Gospel Story Finder

“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 was a beautiful shawl. Chi-wee could see that clear across the trader’s store. Dark blue on one side and glowing red on the other, and with a fringe of the same two colors, it looked warm and soft.
Chi-wee also saw the look in her mother’s eyes as she passed her hand over its surface. In Chi-wee’s heart a fierce little voice said: “My mother shall have that shawl.”
It was trading day for Chi-wee and her mother. In the early morning they had come in the wagon of Mah-pee-ti the sheepherder. They carried with them the pottery that Chi-wee’s mother had made to trade at the store for food and clothing.
It had been a long, bumpety ride from the high mesa town to the canyon store, a ride over the wide desert of many-changing colors, up and down sandy washes. But it was a ride that Chi-wee dearly loved and of which she never tired. There were many living things to see on the way: prairie dogs, lizards, horned toads, sheep, and sometimes, away in the distance, an antelope or a gray coyote. And then there was always the excitement of wondering whether Mah-pee-ti’s old wagon would hold together when they jostled down a deep wash and struggled up on the other side. But for as many years as Chi-wee could remember, the wagon had always made it.
Now Chi-wee came close to the shawl and felt it with her fingers. It was soft and very warm. “Will you buy it, Mother?” she asked eagerly, laying her cheek on the soft wool.
Her mother shook her head a little sadly. “No, my little one. We must trade today for food and not for the things we do not need.”
“But you do need a shawl—this shawl!”
“We will not speak of it anymore,” said her mother, turning away. “We have money for food only, my daughter.” Then Mother spoke to the trader of the flour, sugar, and grain that she needed.
Chi-wee stood looking at the shawl. Somehow, my mother shall have this beautiful shawl, she resolved. While her mother carried some of the food out to the wagon, Chi-wee went to the trader. “What is the price of that shawl?”
“Six dollars,” answered the trader with a kindly smile. “It is all wool and very warm.”
“Will you trade it to me for the necklace that I have on. See, the shells are the color of the sky when the sun comes up.”
The trader stooped and looked at it. “It is beautiful. I can give you two dollars for it. But I could not exchange the shawl for it. I’m sorry.”
Chi-wee felt her heart grow very heavy, and all the way home she had no eyes for the lizards, rabbits, and prairie dogs that scuttled out of the way, nor for the tumbleweeds and cactus or the faraway blue buttes. Her mind was busy with plans to earn money for the wonderful shawl. But how could she earn that much money before someone else bought it?
She could weave a little, but that took a long time, and it took money to buy the colored wools. She could try to make pottery, but she knew that she couldn’t make it well enough to sell.
When next they went to the trader’s, Chi-wee looked eagerly for the shawl. Hot tears stung her eyelids when she could not find it. “That beautiful shawl—has it been sold yet?” she asked the trader.
He looked at her for a moment with a puzzled frown on his face. “The shawl?” A look of remembrance came into his eyes as he answered her. “No, it’s still here. Do you want to buy it?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, looking to see that her mother was beyond hearing. “I want to buy it, but I have not all the money right now. Here!” and with trembling fingers she unclasped the little shell necklace and thrust it into his hand. “Could you keep the shawl a little while for me? I will bring more next time.”
“I will keep the shawl for you until the end of next month. If you can bring me the rest of the money by then, you shall have the shawl.” He turned to assist the other customers who had entered his store.
The next few weeks were busy ones for Chi-wee, happy ones too. Had her mother not been occupied with her own work, she might have noticed that Chi-wee made many trips into the desert for which she gave no explanation, and when she returned, she seemed to be hiding something. When the next trading day came, there was a bump under the little girl’s shawl that had not been there on other trips.
When they reached the trading post, she handed the trader a big jar of wild honey. Her heart was beating fast with excitement and happiness. She did not tell of the pain caused by the needle-sharp cactus quills that stuck her fingers or of the painful lumps on her arm from the stings of angry bees. There was just deep pride in her voice as she said: “I have brought this to pay on the shawl.”
There was a look she did not understand in the trader’s eyes as he took the honey. He turned quickly and spoke to a stranger standing nearby holding a parcel. Finally he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, little girl. I waited until the end of the month. When you didn’t come, well, I just sold the shawl to this gentleman. Wouldn’t you like any of the other shawls in trade for your bracelet and honey?”
To Chi-wee it seemed as if the world turned black. Her mother’s shawl had been sold to this stranger! She could not speak. Words would not come. Everything began to swim through the sudden rush of tears. She saw the stranger walk to the door with his bundle under his arm, and the trader turn to attend to those who waited at his counter. She stumbled out of the store and into the waiting wagon with a storm of anger and grief in her heart. But she did not cry anymore. She sat in silence all the way home.
When they reached home, Mother called her to help with the parcels in the wagon. “And take your package,” she said. “The stranger said that you bought it from the trader. With what did you buy it, little daughter?”
Chi-wee opened her eyes wide and stood as still as a statue while her mother placed the package in her arms. Then she tore off the paper. There was the shawl—her mother’s shawl! Attached to one corner was a little card. On it was written: “It is your love for your mother that has bought this shawl, little girl of the mesa. And it is my love for a little girl like you that gives you back your precious treasure.” And there, beside the shawl, wrapped in a bit of paper, was her pink shell necklace. Now Chi-wee cried hard—but the tears were tears of happiness as she gave the shawl to her mother.

It’s Sunday, time for sacrament meeting, but nobody at your house wants to go except you. What do you do? If you’re Ricardo Navas Ruiz of Los Jardines Ward, Trujillo Peru Primavera Stake, you put on your shirt and tie and walk to church on your own. In fact, you get there a little bit early so you can help the bishop get ready for the meetings.
“I’m very happy to be a deacon here in Trujillo,” says Ricardo. “To hold the priesthood really means a lot to me.”
Ricardo, who is now one of only three deacons in his ward, faithfully walked to church every week by himself for three years. Most of his family were members of the Church when Ricardo was two years old, but by the time he was around seven, they were no longer interested in attending. That didn’t change Ricardo’s desire to go to church.
“I wanted to prepare to be baptized. I wanted to feel the Spirit and leave everything else behind,” he says. “My greatest desire is to be a missionary, which is one of the reasons I keep coming to church.”
No longer does Ricardo walk to church alone. Now every Sunday he puts on his shirt and tie, takes his grandmother by the hand, and they walk together. Who knows? In time, Ricardo will probably be leading others to church with him.

Meghan flopped down in the big chair and put her scriptures on the table in front of her. Five-year-old Tommy came and stood next to Meghan’s chair. Then he picked up her scriptures.
“Meg, tell me a story,” he begged.
“I will later, Tommy,” she said.
“I want to hear about Abinadi.”
“OK, Tommy, I will tell you the story about Abinadi after dinner.”
Tommy looked disappointed about having to wait. The doorbell rang, and Dad went to answer it.
“It’s for you, Meghan,” Dad said.
She loved how Dad always called her Meghan, never Meg. It made her feel grown up. She stood up and walked to the door. Her best friend, Sara, was there, smiling.
“Hi, Sara. Come in,” Meghan said.
“I can’t, Meg. My dad has free tickets to the amusement park! Can you come?” Sara was bursting with excitement.
“I don’t know,” Meghan said. “It’s Sunday.”
“So what? These are free tickets. Come on, you have to go,” Sara begged. “You’re my best friend!”
“Well, I have to ask my parents.”
“Hurry up and ask, then change your clothes. You can’t go in a skirt,” Sara said impatiently. “My dad wants to leave in 15 minutes. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Meghan nearly ran into the kitchen. Dad was setting the table for dinner.
“Sara’s dad has free tickets to the amusement park, and she asked me to go with her!” she said.
“That sounds like fun,” Dad said. “When is the big day?”
Meghan hesitated. “Well, the tickets are for today.”
“Meghan, you know what Mom and I think about those kinds of activities on Sunday,” Dad said. “But I think you are old enough to make your own decisions. After all, you are 10 now.”
Meghan looked at her father. He looked serious.
“You mean it, Dad?” she asked.
“Sure, I mean it. What do you think you should do, Meghan?” he said.
“Well, I know we should keep the Sabbath day holy and all that, but these are free tickets and you know how much it costs to go to the amusement park. I will be saving a lot of allowance money if I go with Sara.”
“That is true,” Dad said. “You would save money.”
“Is it OK if I go?”
“You can make your own decision, Meghan,” Dad said.
“Yahoo!” Meghan yelled. She ran to her bedroom and began to pull out clothes to wear. Then she looked up and saw Tommy standing in the doorway. He was holding her scriptures.
“Are you going with Sara?” Tommy asked.
Suddenly Meghan got a funny feeling inside. She knew what she needed to do. She smiled at Tommy and then she dropped the shirt back into her drawer.
“No, Tommy, it’s Sunday. I have to go tell Sara I can’t go with her today. Then I will be back to read you that story.”
Tommy grinned. “The one about Abinadi?” he asked.
“Yes, the story about Abinadi.” Meghan smiled at her younger brother and hurried outside to tell Sara.

When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans felt through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the United States.
I eventually visited some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 100-kilometer-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was a spiritual “wind,” not physical. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

Six-year-old Catherine sang as she followed Joseph and his plow down the long brown furrows, dropping yellow kernels of corn into the newly turned soil:
One for the cutworm,
One for the crow,
One to rot, and
One to grow.
Joseph called over his shoulder, “If Alvin doesn’t get back with some money, all that corn will go to the land agents. And from what I hear, they’re not about to share it with a cutworm or a crow or anything else.”
Catherine had heard her father talk about land agents, but she wasn’t sure just what they were. “What are land agents, Joseph?” she asked.
Her brother pulled the ox to a halt and explained, “They’re men who sell property. If there is a drought or your crops don’t sell and you can’t pay the mortgage money, they come and take the farm back.” Then he paused for a moment, remembering his father’s dawn-to-dark labor when they’d first cleared the land of trees to plant crops.
The whole family had helped tap the thousand sugar maple trees in the spring. Joseph also remembered the split-wood chairs and baskets and the straw brooms his father had made to sell to help pay for the farm. His father had even hired out as a hand for other farmers to bring in precious money. But still there wasn’t enough.
Catherine brought her brother back from his recollecting. “Are they going to take our farm, Joseph?”
“It looks like it, unless we can raise some more money. Alvin is still out on his job as a carpenter’s helper with a crew that’s building log houses, and Mother has been selling a lot of her painted oilcloth covers.”
“I’ve helped Mother sell cakes and gingerbread and root beer on public days,” Catherine said, beaming.
“Well, we’ve all helped. But it hasn’t been enough.” Joseph sighed as he slapped the reins against the rump of the ox. “I wish I could do something more.”
“You’ve been helping to clear trees and plowing and planting the corn and pumpkins. That’s a big help.”
“Sure. But we need money. And we need it right away.”
Catherine let out a deep breath and sat down on the broken black earth. “Will we have to let the land agents take our farm?” she asked.
“If we can’t pay all the mortgage money, we will. And the law backs them up. But it just doesn’t seem right after we’ve spent two years clearing trees from sixty acres of land and planting crops and building a four-room log house besides. They’d only turn around and sell it again for a heap of money, and we wouldn’t get a penny for all the improvements we’ve made.”
Catherine understood now why some folks said the land agents were really land robbers. The thought was still in her mind when a large black crow flew down and began to scratch for the newly planted corn. Her frustration erupted. Skirts flying, she chased after the bird, shaking her fist.
“Get out of here you old domineker!” she yelled as the bird flapped off in panic. “I won’t let you take our corn!”
Young Joseph had to laugh at the sight of her, and his laughter skipped across the clearing into the open window of the house. His mother was just lifting the lid on the cooking pot in the fireplace when she heard it. She smiled and felt a sudden sense of relief. How she wished she could stir some of it into the venison stew. They needed all the laughter they could get these days.
She left the stew sputtering against the pot lid as she called to her family. “Supper’s on!”
Later after supper, Joseph’s father, as always, felt for his spectacles. When his hand found the lower right-hand pocket of his vest, that was the signal for a reading from the Bible and for family prayer.
That night the family had an extra long prayer. Father Smith thanked Heavenly Father for His “mercy which endureth forever.” Then he pleaded for help in somehow obtaining the money that was needed. When all members of the family had added their amen, they sang the usual hymn:
Another day has passed and gone,
We lay our garments by—
The song was interrupted by a loud knock. Mr. Smith opened the door and invited a neighbor from down the road to come in.
“Much obliged, Joe. I came to ask if you’d let me hire one of your boys for a few days. I need to dig a well.”
Alvin was away working and young Joseph knew his father needed Hyrum to help cut trees. “I could do it, sir,” he said eagerly.
His father smiled. “Joseph’s able. He’ll give you a good day’s work for a day’s pay.”
“I know your boys are good workers. They’ve worked alongside their pa until they’re better than most men. That’s why I’m here. Young Joseph will be fine.”
Joseph was so happy that he had to take a big breath to keep from shouting out loud: The Lord is surely opening up the way. Things are going to work out. I’m sure of it. He was so sure that he wasn’t a bit surprised when Alvin arrived home a few days later with the money he had earned. Just the same, it was a tense moment when the whole family gathered to count their savings. Is it enough? they wondered.
Joseph held his breath as the cash was totaled. It was enough; they’d made it. Tears and laughter mingled as they realized that Alvin’s earnings added to what Joseph and the others had been able to raise would save their farm!
(To be continued.)

Steven and Robert Van Wagenen, Crescent 8th Ward, Sandy Utah Crescent Stake. Steven, 17, is a senior in high school and Robert, 15, is a sophomore.

Steven, like Stacie, worked two jobs. He had been trying for some time to get on with a travelers’ check company that offered a good summer part-time job working with computers. This year he got the job. He also works all year around as a custodian at an elementary school near his home. He regularly puts money into savings for college and a mission.

Steven is interested in photography and wanted to buy a camera. He found a used one he wanted and decided to work and save for it. He estimated his budget and kept his expenses in general terms:

Estimate
Actual
Income
$800.00
$800.00
Expenses
tithing
80.00
80.00
savings
350.00
310.00
camera
290.00
290.00
new shoes
50.00
50.00
entertainment
30.00
45.00
miscellaneous
-0-
25.00
total
$800.00
$800.00

Steven reached his goal of buying his camera. He had trouble when he did not plan in a miscellaneous category to cover gas and lunches. That money had to come out of the amount he planned to save. He also bought a music tape and went over in his entertainment category. Writing down what he actually spent was a little surprising to Steven. “There’s probably $100 over the summer that I don’t even know where it went.”

But Steven can’t cut out everything fun or impulsive that he does with his money. He just needs to plan a miscellaneous category into his budget.

As I grew older, I learned not only the value of hard work but also about the blessings of doing things that at the time you don’t realize are important and good for you. During World War II, when I was very little, I came down with a lung disease, but no one knew it at the time. I knew I was easily out of breath when I rode the delivery bicycle. I thought it was because the cart was heavy. Later, when I joined the air force, I learned that because of that hard work, somehow my body had healed itself. I had built up endurance. I had built up immunity to disease. I had built up strength. When the doctors saw those spots on my lungs, they questioned me about them. They reported that the disease took care of itself, and they said I passed my physical. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to become a pilot. I have been a pilot for 35 years, and I was a chief pilot for Lufthansa German Airlines.

11-year-old Riley Quigley has a few challenges that normally would stop him being able to attend an event where there are crowds and a lot of noise.
On 11 November 2020, during the lockdown, Riley went with his aunt to the Poole Park War Memorial and, on behalf of Poole Ward of the Poole Stake, very thoughtfully laid a Royal British Legion poppy wreath.
After laying the wreath, Riley said that it made him feel very proud to have been able to do something as special as that.
He then went around and helped tidy up some of the other wreaths that had previously been laid but had been blown about by the wind because “they needed to look nice and tidy for the soldiers who died”.
His bishop, Ben Silsby, said, “He looked so smart and respectful. I am very proud of him.”

Brother Bollbach’s new skills gave him the confidence to start on his next goal—helping others like himself succeed. With the help of government funding, Brother Bollbach set up a workshop to teach woodcarving to people with visual impairments. He had many wonderful experiences in the workshop. One in particular stands out in his memory. It was two weeks before Christmas, and he was alone. Brother Bollbach was carving a special present for his wife—the model of an elk. He finished the elk’s body and thin legs with ease, but carving the eyes seemed impossible.
“I decided to stand up,” he says. “As I walked around the workshop, I began to sing my favorite hymn, ‘I Need Thee Every Hour.’ I prayed to God out loud for help, and again I sang.” After singing for more than an hour, Brother Bollbach picked up the knife and wood. But he still couldn’t carve the eyes. “What should I do? Shall I give up?” he asked himself. “No, Fritz, don’t give up. Try it again,” he told himself. However, he still could not hold the knife steady enough to carve the eyes. He stood up again and walked around for another hour.
“I sang, I cried, and I prayed for some time,” he recalls. “I thought of the many blessings the Lord had given me. I then took the knife again, and with my hands shaking, I carved the eyes and within minutes finished the whole head.”

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our next visit was at the home of two single sisters, women of great faith. One sister has a son preparing for a mission. The other sister is receiving treatment for cancer. In times of discouragement and despair, they remember the Savior’s Atonement and are filled with faith and hope. They both need the additional blessings and power available through temple ordinances. We encouraged them to join the future missionary in their home in preparing to receive those ordinances.

The bell rang, and the boys of the teachers quorum left. But Tommy and Richard hung back. It was their responsibility to return the hymnbooks this week. Tommy was still thinking about the lesson, his face creased in a pensive frown.
“Do you teach any inactives, Richard?” he asked tentatively.
“Yeah, we’ve got Brother and Sister Dunbar, but I don’t know what we’re going to do about them. Brother Dunbar is even smoking in front of us now. Not much chance with him, I’d say.”
“What do you think about what Brother Wolff just said?”
“Oh yeah, that was good, but sometimes I guess it just doesn’t work out that way. Some people just don’t want to come back again, so you’re wasting your time, I guess.”
“Do you really think that?” Tommy’s worried frown had deepened, and he searched Richard’s face. “Really?”
“Well, you have to, don’t you? It’s no use thinking it’s all going to be marvellous when it isn’t.” Richard shrugged philosophically. “Have you finished with those books? I’ll take them back to the library.”
Tommy looked at the pile of books in his hands. “Oh, yes. Here you are,” he said, handing them over. He picked up his own scriptures, but his mind was still on Brother Tregaron. He was a problem with a capital P.
Tommy was going with Brother Carson to home teach Brother Tregaron this afternoon, but it was always the same whenever they went. All he did was knock back everything they said to him. If they greeted him with, “Nice day, isn’t it?” He would reply, “I don’t think it will last—probably have a storm later, I’d say.”
If they complimented him on his garden, he would only talk about the weeds, or the slugs and snails. If they asked him about his family, he would remark that he never heard from them, and why should he when they didn’t care about him anyway. He really was hard to talk to. Tommy always felt depressed when he came away from Brother Tregaron’s, depressed and useless. There didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do with him.
But Brother Wolff had said, “Never give up!” And when he heard him, Tommy felt as if Brother Wolff was begging and pleading on his own behalf again, reliving the alienation he had gone through for so many years, and pleading for someone to care enough, as his home teacher had done, to “never give up.”
Tommy shrugged. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe it was a waste of time. What could he, a mere teacher, do when grown men, even the elders quorum president himself, had failed? There didn’t seem to be much point. He would just go there this afternoon, go through the motions, and leave as usual. Only this time, he wouldn’t feel depressed about it, for now he understood that Brother Tregaron didn’t really want to come back. Yes, that’s what he would do.
And that’s what he would have done, if only Brother Wolff hadn’t come back into the room just then. He smiled at Tommy and gripped his hand. Maybe Tommy just imagined it, but a funny sort of feeling was in his stomach and a prickly sort of feeling around his eyes as he looked into Brother Wolff’s face. No words had been said, yet there seemed to be an understanding, as if Brother Wolff knew exactly what had passed through Tommy’s mind those few short minutes ago.
Later that afternoon, he found himself outside Brother Tregaron’s place. Brother Carson was taking the keys out of the ignition, and Tommy heard him say, “Well, come on, let’s get this one over with first.” Suddenly Tommy felt an overwhelming feeling come over him.
“Brother Carson,” he heard himself say, “could we have a word of prayer before we go in, please?”
“Eh?” Brother Carson seemed puzzled, and Tommy knew it was because he had never been asked that before. Usually they had the prayer inside with the family they were teaching—all except Brother Tregaron, of course. But Tommy felt an urgent need for a prayer and repeated his request, “A word of prayer, please.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Brother Carson leaned back in his seat and nodded at Tommy. “Perhaps you’d like to offer it?”
Tommy felt strangely nervous, and his palms were sweaty, but he started the prayer, not knowing quite what to say or why he had even asked for it. Afterwards, he couldn’t quite remember what he actually said, but he did remember the look on Brother Carson’s face when he had finished. It reminded him of Brother Wolff.
Albert Tregaron opened the door to them with his habitual scowl and invited them in with his usual terseness. They followed him down the passageway into the small living room, and Tommy saw that nothing had changed much since the last time they had been there. It was a large, untidy room with a forlorn air about it. Tommy could almost feel the usual depression settle about his shoulders like a heavy cloak, and it took a great effort on his part to shrug it off. Never give up, he reminded himself.
Brother Tregaron was saying, “You’d better sit down, I suppose.” Brother Carson chose a big, faded armchair and perched gingerly on the edge of it, saying, with a hearty smile, “And how are you this month, Albert?”
“Okay, I guess,” came the reply. Brother Carson shifted uncomfortably and caught Tommy’s eye. Tommy could sense the hint of despair in his attitude, but it didn’t prepare him for Brother Carson’s next words.
“By the way, Albert, Tommy has something he’d like to say to you, wouldn’t you, Tommy?” Tommy felt his jaw drop as he met Brother Carson’s strained, jovial smile.
Hey, come on, Brother Carson, don’t leave it all up to me, thought Tommy desperately. His gaze swung from Brother Carson to Brother Tregaron’s face, which now had a speculative look on it.
“Well?” Brother Tregaron asked, mildly curious.
“Well, er …” Tommy fought desperately for the right words to say. Help me, Heavenly Father, he pleaded within himself. What shall I say? Then he heard himself saying, “Well, there’s an elders quorum activity this Saturday. It’s a picnic, and there’s going to be some rafting and games and so on, and we, that is my family and I, thought you might like to come with us?” I must remember to tell Mom and Dad, he thought to himself.
“Ah, no, that’s not my idea of spending a Saturday …” started Brother Tregaron, but Tommy was already brushing aside his refusal.
“Oh, please, Brother Tregaron. See, Dad and I wanted to be in the tug-of-war against the Williamses, but we haven’t got quite enough for our team. Wouldn’t you make up the numbers for us?”
Again the shake of the head came, but still Tommy persisted.” And the deacons reckon you were really good with the rafting competitions at one time.” Brother Tregaron’s head slowed its shaking and tilted to one side, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Tommy.
“Why are you doing this, boy, eh? Why do you want me?”
Tommy stopped in mid-sentence, dumbstruck. Why was he doing it? What answer could he give? What should he say? Then he said something he immediately felt was the stupidest thing of all to say, “Because you’re my brother.”
He flushed crimson. What a stupid thing to say! He began to think of all the things he could have said, should have said, but his mind had gone blank. He was about to apologize when he noticed that Brother Tregaron’s face had softened and there was a hint of a tear in his eye. The silence stretched into infinity as they looked into each other’s eyes.
At last, Brother Tregaron broke the silence with a mumbled, “Well, I guess I could see if I’m free.” It was more a question than a statement. Tommy felt his heart swell.
“Sure, Brother Tregaron! What time shall we pick you up?”
“Hang on, young man. Not so fast. I only said I’d see if I was free.” But there was a smile in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and the stern lines of his face were relaxed. Tommy grinned and looked across to where Brother Carson was sitting, but in his mind, he saw only Brother Wolff looking at him. He heard him say again, “Never, ever, give up on anyone.” And as he turned back to Brother Tregaron, he knew that despite the heartaches that might lie ahead, he never, ever, would.

For some time I had wanted to take pictures of Temple Square in Salt Lake City—including the reflection pool, the fountains, and the sidewalks—covered with freshly fallen snow void of any footprints. To get a picture of fresh snow without footprints, I knew I had to arrive at Temple Square early in the morning following a nighttime snowstorm.
One evening after a forecast of snow overnight, I prepared myself. Because Temple Square groundskeepers start plowing the sidewalks at 5:00 a.m., I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. and got my gear together.
Driving on unplowed roads the next morning, I arrived at Temple Square at 4:15 a.m. while it was still snowing. Then I proceeded to drive around the square, looking for someplace to park that would give me easy access to take pictures.
On my first pass around Temple Square, I noticed that the walkway to the entrance of the Salt Lake Temple was covered in fresh snow—without any footprints! I knew I was going to get my perfect photo. Excited, I drove around the block again to find a parking spot.
As I proceeded east on North Temple Street, I thought I would find a spot close to the walkway. Before I realized it, however, I had run out of parking spots and was again near the sidewalk to the temple entrance.
As I sat at a red light, I looked to my right at the fresh, undisturbed snow. When I looked to my left toward the Conference Center, I noticed an elderly woman dressed in her Sunday best, her head tilted into the falling snow as she headed toward the temple.
“Oh, no,” I thought. “I’m not going to get my shot!”
As the woman crossed in front of me, I turned and looked toward the soon-to-be-ruined walkway and saw that another sister had already gone down the walkway and was turning into the temple entrance. Then I looked back to the first sister now walking down the walkway. With snow clumped around her shoes and ankles, and following the footsteps of the first, she walked slowly but surely down the walkway, through the gates, and into the entrance to the temple.
As I contemplated what I was seeing, I looked at the clock in my car: 4:20 a.m. Sitting in my warm car and looking at the footsteps in the freshly fallen snow, I was humbled by the faithfulness of these two sisters on their way to perform their appointed duties.
I drove around the block again, parked, grabbed my camera, and took a picture of footprints in the snow—a far greater picture than the one I had envisioned.

“Last month, I was grateful to participate in the priesthood ordination of three of my grandsons from the same family on the same day—John as a priest, David as a teacher, and Will as a deacon. The following week, we attended the temple together. John was able to baptize his brothers, along with his older brother, Jason, who is preparing for a mission. Will was in the temple for the first time. What a blessing to have the priesthood in our families! What a blessing to have the temple for our grandchildren! These two family moments are precious memories I will always remember.
“Performing temple work and living up to sacred priesthood duties will unite families on both sides of the veil—just as these two events did for my family. In the temple, we feel power from on high to face challenges in our personal lives and within our families. Our love for one another and for the Savior grows as we focus on the eternal nature of our relationships.”

All of this does not begin to count the individual acts of kindness and support—gifts of food, clothing, money, care, and a thousand other forms of comfort and compassion—by which we may participate in the Christlike work of redemption. As a boy I witnessed my own mother’s actions to redeem a woman in need. Many years ago when her children were young, my mother underwent a serious operation that nearly took her life and left her bedridden much of the time for nearly a year. During this time, family and ward members helped Mother and our family. For additional help, the ward Relief Society president, Sister Abraham, recommended that my parents hire a woman in the ward who desperately needed work. In recounting this story, I will use the fictional names Sara and Annie for this woman and her daughter. This is my mother’s account:
“I can see it as plain as if it were only yesterday. There I lay in bed, and Sister Abraham brought Sara to the bedroom door. My heart sank. There stood the least attractive person I had ever met—so thin; scraggly, unkempt hair; round-shouldered; head bowed looking at the floor. She wore an old housedress four sizes too big. She wouldn’t look up and spoke so softly I couldn’t hear her. Hiding behind her was a little girl about three years old. What in the world was I to do with this creature? After they left the room, I cried and cried. I needed help, not more problems. Sister Abraham stayed awhile with her, and they soon whipped the house into shape and prepared some good meals. Sister Abraham asked me to try it for a few days, [saying] that this girl had had a really hard time and needed help.
“The next morning when Sara came, I finally got her to come over by the bed where I could hear her. She asked what I wanted her to do. I told her and then said, ‘But the most important thing is my boys; spend time with them, read to them—they are more important than the house.’ She was a good cook and kept the house clean, the washing done, and she was good to the boys.
“Through the weeks, I learned Sara’s story. [Because she was hard of hearing, she didn’t do well in school and eventually dropped out. She married young to a dissolute man. Annie was born and became the joy of Sara’s life. One winter night her husband came home drunk, forced Sara and Annie into the car in their bedclothes, and then dropped them off by the side of the highway. They never saw him again. Barefoot and freezing, Sara and Annie walked several miles to her mother’s home.] Her mother agreed to let them stay in exchange for doing all the housework and cooking, and caring for her sister and brother who were in high school.
“We took Sara to an ear doctor, and she got a hearing aid. … We got her to take adult schooling, and she got her high school diploma. She went to night school and later graduated from college and taught special education. She bought a little home. Annie was married in the temple and had two children. Sara eventually had some operations on her ears and was finally able to hear well. Years later she retired and served a mission. … Sara thanked us often and said she learned so much from me, especially when I told her that my sons were more important than the house. She said it taught her to be that way with Annie. … Sara is a very special woman.”

My best friend moved, and I knew that when school started in the fall, I would be without her. I rode my bike to the school and checked the class listing posted in the window. There would be girls I knew in my class, but not one I could really call a close friend. There was one girl, though, Katie,* who I really wanted to be friends with. We both played the violin, we had been together on the student council, we were in the same math group, and our dads had even worked at the same office long before we ever met.
On the first day of school, I was asked to be a “buddy” to Amanda,* one of the severely learning-disabled students in my class. This assignment required me to play with her at recess, take her to lunch, and generally be with her at all times to help meet her needs.
I was assigned to help Amanda for a whole week! I felt anxious about the precious time slipping away as the other girls formed into groups and began new friendships. I felt angry and resentful of Amanda because I didn’t have time to make friends with Katie. I worried that I wouldn’t ever fit in if I didn’t hurry and get into a group.
Then I remembered what I had been taught about Amanda’s sacred nature. When my mom was a teenager, she had worked with challenged children, too, and she taught me that they are precious in the eyes of the Lord. I remembered that Amanda’s spirit was innocent and pure. She had already been promised a place in the celestial kingdom, and if I live worthily, I could count on having an eternal friendship with her there.
I talked with my parents and was promised that if I loved Amanda and served her with a cheerful heart, I would be happy. They said that if I followed the Savior’s example and showed her love and kindness, a greater happiness would fill my heart than having ten friends would!
I chose to stay with Amanda, and I learned to really love her. She makes me so happy when she smiles and says my name! I can tell that she loves me too.
I know that I was blessed for making the right choice to serve Amanda. Not only do I have her for a friend, but I have become friends with Katie as well!

While she was still very young, Louisa began working as a seamstress and as a housemaid. Whatever money she earned Louisa gave to help support her family. At about the age of sixteen Louisa began teaching school also. The same barn where her first play had been presented now became her classroom. Her students delighted in the fairy tales Louisa made up to entertain them. Louisa’s first book, Flower Fables, was a collection of these tales.

Because his father was a bishop, young Harold witnessed Church welfare at work. “Then as now, the bishop was responsible for the care of those in need,” wrote President Gordon B. Hinckley, a longtime friend. “Bishop Lee ran his own storehouse, the commodities coming from his own pantry. In the night, the family would see him take a sack of flour, they knew not where, because confidences concerning those in trouble were to be strictly observed.”

Young Harold learned what it meant to listen to the voice of the Lord from an experience he had with his father. “I think maybe I was around ten or eleven years of age … , trying to spend the day busying myself until my father was ready to go home. Over the fence from our place were some tumbledown sheds that would attract a curious boy, and I was adventurous. I started to climb through the fence, and I heard a voice … calling me by name and saying, ‘Don’t go over there!’ I turned to look at my father to see if he were talking to me, but he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no person in sight. I realized then, as a child, that there were persons beyond my sight, for I had definitely heard a voice. Since then, when I hear or read stories of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I too have known what it means to hear a voice.”

This experience with the watch-care of the Holy Spirit impressed Harold that safe passage to Heavenly Father’s kingdom depends on our willingness to hear and obey that voice. “I have learned something of what the Spirit has taught,” he later reflected, “and I know now that … security can come to Israel only when they keep the commandments, when they live so that they can enjoy the companionship, the direction, the comfort, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit of the Lord.”

If making the same recipe as everybody else isn’t how you roll, consider trying what a youth group from Georgia, USA, pulled off with great success. They split into teams and were each given a bag of groceries with five ingredients. Each team headed to a local ward member’s home to prepare the meal with those ingredients in any wildly creative manner they chose. After the groups finished, the bishopric judged the food by taste, visual appeal, and so forth.

My friend Julyette and I were chatting online when she told me she was looking for a church that had a living prophet who spoke with God face-to-face. I thought God had stopped speaking to men here upon the earth because we have a Bible, and I thought that was sufficient for our salvation.
But she said, “If God no longer called a prophet here upon the earth, He would be a liar, for He promised He would never do anything without calling prophets” (see Amos 3:7).
I asked her, “Where is this living prophet?” She did not know.
I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.