’s parents. Besides, it would be fun to have Sara and Molly stay with her.
As she and Mama finished getting the house ready, a wagon pulled up outside. Cassie was hurrying downstairs when Willy came through the door, carrying Molly wrapped in a quilt. Sara and Sister Ashman followed him in. Their faces were smudged with soot, and Cassie could see where tears had run down their cheeks. She ran to Sara and gave her a hug.
“Oh, Cassie,” Sara cried, “everything’s gone—our clothes, our furniture, even our dolls!”
“Couldn’t you save anything, Edith?” Mama asked.
Sister Ashman shook her head. “We’re just very grateful to be alive.”
Papa and Jon came in with Brother Ashman, Tim Ashman, and Bishop Smith. “Looks like some rags were left too close to the wood stove, and the fire just spread from there,” the bishop said. “It’s a good thing Tim smelled smoke and woke the family. You’re a hero, Tim.”
Tim blushed. “I’m just glad the house was built next to the oak tree. We all climbed out Sara’s window and down the tree. You should have seen Mother—she shinned down faster than any of us.”
“We’re grateful that you’re safe,” Papa said. “We’ll go over when it’s light and see what’s to be done. Bishop, will you offer a prayer?”
The Bishop thanked Heavenly Father for saving the lives of the Ashman family. He asked for a special blessing on Cassie’s house while the Ashmans were staying there. Cassie felt good inside knowing that they had more than enough to share.
At daylight the men examined the ruins. They decided that it would take nearly two months to build a new house since they could work on it only after their own work was done. Every man in town volunteered to help.
The time went by quickly. Each evening except Sunday the men worked on the house. Lumber was donated from the sawmill in the next town, and Mr. Farley gave them paint from his store. People Cassie didn’t even know came to help. If anyone had a spare minute, it was spent building the house.
The sisters from the ward were busy too. They met to make quilts and clothing. People donated furniture, clothes, and kitchen utensils. A traveling salesman stopped by with a box of kitchen knives and left without telling anyone his name. Cassie couldn’t remember when everyone had seemed so happy.
Cassie and Mama kept busy making peach jam and canning the vegetables from both their own garden and the Ashman’s, which had not been harmed by the fire. Being with Sara and Molly was so much fun that Cassie even forgot that canning was hard work.
Because of everyone’s help, the house was finished sooner than expected. Cassie felt sad to think about Sara leaving. One night at dinner Sister Ashman began to cry. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay all of you. The new house, the clothes, the dishes. Why I feel like a young bride again.”
“There’s no need to thank us,” Mama said. “You’d do the same for us.”
When the Ashmans moved, everyone came to see the new house. It was beautiful. Cassie couldn’t believe all the wonderful things the neighbors had done. There were dishes in the cupboards, rugs on the floors, and curtains at the windows. But for Cassie, the best part of the house was the fruit cellar. Lined up on the shelves were the bottles of vegetables she’d helped preserve—including three full shelves of bottled peaches. Well, she thought, maybe there weren’t too many peaches after all.

I grew up in Nicaragua. When I was little, I did everything with my older brother. We walked to school together. We went to the store together. We had all sorts of adventures in our backyard. We were happy.
Then, when I was nine, something very sad happened. My brother died in an earthquake. At first it didn’t feel real that he was gone. I used to imagine that he would knock on our front door. He would tell us he had just been away somewhere. I used to stare at the door, wishing for it to happen. I wanted so much to see him again.
Over time, it got a little easier. I still missed my brother, but I was able to feel happy again.
Back then, I wasn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But when I grew up, I learned about the Church and got baptized. One day I was washing my dishes. It was Easter time. I was thinking of the Resurrection and thought of my brother.
Suddenly a good feeling came over me. I remembered the daydream I had about my brother. I realized that it wasn’t silly at all! It came from the Holy Ghost, to comfort me and guide me. Someday my brother really will be resurrected. And I really will see him again.

I remember my Laurel teacher saying recently, “If you want to love someone, do something for him.” As she said that I was so touched by the Spirit that I knew it had to be true. I’d been struggling with a relative for quite a while, so I decided to experiment with this idea on her.

Well, to make a long story short, I now consider my sister my very best friend. The love I feel for her is inexpressible. I gave her all I could give, and the Lord, in turn, gave me the strength to forgive and the spirit to love.
Sharlene Weatherman, 18Roy, Utah

During her campaign to be elected as the student president, Sue introduced a theme, “Seek for the highest that is in you.” As high school students will do, some started making fun of the theme. But Sue persevered, using the theme for all the school activities throughout the year, and the ridicule died down. The school principal said, “There are always those who will take something positive and try to make fun of it. Sue was able to overcome that just by her pleasant attitude and by not taking herself too seriously or getting defensive when people would make fun of the theme. The theme became the accepted motto for the students that year.”

A true story from Mexico.
“Time for bed,” Mamá said with a smile.
Logan went into his room. He said his prayers and crawled into bed. Then Mamá read him a story. He slowly closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep.
But Logan had a scary dream. He was alone in a dark place. He saw a big, spiky monster with huge teeth. It growled at him. Then it started running toward him!
Logan tried to run away. But he slipped and fell! The monster got closer and bigger until—
Logan woke up and sat up in bed. He wiped tears from his eyes and saw it was still dark outside.
He wanted to talk to his parents about the dream. But he didn’t want to leave his bed. The darkness made him feel like a monster was hiding somewhere. Every shadow looked scary. A dog barking outside sounded like a monster growling.
Logan pulled the sheets up to his nose. He was too afraid to move.
He wanted to fall back to sleep. But each time he closed his eyes, he saw the monster’s angry face and sharp teeth. He couldn’t stop looking at the scary shadows.
Then he saw a picture on the table by his bed. It was a photo of him, his two brothers, Papá, and Mamá outside the temple in Monterrey, Mexico. They looked so happy.
Suddenly, the words to his favorite Primary song popped into his head. “I love to see the temple,” Logan started singing quietly. “I’m going there someday. To feel the Holy Spirit, to listen and to pray.”*
While he sang, Logan thought about that day at the temple with his family. He had felt so peaceful. Because of the temple, he could be with his family forever.
Logan couldn’t hear the dog barking over the sound of his voice. He closed his eyes and kept singing. “As a child of God, I’ve learned this truth: A family is forever.” He felt a peace in his heart that made him smile. He knew there was no monster.
The room had been dark and scary. But now it was a calm, safe place. Logan leaned back on his pillow and fell peacefully asleep.
When he woke up, it was sunny outside. He got up and looked at the sunshine reflecting off his photo of the temple. He hummed his favorite song as he got ready for church.
On the way to church, he told his family about his nightmare and the song he sang. He listened to talks and sang hymns in the chapel. Then it was time to go to Primary.
Logan loved listening to the piano. And now he knew that some songs are powerful enough to make even scary monsters go away.
“Welcome to singing time,” said the Primary leader. “What song should we sing first?”
“I know!” said Logan, raising his hand high into the air. “Let’s sing ‘I Love to See the Temple.’”
Illustrations by Carolina Farías