Gospel Story Finder

Let me remind you of a sad example recorded in Doctrine and Covenants sections 39 and 40. James Covel, who had been a minister for about 40 years, had learned of the restored gospel and had covenanted with the Lord that he would obey any command the Lord would give to him through Joseph the Prophet. On January 5, 1831 in Fayette, New York, Joseph Smith received a revelation for James Covel. Through His prophet, the Lord stated that James had rejected Him many times because of the cares of the world but said James’ heart was now right. He said that James should be baptized, and if he did so the Lord had a great work for him to do in building up the Church and specifically said that James was called to go to the Ohio. [27]

The very next day, the Prophet Joseph received another revelation concerning James Covel. Section 40 has only three verses. Those short verses describe that James “received the word with gladness, but straightway Satan tempted him; and the fear of persecution and the cares of the world caused him to reject the word.” [28] Notice how quickly Satan came to tempt James? “Wherefore,” the Lord said, “he broke my covenant, and it remaineth with me to do with him as seemeth me good.” [29] Notice also who broke the covenant. It will never be the Lord. In the heading of the next section, section 41, we see that a month later Joseph Smith is in Ohio, where James was called to go. The work is moving forward, but without James Covel.

President James E. Faust once told of applying for Officer’s Candidate School in the United States Army. He said:
I was summoned before the board of inquiry. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Nearly all of them centered upon my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer asking these questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he prayed very often. . . . I wanted to be an officer very much. . . .
I decided not to equivocate. I admitted that I did pray and that I felt that officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. . . .
More interesting questions came. “In times of war, should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
. . . I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers would . . . surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School! . . .
[And then President Faust, realizing how small decisions can have large consequences, said:] This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.

Those who remain at home—parents and other family members—also sacrifice by forgoing the companionship and service of the missionaries they send forth. For example, a young Brazilian received a missionary call while he was working to support his brothers and sisters after his father and mother died. A General Authority described these children’s meeting in council and remembering that their deceased parents had taught them that they should always be prepared to serve the Lord. The young man accepted his missionary call, and a 16-year-old brother took over the responsibility of working to support the family. Most of us know of many other examples of sacrifice to serve a mission or to support a missionary. We know of no other voluntary service and sacrifice like this in any other organization in the world.

Importantly, forming these critical relationships is often not connected to highly successful activities. When I was 13 or 14, my own Young Men group was bonded together with our leader on a California snow campout. As we slept in the very first snow that most of us had ever touched, it started to rain in the middle of the night, seeping into our tents, saturating our sleeping bags and clothes, leaving us all miserably freezing. Drenched and nearly hypothermic, after building a pathetic fire from wet wood that would not melt a snowflake, we eventually huddled together into a drafty crew-cab pickup truck and barely escaped with our lives as we headed home before the sun had even fully risen.
The activity was a disaster—except that the most important things that could have happened did happen. We came to know we could do hard things and that we could trust each other and our leaders. As time went on, these leaders helped us along the covenant path. When they said, “Missions matter,” missions came to matter more to us, to me.

But not all women give birth to those they mother.

President Joseph F. Smith was left an orphan at the early age of 13. He was later sent on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands. On the island of Molokai he contracted a severe fever and was seriously ill for three months. A wonderful Hawaiian sister took him into her home and tended him as lovingly as though he were her own son.

Many years later President Smith visited the islands as President of the Church. Charles Nibley tenderly described the experience:
“It was a beautiful sight to see the deep-seated love, the even tearful affection, that these people had for him. In the midst of it all I noticed a poor, old, blind woman, tottering under the weight of about ninety years, being led in. She had a few choice bananas in her hand. It was her all—her offering. She was calling, ‘Iosepa, Iosepa.’ Instantly, when he saw her, he ran to her and clasped her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed her, … patting her on the head saying, ‘Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama.’
“And with tears streaming down his cheeks he turned to me and said, ‘Charlie, she nursed me when I was a boy, sick and without anyone to care for me. She took me in and was a mother to me’” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph F. Smith [1998], xvi, 192).

This story happened in the Philippines.
“I miss G-pop,” Macy told her grandma. She called her grandparents G-pop and G-mom. “Ever since he went to the hospital, I’ve wanted to help him. But I don’t know how.”
Macy pushed around the food on her plate. It was her favorite breakfast—rice, eggs, and hot dogs. But she felt too sad to eat.
G-mom put her arm around Macy. “I understand. Sometimes we feel helpless when someone we love is going through a difficult time. But remember, there are two people who love us even more than we can imagine.”
“Who?” Macy asked.
“Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” G-mom said. “When we have faith in Them, They guide us and give us strength.”
As Macy listened, her heart felt hopeful. She knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus could help G-pop.
That night, Macy knelt by her bed and closed her eyes.
“Heavenly Father, please watch over G-pop and help him feel better. I love him, and I love Thee too. Please help me to know what I can do for him.”
The next morning, Macy woke up to the sun shining through her curtains. She had an idea! Singing Primary songs and Church hymns was one of the things she and G-pop loved to do together. Maybe that would bring him comfort!
She got up, said her morning prayer, then asked G-mom if she could visit G-pop. Soon, they were on their way to the hospital together. She was excited to finally see G-pop again and hopefully make him smile.
When Macy walked into the hospital room, G-pop was sitting up in bed with a blanket over his legs. He looked tired. But when he saw Macy, his face lit up with joy. She ran to him and gave him a gentle hug.
“Good morning, G-pop!”
“What brings you here, my little lang-lang Macy?”
Lang-lang meant “love.” It was G-pop’s favorite nickname for Macy.
“I want to sing for you,” Macy said. She sat beside him on his bed and opened her songbook. “I am a child of God, and He has sent me here . . .” she began.
G-pop’s eyes filled with tears of joy. He joined in and started singing too.
“. . . has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.”*
Their voices filled the small hospital room. Soon, G-mom joined in too. Macy had a peaceful feeling in her heart as they sang together.
When they finished, Macy reached out her hand, and G-pop held it tightly.
“Let’s pray, G-pop.”
Together they prayed, and Macy asked Heavenly Father to bless G-pop with strength and healing.
After the prayer, G-pop looked at Macy. “Thank you for your beautiful songs and prayers. You’ve helped me feel better. Even though you’re small, you have a big heart filled with love.”
Macy smiled. She was happy that her love and faith had helped G-pop feel better. She knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would always be there to help her family in hard times.
Illustrations by Chrisanne Serafin

My brother is a missionary in Russia. I like to draw pictures and write letters to send him. I draw my brother and his companion wearing white shirts and ties. I draw a big circle around the two elders and write “Force Field from Heaven” to show that I know they are being protected. Even though the force fields are pretend, Heavenly Father’s power is real, and I have faith that He will take care of my brother.Marci P., age 7, with help from her mom, Utah

My brother Brady was a presidential management intern working in naval intelligence at the US Pentagon when the attacks of September 11, 2001, occurred. I was working in Idaho, USA, at the time, and when I saw the news that morning about what had happened, I called my boss to let him know I would not be coming to work for several days.
A few members of my family gathered in Washington, D.C., at a hotel ballroom that government officials had designated as a briefing room, where they could update the families on the ongoing recovery efforts. We waited day after day to learn whether Brady had been among the victims. The feeling in that environment was one of insurmountable grief and hopelessness. Yet our family banded together and prayed that whatever happened, we would not lose our faith.
Nearly one week after the attacks, on September 17, we received confirmation that Brady had died.
I don’t know that I ever asked, “Why me?” But I certainly asked, “Why him?” From the time I was a child, I had loved, admired, and wanted to be just like Brady. I also wondered, “Why now?” For several weeks, Brady had been planning a trip to Idaho to spend time with family. He was scheduled to come on Thursday, September 13, just two days after he had died.
The first evening back at work after returning to Idaho, I opened my professional e-mail account, which I hadn’t done since September 10. There in my inbox was a message from Brady. He had sent it Tuesday morning, just before the attack. In it he talked about our getting together and all the fun things we had planned. When he signed off, he simply wrote, “Peace.”
That wasn’t how Brady usually ended his e-mails, but I count it as a tender mercy of the Lord that he did so. I don’t think Brady knew what was going to happen, but I love that his last words—his last word—to me was peace.
Even now, more than a decade later, I occasionally reread that e-mail. Every time I do, I am reminded that it is through the gospel that we can find the peace the Savior promised: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
Of course I still miss Brady, but because of the gospel, I have not lost my faith to this trial. Through the help of the Savior, I have been able to move forward with hope and with peace.

I was outside playing with my sisters and brother. It was getting dark, so my mom asked us to go inside, and we did. Then my mom asked me to please close the garage. When I went back out, I saw our bikes and skateboard and a chair outside. I put the toys behind the gate and put the chair away in the garage where my mom wouldn’t hit it with her car. Then I closed the garage. I know that Jesus wants me to do service for my mom.

In a recent stake conference, Elder Lance Wickman, speaking on this subject, told an experience he had as a young soldier in Hawaii. His battalion had just been given a new commander who had seen many soldiers die because of poor attention to details. After a week of stiff training, the commander came to Elder Wickman's company, ordering them to set up a defensive position while other companies were dismissed. Not only did the soldiers resent this, but digging foxholes in volcanic rock was almost impossible and seemingly unnecessary. When the commander came to inspect, he looked at the small rock outlines where foxholes should have been. What's that? he asked. Sir, that's a simulated foxhole. A simulated foxhole. What good will a simulated foxhole do you? You will not be dismissed until you have dug foxholes according to the book. For several hours they chipped away at the volcanic rock, speaking disparagingly of the commander but finally finished and were dismissed, well trained. Landing on a Viet Nam beach late in the evening with another company, they decided to dig their foxholes while the other company decided to wait until morning. That night enemy fire was taken, and while others suffered heavy damage, Elder Wickman's company did not. The next morning nobody had any disparaging remarks to say about the commander. Elder Wickman taught that in our own lives we must be careful not to rely on simulated foxholes. We need to prepare and to be diligently obedient.[25]

Valentina Aranda, 33 years old, feels blessed to have lived all her life in the same neighborhood in Rome, a city loved throughout the world for its history and art. Her family comes from many different parts of Italy, which enriches her life with varied traditions. She had a promising career in marketing that she set aside to be a full-time mother to her two daughters. Below she shares the story of her conversion at age 21.
It all started with the Book of Mormon, which I saw in my friend’s library. The book made me very curious, and I felt drawn to it. One day I picked it up and began reading it—but it didn’t make sense to me. I told this to my friend’s mother, who said that I should pray before I read it.
The next evening, I prayed and started reading at the beginning of the book. It seemed to be a different book from what I had read the day previous, and I felt something I had never felt before. I talked about it with my friend and told her I would like to go with her family to church the next Sunday.
When I arrived at the church, I immediately felt at home. It was fast and testimony Sunday, and a very strong spirit descended upon me. I’ll never forget that Sunday. That morning I met the missionaries, who began helping me to know the truth. Those two angels were a great gift, and they are still dear friends today.
But my belief in Joseph Smith as a prophet was the greatest, strongest, and firmest testimony I had. I knew right away that he was a prophet of God and that a great mission was entrusted to him, and after the lesson with the missionaries where I learned about the Restoration, I decided to be baptized. Five weeks after my first time attending church, I entered the waters of baptism. How exciting it was!
The Church gave me a new life. I am happy and secure in my decision; I am sealed to my husband and daughters; I have new friends, the truth, the scriptures, the temple, and knees that now know how to kneel to pray.
I await with anticipation the temple here in Rome. I know that it will be a great blessing for me and for many, many brothers and sisters who are waiting for it.

Being brought up in the Church, I was always told by my friends and family that this was the true church. I never really denied it, but I never really bothered to find out for myself either. I just assumed it was true because everything pretty much made sense and my parents and everyone else seemed so sincere about it.
I had always planned to go on a mission, partially because I felt I was expected to and also because I felt I needed to. After I had received my mission call and before I was about to enter the Missionary Training Center, I really began to think and wonder about the truthfulness of the Church. I had never prayed to my Heavenly Father about knowing the truth, and now I was so close to going on my mission I felt I didn’t have the courage to ask. It was as if I was denying the truth.
When I entered the MTC, I did so with high spirits and was happy to be there. I was enjoying the knowledge I was gaining, but in the back of my mind the thought still lingered. I needed to know for myself if the gospel was true, but I continued to push the thought farther back in my head.
One day my teacher finished giving a great lesson. He then bore his testimony and challenged each of us to find out and pray for ourselves. I was almost in shock, feeling the lesson was aimed specifically at me. That night after our companionship prayer, I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help me know that what I was doing was right and that the Church was true.
I finished my prayer and waited and waited. Feeling nothing, I became discouraged and went to bed.
A couple of days later, I was doing my daily scripture study when I came across this scripture: “Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (D&C 98:1–3).
These verses really helped me understand the need for patience. A few days later at a fireside, we were talking about our prophets. I’m not the emotional type, but I’ll never forget that night. The Spirit was so strong in the room, and it was the first time I had ever felt the Spirit so strongly. Toward the conclusion, all the missionaries stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” While we were singing, they had a movie on the screen showing pictures of the prophets. I was overwhelmed, choked up, and warm inside. I knew the Holy Ghost was testifying to me the truth, and that the prophet was leading the true Church.
I recently returned from serving my mission in the Tucson Arizona Mission. I am so grateful for that special day in the MTC. I realized it’s never too late or early to pray about the truth. I learned patience while also learning the Lord will answer our prayers.

When I was 16, one of my best friends had a small birthday celebration in her basement with a few close friends. After a while my friend’s mom came down with a bottle of champagne. She filled the glasses and gave each of my friends a glass.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink,” I said when she came to me.
I thought that would be the end of it.
I had always prepared myself for “peer” pressure, and I thought that as an adult, her mom would understand. I was wrong. She was very persistent that I join in with the toast.
I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. I thought I had been clear. I just stood there confused. I hadn’t planned on pressure from a parent. There was a moment of silence that seemed to go on forever but was only a few seconds. And then my friends literally encircled me and stepped in front of me and told my friend’s mom that I don’t drink.
Because I had never been shy about my standards, my friends knew my standards. None of my friends are Church members, but they all come from good families. They are good friends who help me keep my standards even when I’m in tough situations.

July 1990: I had come home. I was back in Prague, in my native country of Czechoslovakia—a country I had left twenty-two years before. I left because I couldn’t tolerate the political climate of the time. Now, within a few months, an overwhelming change had been wrought in the country, and I was free to return.
I suppose I expected to feel the same as I had so many years before. But I felt like a tourist. Everything seemed smaller and shabbier, and I felt as though I had lost my family and childhood roots.
But a few days after I had arrived, as I was walking along a crowded street, I suddenly felt a kinship with the people around me. I was among my own people. A great feeling of love and belonging came over me, and I felt the joy of the freedoms that they had gained after forty-five years of strict control.

“I want to give Mom something special for Mother’s Day, Josh.” Ten-year-old Sarah, perched on the porch swing, glanced up at her older brother. “You always do.”
Josh sat down on the swing next to his sister and said, “Your gifts are fine. Mine are different because I have a job and can afford to buy her a present. But that doesn’t make them any better than the ones you make for her. You know how much she likes them.”
Josh is right, Sarah thought. Mom does enjoy the crafts I gave her. Still, the jewelry box she’d made this year with Popsicle sticks wasn’t the same as the beautiful rose-colored vase Josh had bought for Mom. That’s why Sarah had decided to do something else, as well as give her the handmade gift.
“Can you keep a secret?” She glanced across the backyard. Other than their three-year-old brother, Nicholas, who was making a roadway in the sandbox, the yard was still.
Josh bent closer to Sarah. “What is it?”
“I’m singing in sacrament meeting tomorrow,” Sarah whispered.
“Doesn’t the Primary always sing in sacrament meeting on Mother’s Day?”
“This is different.” Sarah whispered again. “I’m singing a duet with Lucy Hernandez.”
“A duet with Lucy?” Josh was impressed. “She’s practically a professional!”
“Sister Fields—she’s our new Primary chorister—asked for volunteers last month. I thought it would be something I could do for Mom. Just from me.”
“She’ll love it, Sarah,” Josh said with a warm smile.
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing in my room every chance I get, when Mom’s not around to hear me. And I’ve been helping Nick too.”
“You mean Nick’s going to sing with the Primary?” Josh stared at Sarah. “He won’t even sit through Sharing Time without Mom next to him. How did you talk Mr. Shy Guy into singing?”
“I gave him some extra help with the songs. He’s a fast learner.”
“He has a good teacher, Sarah.”
The next morning Sarah made her announcement as they parked in the church lot. “I’ll be singing with Lucy,” she was saying as she unbuckled her seat belt. “All the Primary classes will sing the first two songs together. For the last song, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever,’ Lucy and I will sing the second verse. Just the two of us.”
“Sarah, that’s wonderful,” Mom said, swinging the car door open. “What a special Mother’s Day this will be!”
Sitting in sacrament meeting, Sarah squirmed a bit as the speakers told about their mothers. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t concentrate.
Finally Sister Fields stepped to the front of the chapel, signaling the children to come forward.
Sarah guided Nicholas to the front row, placing him between two older children. “You’ll do great, Nick,” she whispered. Weaving through several other Primary children, she found her way next to Lucy, who was adjusting the microphone.
Sarah’s heart hammered with excitement as the pianist played the introductory notes for the first song. She was very pleased with how clear her voice sounded as they sang the first song.
As they began the second song, Sarah thought she heard soft crying. She glanced around the large group of children. It looked like everyone was singing. Then she saw Nicholas. He was sitting in a seat usually reserved for speakers, mostly hidden from her behind standing classmates. Tears dripped down his face as he stared at the floor.
As the pianist played the prelude music for “Families Can Be Together Forever,” Sarah edged over to him and dropped to her knees. “What’s the matter, Nick?”
“I want Mommy.”
“Why don’t you sing this song first,” Sarah asked, “then I’ll take you to Mom.”
Nicholas shook his head vigorously while the other Primary children loudly sang, “I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me.”
“Listen, Nick, I’ll take you to Mom as soon as we’re through with this song.”
Nicholas’ chin creased and quivered as he shook his head a second time. He grabbed Sarah’s hand and begged, “Don’t go.”
As the other children sang, “Families can be together forever Through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Sarah looked up at Lucy Hernandez, singing confidently but obviously looking for Sarah.
“I always want to be with my own family,” the Primary choir sang on.
“Please stay here, Sarah,” Nicholas was pleading just as Sarah’s eyes met Lucy’s.
As the other children finished the first verse—“And the Lord has shown me how I can. The Lord has shown me how I can”—Sarah motioned to Lucy with her hand, signaling her to sing alone. Lucy turned, nodding first at Sarah, then to Sister Fields.
Still on her knees, her arm around Nicholas, Sarah quietly listened to Lucy’s clear, beautiful voice. “While I am in my early years, I’ll prepare most carefully.”
Nicholas’s tears subsided, but he continued to cling to his sister while Lucy finished the song: “The Lord has shown me how I can.”
Sarah led Nicholas to where their mother and Josh were sitting and slid into the pew herself so that Brother Pazooki could give the closing prayer. Afterward, still fighting tears, she was surprised to see that her mother’s eyes were also teary. She was even more surprised when her Mother told her, “I’m so proud of you, Sarah!”
“But I didn’t get to sing the duet for you.”
“I know. But when I couldn’t see Nick, I could guess what happened—he needed you with him, didn’t he?”
Sarah nodded, still puzzled.
“You’ve made this a very special Mother’s Day,” Mom continued. “Would you sing that song for me at home? You see, you really lived the words of that song, and I can’t think of a better Mother’s Day present you could give me.”

It all started with a roommate in college who began to get “holy” (I thought). She only played Bach on Sunday. Well, I enjoyed Bach, but please, let’s have a little more contemporary music too! Let’s not be translated yet (or so I thought). Soon the spirit of that day came to me through music, just listening music, beautiful symphonies, a fitting background for thinking and meditation. Gradually I weaned myself from the music of the world on Sunday, and the light of the gospel shone in me in this single precept.

I think, for example, of the great story of Stephen Markham, who joined the Church in the East, sold his property, and came out to Nauvoo with a bag of gold. He listened to the Prophet admonish the people that the Lord wanted them to complete the Nauvoo Temple and urge the people to give of their means, that the temple might be built. At the close of the meeting Stephen Markham came forward and put the little bag of gold upon the rostrum: “Use this for the temple.”

He started again from scratch and, with the aid of his neighbors, built himself a fine home in Nauvoo. Two years later he heard that the Prophet Joseph was in debt. He was running a store. There were no funds to support the Presidency of the Church. The members of the Church were taking advantage of him. They were getting goods on credit and not paying their debts, knowing the Prophet would hardly sue them. Hearing this account, Stephen Markham sold his home, moved his family into a tent, and came and laid the proceeds in the Prophet’s hands, saying, “Pay off your debts. We need you as a prophet of the Church.”

Fortunately most students are lovable, and sometimes the most ignorant are the most lovable. Consider the unsuspected plight of the ignorant but lovable missionary who wrote his own letter of recommendation for admission to the University a few years ago. He called it a “self recommendation” :

I’m really proud of [so-and-so, he wrote, giving his own name] for the tremendous progress he has made these past few years, not only in self disapline [sic] and controal [sic] but in the phenominal [sic] growth he has made through maturity sense [sic] being out here serveing [sic] the Lord. Our Father in Heaven has really taken him in hand, now that hard and rough stone is no more, but is a smooth polished shaft in the quiver of the hands of the Lord. To better describe [so-and-so] and tell you how much he has progressed in order for you to accept [him] into the University let me for a moment tell you how much he has progressed. Let me tell you how teachable he is [and so on].

Two of my good friends were my older brothers, Mike and Bill. They never minded having me tag along when they went to play basketball, baseball, or football, and if their friends didn’t want me to play, Mike and Bill wouldn’t play either. Playing sports with my brothers and their friends was hard because I was younger than they were, but it paid off in the long run. I always had to work harder to compete with them, but that extra effort made me a better athlete. By the time I was in high school, I was ahead of most guys my age, and that edge later helped me earn an athletic scholarship that paid my way through college.

Mateo looked at the math problem on the board and quickly wrote it down in his notebook. Math was his favorite subject, so he really wanted to pay attention. But he could barely hear what Mrs. Santos was saying because his friend Daniel was talking.
“Shh! Daniel, I can’t hear!” Mateo whispered. But Daniel kept talking. Finally Mrs. Santos heard him.
“Daniel, you’re interrupting again,” Mrs. Santos said. “You’ve already had a warning. Now you need to give me a ticket.”
Daniel slowly reached into his desk and handed her a red ticket. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the floor. Mrs. Santos gave tickets to students who behaved well and followed directions. The students wrote their names on the tickets and put them in a jar each day. But you had to give a ticket back if you misbehaved. Every Friday, Mrs. Santos pulled a ticket out of the jar, and the winner got to choose a prize from the class treasure chest. Daniel had to give a lot of tickets back for talking, so his name wasn’t drawn very often. Mateo felt bad that Daniel was losing another ticket.
At recess Mateo ran out to the field to play soccer. He saw Daniel standing alone by the swings. He could tell Daniel was crying. Mateo wanted to help him feel better.
“Do you want to play soccer?” Mateo asked.
Daniel didn’t say anything. Mateo tried to talk to him more, but Daniel just turned away.
“Well, I’ll be on the playground if you change your mind.”
Mateo went to play with his other friends, but he kept thinking about Daniel. Mateo was turning eight and was going to be baptized soon. He wanted to be like Jesus and be a good friend. Was there something he could do to help Daniel?
The next day, the class was reading a story in small groups. But instead of reading, Daniel was tossing his book high into the air.
Mateo tried to stop him. “Daniel, we need to read the book, not play with it.”
Daniel tossed the book again. Mrs. Santos saw it almost hit the ceiling. She walked over to Daniel and held out her hand for a ticket. Daniel reached into his desk. Panic crossed his face as he kept searching.
Oh no! He must be out of tickets! Mateo thought. No tickets meant Daniel would have to stay inside for recess. Mateo’s mind started racing. What could he do? Then he had a good thought.
“Daniel,” Mrs. Santos said, “if you don’t have a ticket for me, then—”
Mateo took a deep breath. “May I pay for him, Mrs. Santos?” he asked.
The class went quiet. No one had ever asked her that before. Mateo wasn’t sure what she would say.
Mrs. Santos looked surprised. Then she smiled. “You’re a very good friend. Yes, you may pay Daniel’s ticket for him.” Mateo handed Mrs. Santos one of his tickets.
“Thanks, Mateo,” said Daniel.
“Sure!” said Mateo. “Do you want to read together now?”
Daniel nodded and picked up his book.
As Daniel started reading, Mateo felt warm and happy inside. That good idea had come from the Holy Ghost! Mateo knew that Jesus had wanted him to help Daniel—because He loves Daniel. And Mateo felt Jesus’s love too!