Gospel Story Finder

Fritz lived with his parents, four younger brothers, and one sister on a small farm in Cammin, Germany. One spring he was more excited than he had ever been; he was going to America!
Some LDS missionaries who had just been released from their missions were staying at Fritz’s home before leaving Germany for America. They had kindly offered to take one of the children with them, promising to see that the child arrived safely in America and was sent on the train to Rockland, Idaho, the home of the missionary who had baptized the family.
A year earlier a missionary from Rockland and his companion had taught Fritz’s family the gospel, and after careful study and prayer they accepted it and were baptized.
When they became members of the Church, their friends and relatives shunned them. Life in Germany was not as happy or easy without their friendships, so the family decided to go to America. However, there was only enough money now to buy passage for one person. The family prayed and discussed the missionaries’ offer.
It was a difficult decision. Whoever went with the missionaries would be alone in America until Fritz’s father could save enough for the rest of the family to go to the new country. Finally, it was decided that Fritz would go first.
Early in April Fritz and the missionaries left Cammin and traveled by train to Hamburg. There they joined other missionaries and a group of emigrants who were going to America.
On the 16th of April they sailed from Hamburg on the S.S. City of Rome. The water was rough in the North Sea and English Channel, and for three days Fritz was terribly seasick. There were times when he doubted whether he should be making the trip. But he finally developed his sea legs and his doubts vanished.
Later, as the group was traveling westward from New York City by train, the immigrants and missionaries left the train as they reached their various destinations. The last missionary said good-bye to Fritz when they arrived at Cheyenne, Wyoming, leaving Fritz to make the rest of the trip without his friends.
Before the last missionary left, however, he gave Fritz a ticket to Idaho and wrote a note with the young boy’s name and destination on it. Pinning the note to Fritz’s jacket, the missionary put him on the train and bade him good-bye.
Although the missionary had been very helpful, he forgot one important thing; he forgot to tell Fritz that his last train stop would be in American Falls, Idaho, sixteen miles from Rockland.
As the train pulled out of Cheyenne, Fritz examined his ticket anxiously, looking for the only English word he knew—Rockland, but it wasn’t there.
Fritz tried asking his fellow passengers for help, but no one could understand him. After a while he decided that he would stay on the train, although he wasn’t sure where it was going. Maybe it will go to Rockland even if I can’t see that word on my ticket, he reasoned.
Early one morning a few days later, the train came to a stop. Fritz was asleep on a side seat in the railroad coach when the conductor came in and shook him roughly. “Come on! Come on!” he said. Startled, Fritz grabbed his suitcase and paper bag containing half a loaf of bread and a small piece of bologna. Quickly he followed the conductor off the train.
They had no sooner alighted when the conductor stepped quickly aboard and the train chuffed on its way again. Fritz stood silently on the station platform.
Across the tracks in the soft light of dawn, he could see some saloons and grocery stores. And from somewhere close by he could hear the steady roar of a river.
Fritz felt extremely alone. He knew there was only one way he could get help. Walking into the tall sagebrush behind the station, he knelt down and earnestly prayed to his Heavenly Father for guidance.
Upon returning to the station, a man approached Fritz and asked him a question. Fritz answered in German that he could not speak English. And then in fluent German the stranger spoke to the boy and a calm, comforting feeling came over Fritz. Together, he and the man sat down on a bench and talked until the sun rose and people began to fill the streets.
Then the man took Fritz across the tracks and bought him some breakfast. It seemed like a feast after so many meals of bread and bologna. While Fritz ate, the man inquired around for someone who might know the family in Rockland who Fritz was to stay with. Eventually he learned of a Swedish couple who lived near Rockland; they agreed to take Fritz to the home of his friends.
Fritz gladly helped the couple load their supplies into their wagon. When they were about ready to start homeward, Fritz looked around for the stranger who had befriended him so he could express thanks for his help. But the man was gone and no one there knew where he had come from nor which way he had gone.
Reaching Rockland, Fritz surprised his friends who had not expected him that day. Nevertheless, it was an especially happy reunion.
Before climbing into bed that night, Fritz knelt to thank his Heavenly Father for His help. The boy knew that although he was far from his family, Heavenly Father had been very close.

Five cubs had been born to Red and Vixen only nine days ago. These young ones were still completely helpless, and their eyes were just beginning to open. Two of the cubs were the typical red color of their father; two were more of a cross like Vixen—reddish brown with a smoky stripe down the back and across the shoulders; and one had silver black fur sprinkled with white.
Red was now on his way back to his family, feeling rather smug after stealing some leftover meat that a wolf had cached for a future meal. Hunting was not usually so easy. As a matter of fact, when the snowshoe hare population was low and the marmots and ground squirrels were still in hibernation, death from starvation was a constant threat. As if that problem were not enough, a desperate lynx that depended on the hare for most of its diet might anytime add a red fox to its menu. But in recent years snowshoe hares had been plentiful in the north country, so Red had not noticed any extra attention from his lynx neighbors.
Another resident of the wilderness, however, lurked nearby. The clucking alarm and whirring wings of a willow ptarmigan were warning signals to Red. He stopped abruptly, forepaw in the air. His body was arrow straight, tense, ready to spring into action. Something was edging through the lodgepole pines. Suddenly a giant grizzly bear appeared. Its massive hump-shouldered body weighed almost a thousand pounds. The grizzly was one of the most ferocious of all wild animals.
The bear was headed toward the den of Red and his new family. Red couldn’t tell if the bear were aware of the den. But he knew that if the grizzly were not diverted before he had the scent of the cubs, they would be devoured.
Red was one of the smaller predators of the north country, but his intelligence, speed, and courage made up for his size. In a red blur of motion, the fox dashed out to meet the grizzly. He circled around the bear and then rushed in to nip at his heels. The bear turned and snarled. Red circled again and again, darting in and out as he went, teasing, taunting, challenging. He knew that he must draw the bear away from the den, so each time Red retreated from the savage claws of the grizzly, he backed a little farther away from Vixen and their cubs.
In one unguarded moment before the grizzly had completely turned, Red made a rushing leap and bit the bear on the rump. Snarling with rage, the grizzly lunged toward the little fox. The whole forest shuddered with the sound. But the agile fox dodged the lashing paw just in time, backing away in an effort to draw the grizzly still farther from the den.
By now the bear was breathing in hoarse huffs. He was rapidly losing his appetite for a red fox dinner. What may have once seemed like a good idea had become a painful, frustrating ordeal. With a resigned grunt, the grizzly turned and lumbered off into the pines.

Stringy orange chunks went skittering across the road. Nothing was left of the carefully-carved pumpkin face except a lonely candle stuck in the pulpy mess near my feet.
“C’mon, throw yours,” Mike said, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Do it!” Jeff urged.
Kevin pushed my shoulder. “Hurry up! Smash it, and let’s get out of here.”
My friends stood in a circle around me. The pumpkin felt smooth and cold in my hands. It was heavy, even though the stringy insides had been pulled out and holes carved for a silly face. I remembered how long it had taken me to clean and carve my own pumpkin at home, scooping out the slippery seeds and carefully slicing out sections for its eyes, nose, and mouth.
But this pumpkin wasn’t mine. I had grabbed it off a porch tonight after trick-or-treating, then waited impatiently for house lights to blink off one by one. It wasn’t my idea to smash the pumpkins, but my friends said it was great fun. They had each swiped one too.
“Everyone does it,” Mike had said. “It’s a Halloween tradition. Nobody can see you—it’s too dark out. Just hold the pumpkin up as high as you can and smash it on the road.”
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Kevin added. “It’s just an old pumpkin. It’ll be rotten soon anyway.”
They were right. It was great fun. My pumpkin-smashing sent chunks flying farther than anyone else’s. I laughed out loud when some gooey pieces splatted on Jeff’s pant legs. Jeff pushed me backward into some pumpkin mess on the road. Mike grabbed a pumpkin chunk and plopped it on top of Jeff’s costume wig. Soon pumpkin pieces were flying everywhere.
A porch light switched on suddenly, and a man’s voice growled from the lit doorway. “Hey you boys! What’s going on out there?”
A small figure in pajamas, clutching a teddy bear, stood by the man’s side. “Daddy, where’s my pumpkin?” asked a tiny voice. “Did the boys break my pumpkin?”
We raced through neighborhood yards until we were safely out of sight, finally crouching behind shrubs to see if anyone was following us. “Watch out! Over there!” But it was only a tree shadow stretching its long black body over the ground toward us. The wind moaned and sighed. Clawlike branches scratched unearthly noises against rooftops. I gulped deep breaths of cold night air and tried to steady my trembling legs. This was scary—but exciting too!
We listened for police sirens or neighbors yelling for us to come out. A dog howled faintly in the distance. An airplane droned in the dark overhead. But there were no footsteps, no searching flashlights, no angry voices. We were safe. We laughed, patting each other on the back. This had been easy!
But something followed me as I walked home. Something invisible wrapped its long, icy fingers around my head and invaded my ears. It was sneakier and more chilling than any make-believe Halloween ghost.
It was a tiny voice crying over a pumpkin—the one I had smashed.
The voice chased me all the way back to my house. I quietly climbed the front steps and sat down in the dark shadows. My own pumpkin scowled at me from the porch railing as if it knew that I had smashed one of its relatives. For fun. Because “everyone did it.”
The front door opened, and Dad poked his head outside, whistling for our dog. “Hey, kiddo, did you have a good time trick-or-treating? Did you get any candy for your old dad?”
I handed him my bag full of treats. “Here. Take what you want. I’m not hungry.”
Dad sat down beside me. He pulled a sucker out of the bag, unwrapped it, and pointed it at my pumpkin on the railing. “You know, Son, in a way you’re a little bit like that pumpkin over there.”
“Sure, Dad,” I said. “I have an empty space where my brains should be.”
Dad rolled the sucker over his tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with your brain—when you use it,” he said, picking at some pumpkin goo still clinging to my pants. “I meant that there’s a ‘candle’ inside you, too—a bright spark that lights up your face and makes you who you are. It’s a pure, clear, beautiful light that’s inside every person. Maybe it shines a little less when they do something they’re ashamed of, but it never goes out completely.” He gently turned my face toward his. “Your light looks a little dim tonight.”
“It’s a wonder it didn’t go out like a smashed pumpkin,” I said. “A broken pumpkin just lying in the road, waiting for a car to run over it. A pumpkin that didn’t even belong to me.”
I stood up and walked over to the railing. My hands circled the perfectly-decorated pumpkin that had taken me a whole hour to clean and carve. I picked it up and started down the front steps.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
I turned to face him. “A little voice is calling me,” I choked out.
Dad studied his sucker. “A voice?”
“Of a little boy in pajamas.”
Dad smiled. “Follow that voice,” he said. “Your light is getting brighter every second.”

A Sunday School teacher once said to her class, “How many of you would like to go to the celestial kingdom?” And everyone held up their hands except one little boy. The teacher said to him, “Bill, wouldn’t you like to go to the celestial kingdom someday?” And he said, “Oh, sure, someday. But I thought you were getting up a group to go tonight.” Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom sometime; they just don’t want to get ready right now.

A friend of mine received an invitation to the temple wedding of a young man she had taught in Primary. When she responded to the invitation, she asked, “David, you moved away, and I haven’t seen you for years. Why did you think of me?”
“Sister McMullin,” he said, “you taught us about being clean and worthy to receive the priesthood. You taught us about scrubbing our hands and wearing clean clothes when we would pass the sacrament. You taught us about being clean inside too. When I was faced with temptations and decisions in my dating years, your voice would come into my mind: ‘A deacon is clean inside and out.’ I am worthy to go to the temple because of you. That’s why I want you to come with us.”

George Kumar was just looking for a way to be sure his older son, Ryan, would live a productive, moral lifestyle. The Kumar family found much more: eternal gospel truths that brought all of them a new, happier way of life.
The gospel revitalized their family, Brother Kumar says. “We spend more time together—more quality time, with more open relationships.” They have family prayer daily, and regular family home evening is “a ‘must’ thing,” Ryan says.
It was Ryan who led the way into the Church.
When Ryan was in his mid-teens, George Kumar became concerned about the path his son might follow in life. Worried that Ryan and his friends were not spending their time productively, George found a way to surround his son with young people who behaved differently. George learned from talking to a cousin who works at the Fiji LDS Church College, in Suva, that Ryan could qualify for admission. (The Church College is a secondary school equivalent to a junior high and high school in other areas.)
After he entered the Church College, Ryan’s behavior began to improve. “It was the example of the other students,” he says. Formerly, he had spent a lot of time with his friends pursuing idle activities. But after seeing the difference in the lives of the students at the Church school, “I lost the desire to do those things,” he explains.
Ryan gained a testimony of the gospel, and his parents were so delighted with the changes in his life that when he asked their permission to be baptized and confirmed, they readily said yes. Ryan let go of his old group of friends. He had gained new ones.
When he asked his parents to listen to the missionaries, however, “we were reluctant,” George recalls. Still, they had seen the changes the gospel had brought into Ryan’s life, so they knew the Church had to be good. The turnabout in Ryan’s behavior was so marked that in his third and final year at the Church College, he was named head boy, an honor usually reserved for a student who has spent his entire scholastic career at the school.
Some changes in Ryan’s behavior seemed strange to his parents at first. Why, for example, could they not persuade him to eat on the first Sunday of the month? But when Ryan explained the purpose of fasting, his parents understood that the changes in his life ran deeper than they had realized.
Ryan’s younger brother, Michael, had also observed the changes in his brother, and Michael listened to the gospel. “Ryan started going to Church activities, and the thing that caught me is that every time he came back, he was happy,” Michael says. “I actually referred myself to the missionaries. I wanted to take the lessons. I wanted to be baptized and confirmed.”
As the missionaries were presenting the new-member lessons to Michael after his baptism, his mother, Alitiana, began to listen. This influenced her husband, and soon both George and his wife had testimonies of their own.
Ryan had the privilege of baptizing both his parents into the Church in 2006, shortly before leaving to serve in the New Zealand Wellington Mission. Later, before Michael left on a mission, he had the privilege of accompanying his parents as they entered the temple. Elder Michael Kumar entered the Utah Salt Lake City South Mission in August 2008, shortly before Ryan returned from New Zealand.
Paying tithing and then financially supporting a son on a mission proved to be difficult for the Kumars. Brother Kumar’s income was fully committed to their mortgage and to other obligations. But they made the necessary sacrifices; the whole family understood the need. For example, whenever Brother Kumar said cheerfully that they would be enjoying the “normal” diet that evening, the whole family understood there would be no meat for dinner. “There were days when we had just bread and cocoa,” Michael recalls.
Ryan says he is grateful for his parents’ sacrifice. “I learned that they are truly committed to the covenants they made.”
Ryan’s younger brother comments that since their conversion, “we make it through trials better as a family. Heavenly Father has helped us out.”
The family’s conversion quickly touched other lives as well. Two of Ryan and Michael’s cousins who had come to live with the Kumars also chose to hear the missionary lessons and join the Church.
The blessings of the Kumars’ sacrifices have been both temporal and spiritual, Brother Kumar says. They have been able to make their money stretch to meet their needs. And after Michael left on his mission, Brother Kumar was able to obtain a new job that he hopes will enable him to pay off his mortgage more quickly.
But spiritual blessings the Kumars have received have been more important in their lives. George and Alitiana find growth in their callings—he as elders quorum president in the Lami Second Ward, Suva Fiji North Stake, and she as second counselor in the ward Primary.
Ryan notes that his own outlook on life is now far different than that of many of his peers: “I always have something to do—something to build up the kingdom.” In planning for the future, he says, the gospel makes believers “look at things from an eternal perspective.”
George and Alitiana Kumar had both been taught Christian doctrines before hearing the gospel. But they had not found comfort in what they had been taught. “In other religions,” Brother Kumar says, “you are taught to fear God’s wrath—to be scared. But the Atonement of Jesus Christ gives you another chance.”
The Kumars are trying to make the most of that second chance.

Fifty-eight years ago, I knocked on the door of J. Roland Sandstrom, patriarch of the Santa Ana California Stake, with a recommend from my bishop to receive a patriarchal blessing. We had never met and would not meet again for 14 years. We met again 15 years later. This time, as one of the Twelve, I blessed him the day before he died.
The blessing was delivered by mail to my barracks at an air force base where I was stationed. I did not know then, as I know now, that a patriarch has prophetic insight, that his blessing would be more than a guide to me. It has been a shield and a protection.
The patriarch, who had never seen me before, made a promise that applies to every one of us. He told me to “face toward the sunlight of truth so that the shadow of error, disbelief, doubt and discouragement shall be cast behind you.” Many times I have gained strength from reading that patriarchal blessing, given by an inspired servant of the Lord.

When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.

At one time Thomas worked with both President Brigham Young and United States President James Buchanan to clear up a misunderstanding that could have resulted in a war between the Saints and the government. Soldiers had been sent to Utah. With Thomas Kane’s help, however, a solution was found before there was any bloodshed. President Wilford Woodruff later told him: "You were an instrument in the hands of God, and you were inspired by him to turn away … the edge of the sword."

The first cornerstone of my testimony was laid a long time ago. One of my early recollections was having a frightening nightmare as a small child. I still remember it vividly. I must have screamed in fright during the night. My grandmother woke me up. I was crying, and she took me in her arms, hugged me, and comforted me. She got a bowl of some of my favorite rice pudding that was left over from dinner, and I sat on her lap as she spoon-fed me. She told me that we were safe in our house because Jesus was watching over us. I felt it was true then, and I still believe it now. I was comforted in both body and soul and went peacefully back to bed, assured of the divine reality that Jesus does watch over us.

My dad is 6?8? (203 cm) and is a great basketball player! His interest in sports started when he was young. Every chance he got he was out playing with neighborhood and school friends. There was always a ball in his hands or a ball at his feet.
In high school, he made the basketball team all three years, always working super hard. Because of his efforts, he was offered basketball scholarships to several colleges. He accepted one from a junior college and played for two years.
He was then offered basketball scholarships to some major colleges. That’s when he had to make one of the hardest decisions of his life—either to accept one of the scholarships or to go on a mission. He tells us he decided that he could always play basketball, but if he didn’t go on a mission then, he would probably never go. So he turned in his mission papers and was called to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He worked hard for the Lord and loved it.
When he returned he played for BYU–Hawaii for one year, then decided that he wanted to move back home. He met and married my mother, Caroline, and our family now consists of four children. He loves us dearly and is happy about the choice he made. He still loves to play basketball with his children.
My dad is my hero. If it weren’t for the choices he made, our family might not be the same. He had the chance of a lifetime but chose the route that would lead to eternal happiness. I love my dad, and I am so happy he went on a mission and got married in the temple. He will always be an all-star in my eyes.

“I don’t want to go to Grandma’s cabin,” Jacob cried.
“Jacob,” Mom said gently, “I know going there will be hard, but we want to do this for Grandma. We’ve always celebrated your birthday at the cabin.”
“But that was before … before … Grandpa died.”
“I know,” Mom said. “We’re all sad about losing Grandpa, so we need to help each other. We’ll get through this together, OK?”
“OK,” he said softly.
Jacob had always looked forward to being at the cabin together. He and Grandpa had been fishing buddies. But now Grandpa was gone.
“There’s Grandma and Big Red!” Mom said the next day as they pulled into the cabin’s driveway. Dad and Mom hopped out of the car to hug and kiss Grandma. Big Red barked and wagged his tail.
Jacob took his time getting out of the car. With dragging feet, he slowly approached Grandma.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came,” Grandma said, hugging him.
“I love you, Grandma,” Jacob said softly.
When Jacob walked inside the cabin, he saw a fire crackling in the fireplace. The table was set, and colorful balloons and streamers were everywhere. A big banner over the fireplace read, “Happy Birthday, Jacob!”
Jacob tried to look happy, but memories of Grandpa were everywhere. It just hurt so much that he wasn’t here. Jacob bit his lip to keep the tears back.
After dinner Grandma brought in Jacob’s birthday cake with 11 twinkling candles. “Make a wish and blow out the candles,” she said.
Jacob felt a stab of sadness remembering how Grandpa always put one trick candle on his cake. He blew hard. All the candles went out. Then one sputtered and lit up again. Everyone laughed.
“I couldn’t let your birthday pass without playing Grandpa’s silly little trick on you,” Grandma said.
After cake, Grandma gave Jacob a birthday card. “Grandpa wanted me to give this to you.”
Jacob noticed her tears. He took the card. “Could I open it by myself outside?” he asked quietly.
“That would be just fine,” Grandma said.
When Jacob came back inside, his eyes were red, but he smiled and said, “Grandpa said I could have his fishing rod and his good reel.”
“Yes, I know.” Grandma took the rod off the pole rack and handed it to Jacob. “Grandpa found a new lake last summer. He asked me to take you there for your birthday.”
The next morning Jacob and Grandma loaded their fishing gear in the car. As soon as Big Red saw they were ready to leave, he took one leap and landed in the seat next to Jacob. Grandma’s laughter and happy memories of Grandpa lightened Jacob’s heart as they drove to the lake.
“Hang on,” Grandma said as the car bounced over the road. “We’ll have to hike now,” she said, stopping the car.
After they’d walked for a while, Grandma stopped and pointed ahead. “There’s the lake. You can see it just through those trees.” She sat down under a big tree with a book. “I’ll stay here and watch. Big Red will go with you, but call out if you need anything.”
Jacob was glad Grandma was letting him go to the shore alone. It made him feel closer to Grandpa.
Two hours later Jacob came trudging back to Grandma with Big Red romping beside him.
“Any luck?” Grandma called.
Jacob frowned and shook his head. But then he pulled his hand out from behind his back. “Ta da!” He held up his line with five beautiful trout dangling from it.
“Native cutthroats!” Grandma said. Those were Grandpa’s favorite trout. “We’ll fry them up for dinner.”
“Grandma, it was great down there,” Jacob said as he sat down beside her. “Next time will you come with me? Maybe we could be fishing buddies.”
“I’d like that,” Grandma said.
Jacob wrapped his arms around Big Red. “I felt like Grandpa was with me.” Tears slowly trickled down his face. “I cried really hard, but then I felt like I could talk to him.” He looked at Grandma, and she was crying too.
“I didn’t want to come here for my birthday because of Grandpa, but now I’m glad I did.”
Grandma stared up at the trees. “I felt that way too. I cried a lot the first day I was up here.” Grandma put her arm around him. “It’s all right to be sad. Even though we know Grandpa is in a good place, we miss him, don’t we?”
Jacob nodded. They sat quietly for a long time, thinking about Grandpa and enjoying the mountains he had loved.
“Let’s go, shall we?” Grandma finally said. “We’ve got to get ready for our fish fry tonight.”
Jacob reached down to help Grandma up. Big Red raced ahead of them to the car. “This is the happiest but saddest birthday I’ve ever had. Does that make sense?”
“That makes perfectly good sense to me.”
“I’m thankful that Heavenly Father gave me such a good grandpa,” Jacob said.
“Oh, yes. I am too.”
“And you know what? I’m thankful He gave me a wonderful grandma like you.”
We all grieve (or react to death) in different ways.
There’s no one way to feel. You might feel angry or lonely or numb. You might not cry or even feel sad right away.
It might take a long time to not feel so sad. Even after grief fades, it can still come back.
It’s OK to have fun or laugh or feel happy. It doesn’t mean you don’t love the person who died.
Even if you trust Heavenly Father and know you’ll see your loved ones again, you can still be sad when they die.
It’s OK to talk about and remember the person who died, even if it makes you feel sad.
When Lazarus died, Jesus knew He would bring Lazarus back to life. But Jesus still wept (see John 11:32–36). Jesus cares when we are sad. Because of His Atonement, He understands our grief (see Alma 7:11–12).
Write a letter of things you wish you could say to the person who died.
Make a memory box of keepsakes or photos.
Talk to someone else who loved the person.
Draw a picture of the person or of your family now.
If you know someone who is grieving, show you love them, even if you don’t know what to say. Spend time with them, let them talk if they want, and help them in little ways.

Long years ago I was touched by a story which illustrated love of neighbor between a small boy named Paul and a telephone operator he had never met. These were the days many will remember with nostalgia but which a new generation will never experience.
Paul related the story: “When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember that the shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but I used to listen with fascination when Mother would talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was ‘Information, Please,’ and there was nothing she did not know. ‘Information, Please’ could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.
“I learned that if I stood on a stool, I could reach the telephone. I called ‘Information, Please’ for all sorts of things. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my arithmetic, too.
“Then there was the time that Petey, our pet canary, died. I called ‘Information, Please’ and told her the sad story. She listened and then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. ‘Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up, on the bottom of the cage?’ I asked.
“She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ‘Paul, always remember that there are other worlds in which to sing.’ Somehow I felt better.
“All this took place in a small town near Seattle. Then we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. ‘Information, Please’ belonged to that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying to call her. The memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
“Later, when I went west to college, my plane made a stop in Seattle,” Paul continued. “I called ‘Information, Please,’ and when, miraculously, I heard that familiar voice, I said to her, ‘I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?’
“‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.’ I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I came back west.
“‘Please do,’ she said. ‘Just ask for Sally.’
“Only three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, ‘Information,’ and I asked for Sally. ‘Are you a friend?’ the woman asked.
“‘Yes, a very old friend,’ I replied.
“‘Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally has only been working part-time the last few years because she was ill. She died five weeks ago.’ But before I could hang up, she said, ‘Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?’
“‘Yes,’ I responded.
“‘Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is—I’ll read it. Tell him I still say there are other worlds in which to sing. He’ll know what I mean.
“I thanked her and hung up,” said Paul. “I did know what Sally meant.”
Sally, the telephone operator, and Paul, the boy—the man—were in reality good Samaritans to each other.

“Thanks for helping me get that broken water pipe fixed.”
Elder Jose Arcia laughs, “Oh, Hermana, we didn’t help much.” During their last visit, the woman’s eight-year-old boy had broken a pipe in the front yard, sending water gushing onto the sidewalk. After an hour, with a Church member’s help, they fixed it. Today, every time the boy starts to wander away from the discussion, Elder Arcia asks him simple questions and playfully draws him back.
The mother, who is separated from her husband, is impressed by the lesson. Elder Arcia and his companion teach sensitively, urging her to love God and her neighbors and obey the law of chastity and the Word of Wisdom. “In twenty years, after the missionaries are gone, will you still be obeying these laws?” he asks.
“Of course I will,” she answers. She’ll be baptized in two weeks.
Watching Elder Arcia teach, you’d assume he’s had years of Church experience. Actually, this twenty-four-year-old Panamanian entered the MTC thirteen days before completing even one year as a member.
Later, a U.S. missionary assistant to the mission president comments on Elder Arcia’s work in the Costa Rica Mission: “The president sends him to areas where the work isn’t going well. Wherever he goes, Elder Arcia sparks excitement, teaches a lot of discussions, and has baptisms. There’s something about him that we foreigners don’t have. He can get into doors we can’t enter!”

A sense of humor also works well for Loraine Taylor of Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
“Everybody’s not a jokester,” says Loraine, “but for me that usually works.”
“I was invited to a graduation party, and I knew that joking wouldn’t do it. I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to leave early because I had a date. So I prayed really hard before the party that I would be able to resist.
“People kept offering me drinks all night, but I had a prayer in my heart the whole time, so I made it through the evening.
“At first, it wasn’t easy. It took time and a lot of refusals before my friends finally knew me well enough to know that I was still their friend—even when I said no. But later they wouldn’t smoke or drink around me.”

Even before Sister Tintí became a Latter-day Saint, “she always tried to teach us moral principles,” recalls her twenty-year-old daughter Reyna. Sister Tintí had accepted the good she found in the religion of her ancestors, but she was dissatisfied. “I felt there must be something better, but I didn’t know what it was.”
Rosa de Tintí discovered that “something better” through the help of her eldest daughter, Melida (a child by her first husband), who had joined the Church while living in the United States. Melida sent the missionaries to her mother and her mother’s second family in Guatemala. The Tintí children were baptized in 1978, but because their father did not join the Church, Sister Tintí did not feel free to be baptized until after his death the following year. A year later, in 1980, she received her endowment in the Los Angeles Temple.

Anthony peered out the window of his pretend time machine. It was actually a cardboard box that he had decorated with markers, foil, and other things. For several days he had had lots of fun playing in it. Now he was imagining a strange-looking object in front of him. It was like a car, but it had wings. It was big enough for him to take a ride in, and that was what he wanted to do. But as he began to climb out of the time machine to do that, a real-life voice spoke to him: “Time to get ready for bed, Anthony.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, flopping down on the floor in disappointment. “I was just going to take a ride in a flying car.”
“Well, you’ll have to do that tomorrow,” Mom replied. “Right now you need to get ready for Book of Mormon time and bed.”
Anthony reluctantly dragged the box into the corner where they kept the toys, then went off to his room. In a few minutes everyone was sitting in the living room with a Book of Mormon in hand.
Dad said, “Tonight we’ve come to the part where Nephi tells us about the words of a prophet named Isaiah. He’s the same prophet Isaiah who’s in the Bible.” Father showed them where the book of Isaiah was in the Bible, then where Isaiah was quoted in the Book of Mormon. He began to read what Isaiah had said.
Anthony found the right page and tried to follow along, but after a few minutes his eyes started to close. The next thing he knew, his mother was waking him up, telling him that it was time for bed.
The following night Anthony had taken another imaginary ride to the future. When his mother called, he was pretending to talk to some creatures from Pluto who had come to earth to live. Slowly he climbed out of the box, went to his room, got ready for bed, then sat down for scripture time.
But he didn’t understand what Dad was reading, and he kept wriggling and squirming. That made his brother and sister wriggle and squirm, too. When Anthony’s mother reminded them all to sit still and listen, Anthony tried to, but the words all sounded strange. “Isaiah is too hard,” he said when Dad finished for that night.
“Yes, his words are difficult to understand,” Dad agreed. “But if we read slowly and you listen carefully, you might be able to understand.”
“And,” Mom added, “we can ask Heavenly Father to help us understand.” As she offered the prayer that evening, she asked for help in understanding Isaiah.
The next night, Anthony was dragging his box to the corner again when Dad stopped him. “Wait, Anthony. Leave your box there for now. I want to do something different for our scripture reading tonight.”
When everyone was settled, Father began, “Tonight I thought that we should learn more about Isaiah and his teachings. That way we might be able to understand a little better when we read his words.
“Isaiah was a prophet who lived a long time ago, even a long time before Jesus was born. But he prophesied, or told about, things that would happen many years later. When we read his words, it’s like listening to someone who had traveled in a time machine.”
Anthony sat up tall. “Did he travel to the future?”
“No,” Dad answered. “But with Heavenly Father’s help, he saw visions of things that would happen in the future, and he told about those things.”
Dad had the three children climb into Anthony’s time machine. “When we read Isaiah,” Dad said, “it’s like we are traveling in a time machine with him. We can listen to his words and imagine that we are there, seeing the things that he saw.”
Anthony and his brother and sister were excited. They wanted to ride in the time machine with Isaiah.
Father went on. “In the Bible, we learn about things that happened while he was actually alive. One of those stories is about a king named Hezekiah. One time King Hezekiah was very sick and was about to die. He prayed and asked the Lord to let him live longer. The Lord told Isaiah what Hezekiah should do to get better, and He told Isaiah to tell Hezekiah that he could live for 15 more years. As a sign to Hezekiah, the Lord turned the sun back 10 degrees. Another time Isaiah helped King Hezekiah win a battle and save Jerusalem.”
The next night they read about things that Isaiah saw would happen in the future. They climbed in the time machine and pretended that they were with Isaiah when he saw a vision showing Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. They listened to the prophet’s beautiful words: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”
The children next listened to Isaiah’s words about the sad time when Jesus died: “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.”
Then they pretended to travel ahead many more years and listened to Isaiah telling about the coming of the Book of Mormon: “Thy voice shall be, as of one that hath a familiar spirit, out of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper out of the dust.”
Each night that week at Book of Mormon time, they climbed into the time machine and pretended to travel with Isaiah. One night Anthony asked, “Has everything that Isaiah saw already happened?”
“No,” Dad answered, “not everything. Isaiah saw things that would happen in our very own day, and he saw things that are still in the future, in a time called the Millennium, when Jesus will come and live on earth again.”
“Isaiah was so lucky,” Anthony’s little sister said. “He saw so many things.”
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed as he climbed back into the time machine. “But we’re lucky, too—we can go with him and see them, too, when we read the scriptures.”*

Latter-day Saint Alma Richards made the 1912 Olympic team.
A high jumper, Alma Richards was part of the 1912 track and field Olympic team that competed in Stockholm, Sweden. During the competition, others were eliminated one by one until only Alma and one other remained.
“As Alma prepared to jump, his mind raced. There he was, representing his country at the greatest athletic competition in the world. Yet he felt weak, as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders. He thought of Utah, his family, and his hometown. He thought of BYU and the Saints. Bowing his head, he silently asked God to give him strength. ‘If it is right that I should win,’ he prayed, ‘I will do my best to set a good example all the days of my life.’”
Drawing upon strength from the Lord, Alma jumped and cleared the high bar. When his remaining competitor failed, Alma won the gold medal.
Later, a friend “teased him about praying before his winning jump. ‘I wish you wouldn’t laugh,’ Alma quietly responded. ‘I prayed to the Lord to give me strength to go over that bar, and I went over.’”

It was at the height of his career as an orthodontist that Randall Kay Bennett and his wife, Shelley, felt “a distinct impression” to prepare to serve missions. This meant that they would need to sell their home right away.
The reason for the prompting didn’t become immediately apparent—it took three years for their home to sell, a process that “took a lot of patience” and required that they “show the Lord that we were really committed,” Elder Bennett says. “We continued to trust in the Lord and tried to stay close to Him through frequent temple attendance, daily scripture study, prayer, fasting, and service to others.”
Shortly after their home finally sold, Elder Bennett was called to serve at the Provo Missionary Training Center and then as president of the Russia Samara Mission.
“It was wonderful—and very humbling—to know that the Lord had been mindful of us and had been preparing us,” Elder Bennett said. “We have come to know that the Lord is aware of the thoughts of our minds and the feelings of our hearts. We have learned to trust that He knows better than we do, that He knows more than we do, and that He loves us.”

Friends smile admiringly and refer to Palle and Esther as “rare birds” themselves. Their enjoyment of nature has found a very humanitarian expression. For twenty years, they have taken a group of handicapped people, most of them in wheelchairs, into the woods to camp every summer.

“The twenty-five people we take with us range in age from thirty to eighty,” says Palle. “We stay together in a wonderful old house deep in the woods. Then we spend the days wandering through the woods together, stopping for picnics and enjoying the beauty.” He and Esther are also founding members of the multiple sclerosis society for the county, and they volunteer on the board of health.