Gospel Story Finder

I returned home from my first day at Primary in shock. My only hope came from the disturbed looks I saw on some of the other teachers’ faces who had had a similar experience. Maybe all the students had a hard time settling down after vacation. I returned home the second week in total depression. Not once had I felt in control of my class. My homemade visual aids had not survived the rough handling; the boys had stood on chairs and tried to climb through the window; the girls had quarreled among themselves and with the boys.
My first impulse was to quit—no person could take eleven months of facing those eight-year-olds. But I had too much pride to give in. I had taught all my adult life—Sunday School, Relief Society, MIA, Seminary, college English—and I had never had a teaching failure. When my bishop asked me to take this assignment, he had said, “I feel that this work in Primary will open up new avenues of growth and development for you.” Well, it had done more than that! It was the most humbling, frustrating assignment I had ever had.
I slept little that night, and was irritable with my children the next day. I finally told my worries to my husband. He listened sympathetically and offered a very practical solution: that I should notify the parents about the behavior problem and send report cards home with the students each week. At first I didn’t want to do it because of pride. I didn’t mind the school class atmosphere as much as I did admitting my failure to others. I was desperate though; but as I made copies of some “class behavior” cards and tactfully talked to each mother, I realized that this would not be enough.
The unusualness of the reporting system did diminish in about a month, but during this “be quiet or else” period I had a chance to present my lessons, bear my testimony, plan a class party, and organize a service project for a widow. One of the previously noisy boys in the class told his neighbor: “Quit bothering me. Mother gives me a treat if I bring home a good report card.”
The weeks continued, some better than others, but none as disastrous as the first two. I found that constant variety—games, contests, films, and puppet stories in class, visits out of class, and frequent personal letters mailed to the students’ homes—all helped. By mid-year they had learned to respect me; and more important, I had learned to love them.

Dick Richards stood at the kitchen window and listened as the wind howled around the corners of the barn and heaped great mounds of powdery snow. It was March 1939, and southern Alberta, Canada, was having one of the worst spring storms that he could remember.
Dick shivered and pulled back from the window, gazing around the silent room in frustration. His mom and dad were quietly talking in the bedroom, and the younger children were all asleep—except for his sister Jean, who was reading in front of the fire. Dick was thirteen years old—almost a man—and it made him feel restless to be stuck in the house like a chicken in a pen.
He glanced over his sister’s shoulder. She was reading a Superman comic book. He grabbed it from between her fingers and threw it across the room, ignoring her loud screech as she jumped to retrieve it. He wondered why she chose to fill her mind with such nonsense. He had discovered long ago that there were no real heroes in this life, only ordinary people like his dad, who was thin and tanned from working long, backbreaking hours in every kind of weather. And Mr. Meyers down the road, who limped and spit on the ground, and cried when his only daughter married a fellow from Calgary. No, Dick didn’t figure he would ever meet a real hero.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and Nephi Richards appeared, helping his wife into a coat. She looked pale and ill, and her belly seemed larger than ever.
Dick asked, "Is it time for the baby to come?"
"We think so," his father replied.
Dick peered out the window. "How will you make it through the snow?"
"We’ll take the Model A. Uncle Rolley is meeting us halfway with his big Chevrolet."
Dick reached for his boots. "I’d like to come, Dad."
"We need you to stay and watch the children."
"Jean is old enough, and she’s much better than I am with the younger ones." His father was silent, so he continued hopefully, "I could help if something went wrong."
"Nothing will go wrong," interrupted Dick’s mother. She looked lost in her husband’s thick plaid coat and gum boots.
"If you’re coming, you’d better hurry up," his father said gruffly. "We haven’t much time."
As they stepped outside, the wind tore at their faces and almost flattened their bodies against the side of the house. It was difficult getting to the car, and for an anxious moment Dick was afraid it wasn’t going to start. Then it sputtered to life, and they were moving slowly through the snow.
"Can you see where we’re going?" Dick asked, squinting out the window into the speckled blackness.
"Well enough," his father answered.
Dick sat beside his mother and listened. He could hear her breathing—sometimes sharp and ragged with pain, sometimes slow and deep. He could hear the wind screaming, feel it pulling at the car as if it was bent on throwing them headlong into the ditch. He took his mother’s arm and held on tightly.
They hadn’t gone more than a mile when the Model A lurched to a stop. "There’s something blocking the road," Dick’s father said. "I’m going out to take a look."
Anxious to help, Dick got out too. The snow was drifted over the road like a giant feather pillow, and Dick saw that it would be impossible to shovel their way through. He stood silently and watched while his father kicked and stomped his way around the drifts.
Nephi Richards returned to the car and took his wife’s small cold hands between his large ones. "Hazel," he said, "we have a choice to make. We can go home and you can have the baby there, or we can walk to where Rolley is waiting. I think it would be easier for you if we went home."
Dick’s mother held her head up bravely. "But if something goes wrong, it would be better for the baby to be born at the hospital. No, I’d rather keep going."
Dick and his father helped her from the car. Dick heard her gasp as the cold wind whipped across her face. "Let’s get this over with," she said.
They stuck close to the barbed wire fence and struggled through the drifts with a certain desperation. Dick could feel his mother’s hand gripping his tightly through his mitten. He gritted his teeth as snow oozed in the top of his boots and made his legs burn with icy pain. Their breaths came in spurts, filling the cold air for an instant, then vanishing in wisps of steam. Dick knew that his mother was in great pain, but he didn’t know how he could help her. It made him feel helpless.
The journey seemed as if it would never end. Dick’s face burned. His lungs ached. His fingers were numb. His feet felt like two lumps of ice on the end of his legs. He kept hoping that the merciless wind would die down, but it returned again and again with new vengeance, shrieking against their bent bodies as if it would lift them from the earth. Finally Dick’s mother went limp in his father’s arms.
"I’ll carry her," his father said. "We’re almost there. I can see the car."
The last few steps seemed to stretch out forever. Finally Dick staggered against the side of the Chevrolet, wrenched open the door, and helped put his mother inside. Uncle Rolley’s anxious face stared at them from the front seat. "Go as fast as you dare," said Dick’s father.
The waiting room was warm and still and smelled of antiseptic soap and floor wax. Dick was too tired to move, so he leaned back on the wooden bench and watched his father pace back and forth across the floor in front of the nurse’s desk. He had been told many times in Primary, and again in his priesthood lessons, how extremely important it was for parents to have children and how the spirit children of Heavenly Father needed bodies to progress. Up until now, he had figured that having children was just a simple process involving a small inconvenience. He closed his eyes and put his weary face between his hands. Tonight he had seen things in a different way.
His thoughts were interrupted by a man with a white uniform and kind blue eyes. "Mr. Richards?"
"Yes!" Dick’s father crossed the room with two swift strides.
The doctor reached out and gripped the other man’s hand. "You have a son," he said.
"How is Hazel?"
"Your wife is a very sick woman, but we feel that with the right amount of rest and care, she’ll be all right."
Dick saw his father relax as the fear and strain of the last few hours left his body.
"May I see her?" asked Dick.
The doctor nodded. "She’s asleep, so be very quiet."
While his father continued to talk to the doctor, Dick slipped into his mother’s room. She looked peaceful lying there under the white blanket, her face all relaxed and free from pain and worry. Her eyes were closed, and her lashes looked dark and long against her pale cheeks. He leaned close to her. He knew that she probably couldn’t hear him, but somehow it was very important to tell her anyway: "You’re a hero, Mom!"

As soon as Rodney left, I felt sick inside. I hadn’t exactly promised to help him and Bryce take Mr. Archuleta’s apricots. I had just said that I knew Mr. Archuleta and wouldn’t be afraid to talk to him. Of course, I knew Rodney and Bryce wanted me to get Mr. Archuleta’s attention away from his trees so that they could slip over his back fence and steal some of his giant orange apricots.
I had been in Cedar Fork only two weeks. The thing that had worried me most about moving here from Logan was leaving my friends and going to a place where no one knew me. School was starting soon, and I’d dreaded going to fourth grade not knowing anyone.
Mom had told me that things would work out, but I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to just go back to Logan. Then Rodney stopped by my second day in Cedar Fork and invited me to play baseball with him and his friend Bryce.
After that, I was with Rodney and Bryce a lot. We played ball at the park, built a clubhouse in Bryce’s backyard, walked to Bond’s Market for ice-cream bars, and rode our bikes out to Juniper Hill, where we hunted for horned toads and lizards. I didn’t worry anymore about going to school, because I would be with them.
Then they decided they wanted some of Mr. Archuleta’s apricots.
“We won’t get caught.” Rodney grinned at me. “We’ve taken stuff out of his orchard and garden before.”
“Yeah,” Bryce joined in. “Last year, before you came, his cherry trees were loaded, and we took all we wanted. He almost caught us a couple of times, but we were too smart for him.”
I thought about the things Mom and Dad had taught me about being honest. “But isn’t that stealing?”
Rodney and Bryce glanced at each other, their smiles drooping a little. Then Rodney shook his head. “We’re just sort of borrowing. He has plenty.”
“Besides,” Bryce added, “lots more than we take fall off the tree, and he has to throw them away. We’re just getting them before they fall and get ruined. We don’t like things to go to waste.” He laughed, and Rodney joined in. I smiled but felt sick inside.
Mr. Archuleta had been one of the first people to come over and welcome us to Cedar Fork. Now I was going to return his friendship by stealing from him.
I watched Rodney and Bryce ride away. They said that they’d be back after lunch to get the apricots. I shuffled uneasily up my front walk and into the kitchen, where Mom was fixing sandwiches.
“Well, Joel, you look like you lost your best friend. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. There was no way that I could explain to Mom what I was planning to do.
“Well, wash up and sit down. These sandwiches are almost ready.”
Mom tried to get me to talk during lunch, but I just silently nibbled on the corner of my sandwich. “Do you have any chores for me?” I finally asked her hopefully.
She looked across the table at me and raised her eyebrows. Usually I was trying to get out of work. “You cut the grass and raked it yesterday afternoon, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“And you cleaned your room?”
I nodded again.
“And you took the trash out today.”
“Don’t you have anything else? I’ll do it.”
“You could clear the table and do these few dishes,” Mom said.
“Don’t you have something that will take more time than that?”
Mom laughed. “Are you feeling all right?”
I nodded.
“Why don’t you just enjoy the afternoon today. Aren’t Rodney and Bryce coming over again?”
I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich and nodded.
“Why don’t you play with them, and then if you still want to do a little work, I’ll find something.”
I dragged out to the front lawn, knowing that Rodney and Bryce were going to show up any minute. If I didn’t think of something quick, I’d soon be stealing Mr. Archuleta’s apricots.
I liked Mr. Archuleta. But I liked Rodney and Bryce, too, and wanted to be their friend. Except for sneaking things from Mr. Archuleta, they seemed to be pretty good guys. I didn’t want them getting upset with me. Then I thought of all the times Mom and Dad had talked to me about being honest. I had made up my mind a long time ago that I would never steal, but now. …
I had never felt so miserable in my life. I loved eating juicy orange apricots, but somehow I knew that the plumpest, sweetest apricot off Mr. Archuleta’s tree would taste bitter if it were stolen. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t actually going to steal the apricots. Bryce and Rodney would do that. I wouldn’t eat any of them, either. I could tell Rodney and Bryce that I didn’t like apricots or that I didn’t feel hungry. But those were just more lies.
Finally I decided to run away from my problem. I’d go to the park and stay all afternoon. That way I wouldn’t have to face Rodney and Bryce, and I wouldn’t have to steal from Mr. Archuleta.
Pushing myself up from the grass, I headed down the walk, wanting to get away before Bryce and Rodney came.
I didn’t get fifty feet, though, before Bryce called to me. “Hey, Joel, where are you headed?”
I stopped and turned. He was jogging down the walk toward me. “Did you think we’d ditched you?”
I gulped and shrugged.
“Rodney’ll be here in just a second. He had to do a couple of chores at home first.” Bryce pulled a plastic bag out of his back pocket and held it up. “I’m all ready. All you’ll have to do is keep Mr. Archuleta busy, and Rodney and I will do the rest.”
I knew I should have said something, but I couldn’t. I just swallowed hard and followed Bryce down the street.
Rodney showed up a few minutes later. We were soon across the street from Mr. Archuleta’s place. He was working in the flower beds along the side of his house. From there he had a perfect view of his apricot trees in the backyard. As long as he was working there, Rodney and Bryce couldn’t slip unseen into his backyard.
“All right, Joel,” Rodney whispered, “you start talking to him. We’ll go around and slip over his back fence. If you keep him talking, he won’t see anything.”
“What am I going to say to him? I mean, how can I keep talking that long?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “All you have to do is ask him about his flowers and yard. He loves to talk about stuff like that.”
I looked away. Reaching down I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the street.
“You’re not chickening out on us are you?” Bryce accused, suddenly serious.
This was it. My two best friends in Cedar Fork were going to walk away, and I’d be alone again. I didn’t want to lose them, but I just couldn’t steal from Mr. Archuleta!
“I can’t do it,” I rasped, staring across the street at Mr. Archuleta.
“Why not?” Bryce demanded. I could tell he was angry.
“Because it’s stealing.”
“Come on, Rodney, let’s go.”
When I looked up, they were walking down the street. For a moment I wanted to call to them, tell them to come back, that I would go ahead and talk to Mr. Archuleta. But I didn’t. I just watched them disappear into Rodney’s yard.
“Hello, Mr. Archuleta,” I called out as I walked up his driveway and wandered over to where he was working.
He stopped digging in the dirt, turned, and smiled at me. “Why, hello, Joel.” He set his digging fork down, pushed his straw hat back, and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. “What’s up?”
I shrugged. “I was just passing by and saw you out here working. Do you need some help? I don’t have much else to do.”
“Where are the two buddies you’ve been running around with?”
I took a deep breath. “They had some other things to do. I can give you a hand if you need some help.”
Mr. Archuleta thought for a moment. “There is one thing you could do, Joel. It’s a bit messy, but it’d sure help me out.”
“I’ve been messy before.”
“My apricots are coming on. A bunch of them have fallen on the ground. If I leave them, they just get stepped on or turn rotten and make an even worse mess. If you don’t mind, you could grab that bucket on the back steps and pick up all the fruit that’s dropped on the ground.”
I was glad to help out. As I worked picking up the soft and bruised fruit, I thought how much better I felt doing something kind for Mr. Archuleta instead of stealing from him.
When I’d finished and dumped the last bucketful into the garbage barrel, Mr. Archuleta thanked me and handed me a paper sack. “Now, Joel, do you see that one low branch that’s loaded with apricots? Why don’t you pick yourself a sackful. Those are some of the best apricots I’ve grown. I think you’ll like them.”
“Thanks, Mr. Archuleta! I love apricots.”
A few minutes later I jogged down the street with my freshly picked apricots.
“Hey, what’s in the sack?”
I turned. I was in front of Rodney’s place. He and Bryce were sitting under the willow tree in his front yard.
“Apricots,” I said, smiling and holding up the bulging bag. “Want some?”
“You got some of Mr. Archuleta’s apricots?” Rodney asked, standing up.
I nodded.
“You did it all by yourself?”
I nodded again.
“I told you he wasn’t chicken.” Rodney laughed and slapped me on the shoulder as I opened the sack and let them reach in. They each chomped down hungrily.
“But I didn’t steal them.”
Rodney and Bryce stopped chewing and stared at me.
“He let me pick them. I don’t like stealing things.”
“You just walked into his yard, and he let you pick a whole sackful of his best apricots?” Bryce didn’t believe me.
“I did some work for him, and then he let me pick the apricots.”
Bryce stared at me and took another bite. “They’re good apricots.”
Rodney nodded with his mouth full.
“And they taste better this way,” I said.
“What way?” Rodney wanted to know.
“When they’re not stolen.”
Rodney thought a moment, then nodded. “Do you think Mr. Archuleta would let us work for apricots too?”
“He probably would—we can ask him tomorrow.” I took an apricot for myself.
Bryce grabbed another apricot. “Rodney and I were just headed for the park to play ball. You want to come?”
I nodded, happy that we were still friends—the right kind of friends.

From California: “All ten wards in our stake are half through the basic course.
“When the Primary began these new inservice lessons, they had only one person teaching the entire group. Now the inservice leader has several Primary workers also as teachers, and they break up into smaller groups so everyone can be involved and report their experiences. Some were concerned with micro teaching. Now they use it and enjoy it.”

Tommy Cross, 14, of the First Ward, talked about a temple trip to Dallas, Texas. “At first we all thought we’d remember going to Six Flags and that the baptisms for the dead were something we’d do just to keep the leaders happy. But when we got back and talked about it, we’d forgotten about the amusement park. Everybody remembered the temple and what went on inside the temple. It was more important. You felt better there.”

Years later I thought of that moment again. My wife and I were being taught by the missionaries. The missionaries asked me, “Do you believe that you can become like God?” I had never thought about it. But I thought, If Heavenly Father is actually my Father, He would want the best for me, like my dad did. He would want me to be able to become like Him. So I said to the missionaries, “Yes, I believe I can be like my Heavenly Father.”
The moment I answered, I knew what I said was true.

When I was young, sacrament meeting was a separate meeting held in the evening. I remember one Sabbath day when I kept the commandment to gather with my family and the Saints for sacrament meeting. It was dark and cold outside. I remember feeling light and warmth in the chapel that evening. We took the sacrament, promising to always remember the Savior and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide” (Hymns, no. 165). Part of that hymn says, “O Savior, stay this night with me.”
I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening. And I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

Seminary students from four wards slip quietly from their homes in the dark stillness of the hour before dawn. The chill of fall in the air encourages them to run quickly to the warmth of a waiting car, already half-filled with other sleepy teens and leaders. The city will not wake for another two hours, and only a few delivery trucks and early commuters compete with the caravan of trucks and cars carrying the Latter-day Saint youth out of the city and up the serpentine road to Cerro de la Gloria.

By the time the group arrives at the top of the mountain, a faint, orange-pink glow is visible above the horizon in the east; but the “Hill of Glory” is still guarding its treasure. In the gray light of predawn, a hymn is sung, a prayer is offered, and the students begin this day’s study of the gospel. Only then does the darkness give up its secret—streaks of red and orange fill the sky as the sun reveals the glory of the panorama surrounding today’s mountaintop classroom. The majestic peaks of the Andes Mountains on the west and the sweeping plains surrounding the city on the east display the glorious work of the Creator.

In this idyllic setting—much different from their ordinary classroom—these young men and young women in Mendoza, Argentina, are spiritually fed and fortified to face the challenges of another day. As the sun rises higher, the spirit of the morning begins to transform to the concerns of the day, but the students linger a moment and talk about the blessings of having the gospel in their lives.

When Dalynne was seven, she pledged to walk in a Primary fun run to aid a foreign missionary fund. Her family and friends, who sponsored her, hoped that she could walk one-fourth mile. But she walked a whole mile with her braces and crutches! Because she is unable to stand alone, her brother Darin baptized her by supporting her on his knee before she was immersed in the water.

“We felt that it was important for the young people from different stakes to get together and get to know each other. And how much closer together can you get than 800 young people on one boat?”
So spoke one of the adult leaders of a bi-regional youth conference for Church members in the San Bernardino, California, area. The youth conference was held one weekend on the Queen Mary ocean liner near Long Beach. Within the unique environment of yesteryear’s “Queen of the Atlantic Fleet,” the large gathering of youths from the San Bernardino and Palm Springs regions enjoyed many workshops and activities.
“By any standard the conference was a marvelous success and accomplished the objective of providing an opportunity for the young people of the two regions to get to know each other better and to share testimonies,” said Donald Hainsworth of the Fontana Second Ward, San Bernardino California Stake, who served as adult chairman for the event.
“The young people came up with all the ideas—location, speakers, workshop topics, and everything—and did almost all of the work,” Brother Hainsworth added. “Youth leaders also conducted all activities during the conference and really did a super job all the way around. The different setting, the whole project of putting the program together and getting everybody here, and just holding it in such a great place made it a good experience for the youth.”
In order to accommodate the overflow, arrangements were made to have one of the three youths in each stateroom take along a sleeping bag and sleep on the floor. Also, two live bands were needed for the dinner-dance Friday night.
“It was great having so many Latter-day Saints together,” said Greg Echols, a priest in the Banning Ward, Palm Springs California Stake.
“Getting to meet young people from other stakes and hear their testimonies was a fantastic experience,” said Edward Johnson, of the Indio Ward.
“Several nonmembers expressed the feeling that this must be the true church because of the way they were treated, the way the young people acted, and the things that were taught,” said Michelle Sims, an adult leader from Palm Springs California Stake.
One nonmember, who said he belonged to a family of another faith, bore testimony that he was going to go home and tell his parents he had to join the Church, that he knew the Church was true, and that the Savior loved him.

In my case, I denied that I had communication problems until I hit a dark point in my life and realized I needed help addressing some of my behavioral and thinking patterns.
So, after seeking guidance from Heavenly Father, I felt prompted to start meeting with a therapist. We put pieces of the puzzle of my heart together and discovered that the sources of many of my behaviors like masking pain with humor, burying emotions, and struggling to communicate effectively could possibly be traced back to a few generations before mine.
At first, I was scared by what this discovery meant for me. How could I possibly change habits that had been ingrained in me and my family? I even started to fear for my future family. Would I pass my issues on to them?
With these thoughts weighing on my mind, I didn’t think I could muster the effort to face these feelings and change these behavior cycles. But the Lord has counseled us to “be not afraid, only believe” (Mark 5:36).
As I prayed, God showed me that if I had a willing heart, He could change my heart and help me alter the behaviors that were preventing me from having healthy relationships and from growing emotionally and spiritually.
Ultimately, my healing involved the Savior. With Him, I was able to have difficult yet healing conversations with my family members, to take steps forward, to love more deeply and build greater relationships, to take uncomfortable steps forward, to forgive, and to find hope in the future. Believing in what Jesus Christ could do for me was the first step toward inviting His healing balm into my life through temple worship, prayer, and exercising faith.
As I combined these powerful spiritual tools with therapy and self-help books that helped me develop my communication skills, learn to feel and process my emotions, and understand the underlying reasons behind my behaviors, I have been able to see miraculous results of involving the Savior and Heavenly Father in this journey.

In December of 1839, while in Washington, D.C., to seek redress for the wrongs done to the Missouri Saints, Joseph Smith and Elias Higbee wrote to Hyrum Smith: “In our interview with the President [of the United States], he interrogated us wherein we differed in our religion from the other religions of the day. Brother Joseph said we differed in mode of baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. We considered that all other considerations were contained in the gift of the Holy Ghost” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 97).

The supreme evidence of his love occurred in June 1844 when, having had it revealed to him by the Lord that his enemies sought his life, he had planned to journey into the West and find a place for the Saints where they might be safe. He had crossed the Mississippi when word came from his wife Emma, “The Saints think you are a coward. They are charging that you are running away.” From Joseph came these famous words: “If my life is of no value to my friends, it is of no value to me. Hyrum, we are going back.” (See Essentials in Church History, p. 374.)
As he rode out of Nauvoo on his way to Carthage to give himself up to the sheriff, he turned in the saddle, and looking back upon the city of Nauvoo, said, “Oh, that I could but speak once more to my beloved people.”
On the highway he met Steven Markham who said to him “Joseph, where are you going?” He answered, “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter, but I am as calm as a summer’s morning. I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men.” (Essentials in Church History, p. 376.)

In August of 1975, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) came to Manila to preside over the Philippines’ first area conference. August was a stormy month, making travel more difficult for those coming from outside Manila. A busload of Saints from Laoag City almost did not make it, but the Saints pushed their vehicle out of a well of mud and begged the driver not to turn back. Another group of Saints braved the stormy seas for as many as three days because all that really matters, as one sister said, is to see and hear a living prophet of God.

“I’ve felt more comfortable and calm since I started doing family history. When I take family names to the temple, it gives me an overwhelming sense of joy.” —Tyler M., 16

In Kelsey, Texas, in 1942, at the height of World War II, a group of Latter-day Saints approached President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973), who was at the time a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. They asked, “Is now the day for us to come up to Zion, … where we can be protected from our enemies?”
President Lee took the question seriously. After pondering, studying, and praying for some time, he concluded: “I know now that the place of safety in this world is not in any given place; it doesn’t make so much difference where we live; but the all-important thing is how we live, and I have found that security can come to Israel only when [we] keep the commandments, when [we] live so that [we] can enjoy the companionship, the direction, the comfort, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit of the Lord, when [we] are willing to listen to these men whom God has set here to preside as His mouthpieces, and when we obey the counsels of the Church.”8

The scriptures are a ready source of family home evening lessons. When Sister Fortunata Mandalari of the Reggio Calabria Branch, Calabria Italy District, took a vacation to visit her daughter’s family, she turned to the scriptures for a family home evening lesson.
“I prepared a piece of paper for each of the seven family members,” she says, “and I wrote on it: ‘For the next family home evening, come prepared with your favorite scripture and a comment. You will have five minutes.’
“On Monday, when we sat down at the table, there was already a peaceful feeling. I knew everything was going to go well. Each family member spoke of a different scripture, and everyone had a chance to speak up and learn from one another. We were so happy with this format that we used it for the remainder of my vacation.
“After I returned home, my daughter told me that her family still enjoys this approach for family home evening. Everyone studies, speaks, and listens. There is no time for boredom.”

We once had two beautiful long-haired kittens at our house. They lived in a Garden of Eden because of the way we pampered and spoiled them. They loved it—all that food and warmth and tender loving care. About the worst opposition they had to endure was being dressed up in doll clothes, which they didn’t seem to mind very much.
One Saturday morning the kittens, along with our children, were relaxing sleepily in front of the television, enjoying their nice life. As we turned off the television and began giving out assignments for Saturday morning housework, our eight-year-old daughter looked longingly at the still-purring pets. “I don’t want to do my work,” she declared. “I would rather be a kitten.”

Michelle Moulds of the Narrogin Branch, Perth Australia Southern River Stake, won the under-13 brass category for her cornet solo in the Central South Eisteddfod. She performed her solo in the winners’ concert held shortly thereafter.
Michelle is active in school. She was kept busy as head girl and has the responsibility of being Faction Sports captain. She sings in the school choir and plays in the combined schools concert band.
Michelle is a Beehive in her branch.

I am from the Philippines, but I now live in Germany with my husband. All my life I looked for the Lord and His gospel. When I read the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, I realized that I was also looking for the living water (see John 4:4–42). I did eventually find the truth, and I was baptized a member of the Church in 1995. I am grateful for everything the Lord has done for me. I pray that I can remain true and valiant, as our prophets have counseled.
Elena R. Müller,Essen Ward, Dortmund Germany Stake