Gospel Story Finder

This campus and community knows the name of Brady Howell, one of 188 killed in the 9/11 attack on the Pentagon. The son of long-time Ricks College employee Ken Howell and his wife Jeanette, Brady was working as a presidential management intern in Naval intelligence with a promising career ahead of him. His wife Liz was beginning her promising career in nursing and the medical field. Her life was dramatically changed with this tragedy. Brady & Liz, who met and courted on this campus, had their dreams disrupted. From a recent Church News article, Liz stated: "I realized there are other people in the world who are suffering, and while I by no means am an expert on grief or trial, I'm acquainted with grief. I realized at that point that I wanted to serve others with all my heart, with everything that I had, and I realized that I had been blessed so much after the loss of my husband, and comforted so much." That is what helped her decide at age 30 to serve a mission to Portugal. Liz noted that "I took the responsibility to channel my grief in a positive direction."[12]

She has been part of an LDS team rendering humanitarian relief in Haiti. And the peace of service has helped bind her broken heart.

Many years ago, when our children were small, we attended a local fair as a family. We had great fun on the rides and enjoyed the food and music. When it was time to return home, I noticed that I had lost the car and house keys. The place was large and full of people. How were we going to find those keys? Our strategy was to go to a secluded spot in the fairgrounds and have a family prayer. Then we went out to search for the keys.

The first thing we saw was a policeman on duty. We approached him, told him of our predicament, and then asked if a bundle of keys had been handed to him. He immediately asked us one question: “Are you members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” After the initial shock caused by his question, I answered “Yes.”

He then handed me the keys and explained to us how he knew that we indeed were members of His Church. He told us that his father had been a branch president who also carried among his keys a small vial of consecrated oil, like the one I had on my keyring.

A few weeks later, our two youngest children got lost in a large department store where we had gone to get new eyeglasses for the older children. After waiting a while, they got bored and decided to go off on their own, looking for the toy section. The consequence was that they got separated from us.

What did they do when they realized that they were lost? They went to a secluded spot in the store and offered a faithful prayer that they would be reunited with us. Then they stepped out of that spot, with great faith that they would be found. At that same time, their older brother saw them as he was looking for them in that area.

Consider all that is learned from these two interrelated stories of faith. It is in the daily practice of the gospel that we mostly teach, and that children learn the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It happens as we seek to diligently keep His commandments and covenants.

A young mother told me she would never forget the day her husband came home distraught over leaving his wallet in a telephone booth. Her first reaction was to criticize his irresponsibility at losing the family’s rent money. But as she glanced at his sad, pained face, she kept silent. The rent could be paid a few weeks late. The young mother said the look on her husband’s face—a look that clearly showed his relief at not being criticized—was well worth her silence. After all, she reasoned, what good would have been accomplished had she heaped criticism on her already upset husband?

One Sunday morning, more than a year ago, we awoke to a beautiful day in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. The Caribbean sun was shining, and the sky was clear. A gentle breeze was blowing, barely ruffling the leaves on the trees; it was warm and peaceful and still. But far out to sea, beyond the reach of our physical senses that day, the deadly destroyer was coming our way, implacable and irresistible. The Hurricane Center, with responsibility to track and predict the path of Hurricane Georges, was constantly updating the information available on the Internet. In the peaceful, placid quiet of that morning, by virtue of those seeing eyes in the sky, I saw the predicted path of the storm, aimed like an arrow at the heart of Santo Domingo.
Within 48 hours the storm struck the island with intense and insensate fury, leaving in its path destruction, desolation, and death. The raw, elemental power of nature was astonishing. From the relative safety of our house, we saw trees doubled over by the force of the wind, which alternately shrieked and howled and roared; the punishing power of that wind drove rain into the house around the window frames, and the surging three-foot river of water in the street outside, brought about by the intense rain, finally crested and began to subside when it was within an inch of coming into our house.
Around the area where we lived, most of the trees were either uprooted or split by the fierce winds. Trees, branches, power lines, and telephone poles were down all over town. Streets were blocked, traffic was difficult, and power was cut off for more than a week. Although the damage was great, it would have been much greater but for the warnings from those who track and predict and counsel people to be prepared. Virtually all of those who were adequately prepared came through the hurricane relatively unscathed. I am grateful to those men and women who devote time and attention to track and monitor those storms. Their timely warnings and counsel save lives and protect people. Those who disregard the warnings pay the price of willful failure to listen to those guardians whose calling it is to watch and warn and save.

After finishing his service in the Brazil São Paulo North Mission in 2002, Ricardo Aurélio da Silva Fiusa used a PEF loan to earn a four-year degree in business administration.
“The fund has helped me grow up, prepare for work and marriage, and serve better in the Church,” says Ricardo. Like many PEF recipients, he was offered employment before he even finished his degree. “The fund has been a blessing in my life. I’m grateful to make monthly payments on my loan so that other people can use the fund as well.”
On his mission Ricardo learned to talk to people, study hard, and obey—qualities that have made him a good student and employee.
“A lot of my professors said there was something different about me that they couldn’t explain,” says Ricardo, who works in logistics for a company at Port Suape, south of Recife. “I told them it was because of my religious principles.” That answer has led to opportunities for Ricardo to talk with his professors and others about the Church.

In my opinion, some Church planning and leadership meetings are far too long. I was once asked by a Church leader, “Are you as a leader punctual in conducting meetings?”
I said, “Yes, I always start meetings on time.”
He said, “But are you punctual?”
I answered again the same way, “We start on time.”
He asked me the same question again, and as I sat looking perplexed he said, “I know that you begin your meetings on time, but do you end them on time?” He added, “End the meeting at the appointed time and let people go home to their families. Those who neglect the appointed quitting time are as much in error as those who neglect the beginning time.”

Friendship is the foundation for a lasting romance in the courtship pyramid. Let me tell you a little story to illustrate this point.

It is the story of Isaac and Rebecca. Now this is not the Biblical account. It is about our daughter Rebecca and her suitor Isaac. Our Rebecca was not persuaded to marry her Isaac nearly as easily as was the Old Testament Rebekah. Our Becky was 21. She had signed up to do a summer internship through BYU in Mozambique. She had also started doing preliminary dental and doctor appointments for a mission application. Another option in her mind was applying for a master’s program in her field. In short she was trying to decide what to do with the next phase of her life. We all wondered which would win out of the 3 M’s – Mozambique, mission, or master’s degree.

Does that sound sort of familiar? Meanwhile Isaac came along in her pursuit and soon offered a choice of a fourth M - marriage. He was headed for medical school in a few months and he did not want to go without Becky. He later told us that he had his own 3 M’s that he hoped she would choose – marriage to me, medical school, and eventually motherhood. He said, “If she didn’t I knew I would be a fourth M - miserable."

Becky stood at the brink of many glamorous opportunities, and it was hard for her to set aside some of her dreams. (Parenthetically I would like to say that this is a pitfall for lots of young adults today. One project after another seems to get in the way marriage.) What finally won Becky over was Isaac’s intrinsic goodness and his kindness to her. He did the romantic things like taking her on nice dates, but this was not the most important thing to her. What she liked was how he put her feelings and her needs above his own. He did little thoughtful things, the kinds of things that one friend would do for another. Becky realized that he had the qualities that would endure through good and bad times. So she did marry Isaac. And now she reflects that she was right about his great strengths being a wonderful asset to their relationship.

The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say “Can you see them? Can you see them?”

Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”

The boy you are encouraging may seem too timid to be a powerful priesthood servant. Another one of my sons was so shy as a little boy that he wouldn’t walk into a store and talk to a clerk. He was too afraid. I worried as I prayed over his priesthood future. I thought of him in the mission field—that didn’t sound promising. I was led to a scripture in Proverbs: “The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”2

I carved “Bold as a Lion” on his board, beneath an image of a large lion’s head roaring. On his mission and in the years that followed, he fulfilled the hope in my carving. My once-shy son preached the gospel with great conviction and faced dangers with bravery. He was magnified in his responsibilities to represent the Lord.

My Uncle Jim was my favorite uncle. He was everyone’s friend. He hid pennies around his apartment for me to find. Every Sunday I would call him on the phone. He always had time to listen. I told him all about what I had learned in Primary, at school—just about anything. He sent me hand-knitted doll clothes his neighbor had made. I wanted to send him back something special. It took me a long time to figure out what, but then I knew exactly what to send—an invitation to my baptism with my CTR ring.
A few days before my baptism, my Uncle Jim died. I cried all night. I didn’t want to be baptized without Uncle Jim, but my mother told me he would want me to be baptized. She said that it would be the greatest gift I could ever give him. I was baptized the day before his funeral. At his funeral I wore my white baptism dress and decorated his grave with white roses. I cried a lot, but my mother reminded me that Jesus also cried. It says so in the scriptures. I guess if Jesus cries, too, He must really understand it when I cry.
The next day my mother went to Uncle Jim’s apartment to clear things out. Tacked to his wall was a picture of me with my CTR ring taped beside it.Kelly Hoag, age 9Portola, California

It was an overcast morning in December 1973, but the weather did not reflect my mood. Standing on the deck of a cargo vessel with my parents and two younger siblings, I was in high spirits as we began to pull away from our small South Pacific island. The ship was the Uluilakeba, bound for Suva, the capital of the Fiji Islands.
For a 12-year-old boy from the outer island of Ono-i-Lau, a trip to the big city was no everyday experience. Along with my parents and two of my siblings, I had eagerly awaited this day. The five of us were traveling to Suva to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
At long last, after we had spent nearly two years planning and preparing, the day had finally come, and we stood aboard the Uluilakeba. Energy was thick in the air as we crowded on with the other passengers. Hope and excitement filled our hearts as we waited to depart on our journey.
The ship left the dock at approximately 8:00 a.m. on Monday, 10 December 1973. With all the emotions of that day, I hardly noticed the gusty winds and threatening clouds that loomed ahead. As the boat crawled into the open sea, however, the weather worsened. Soon forecasts came in of an approaching tropical storm. Despite the warnings, our captain was confident of a safe voyage. We continued onward, while around us the sea steadily grew fiercer and the rain fell harder. Before long all passengers were instructed to take shelter inside, while the crew navigated the rough waters.
The captain was a relative of my father, and he gave us his personal cabin to rest in while we endured the storm. There we huddled together as a family and waited. In spite of the now heavy rocking of the ship, after a few minutes, my brother and sister and I fell asleep.
After what seemed only an instant to me, we were awakened by my mother’s scream. Water was now coming in through a small porthole. Sitting up, I noticed that my father was not with us, and thinking he must have gone on deck, I left my mother and two siblings. Climbing up to the deck was quite difficult, although in my panic I did not realize why. I did not understand that the ship had taken too much water and was sinking. Just as I reached the deck, the Uluilakeba began to capsize, and I was plunged into angry waters.
My only instinct was for survival. Desperately I swam with all my strength to stay on top of the monstrous waves. Within a few minutes, I caught sight of an older man holding fast to two floating bags of coconuts. Managing to swim to him, I pleaded for a bag, and he mercifully gave me one. I took hold of the bag and clung to it for my life.
Minutes passed, and suddenly I spotted my mother. Seeing me as well, she swam over and we embraced. With words I will never forget, she told me to hold on to that bag no matter what, for it would save my life. Then, after kissing my cheek, she left me to search for my brother and sister. That was the last I ever saw of my mother.
As the storm continued to rage, I did not think about what had happened. I only fought to stay above the waves. Bobbing up and down in the sea, I could see many other people, but I could not find my family.
The hours stretched on like a terrible dream. Soon night fell, and we swam on in the darkness. After what seemed like forever, the sun rose again, and I held on through another day and another night. Finally, around 5:00 in the afternoon on Wednesday, a rescue boat discovered us.
More than two full days had passed. Of the approximately 120 passengers who had boarded the doomed ship, 35 were found alive in the water. We were taken to Suva and admitted to the hospital. There, I learned the details of what had happened. Less than four hours after leaving the dock, we had been struck by Cyclone Lottie, a short-lived Pacific storm. The Uluilakeba was never found. I also learned that of the five members of my family who had been aboard, I was the only survivor. My family’s plans to be baptized into the Church had sunk in the depths of the ocean.

What if we do not want to keep the commandments? Brother Elray Christiansen used to tell of a man who came over from Denmark who was skilled at amassing wealth. He gave up a rather substantial fortune to join the Church and come to Utah, but after he settled here he again had the ability to build up his resources. In the process he lost his testimony. As the brethren visited him, they would say, “You’re not doing right, you know,” but he would never listen.

One day two brethren were visiting and one of them said, “Now look, Lars, it’s not right what you do.” He paid no attention. The brother continued, “Look, Lars, you can’t take it with you, you know.”

That touched Lars, and he said, “What’s that you say?”

“I told you, you can’t take it with you.”

And Lars said, “Vell then, I vill not go.”

Brother Christiansen bore testimony that he has gone.

Recently we heard of the death of Nelson Rockefeller, who was one of the wealthiest men in the world, and my son asked me how much he had left. The standard answer, of course, is that he left it all, as all will do.

My husband and I were married for about 16 years when he decided to be baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This was an exciting time for our family, but two weeks before he was baptized we had a little scare. My husband worked outside for the parks department and would get bit by ants frequently. Eventually he became allergic to the ants. This was not any ordinary ant; this was an elongate twig ant.[1] I know because I collected some and took them to an entomologist in Miami to find out what this ant was. This little ant was hurting my husband and wreaking havoc on my family, and I needed to know more about it. This ant stings like a bee and packs a big punch if you are allergic to them. My husband would go into anaphylactic shock when he got bit. It had happened several times, and when it happened, he would administer his EpiPen and come home and go to bed for hours. It made him very sick and weak. The last time he got bit it happened at work. He passed out before he could administer his EpiPen and had to be revived and rushed to the hospital; it was getting a lot more serious. After this incident, my husband told me we needed to move out of Miami or he was scared that the next time he got bit he was going to die. When your husband says something like that you listen. The 16-year-old scared girl that moved to Miami now loved it there and didn’t want to go anywhere. I was happy in Miami. We had so many good friends and family there, and my kids were happy. Miami is where we were going to live into our retirement age. Well, you know what happens when you get too comfortable? Something inevitably changes. I knew my husband was right, and his health was more important than a location, so we decided to move to Idaho where most of my family was living. If we had to move, we wanted to be close to family. So we sold our house, packed up the minivan with my husband and I, three boys, two turtles, a dog, and a guitar, and we headed to Idaho. We were starting completely over without jobs. Not only was I scared, but my whole family was nervous about the move. My three boys were about to face what I faced when I moved to Miami: new schools, new friends, new area. I was not only worried for them but worried about my husband and I and how different our lives were going to be. Once again, there were a lot of prayers said before and during the move asking our Father in Heaven for strength to do hard things. We were comforted as we prayed and knew that we were making the right decision for our family.

Looking back, the Lord had guided and directed our family to Idaho. A few years after we got here, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. He passed away a short 18 months after he was diagnosed. I will always treasure the few short years we got to live by my parents before my dad passed away. I watched my dad still serve people up to days before he died. He was suffering but always tried to put others first. Through his example, my dad taught me that I can do hard things.

I get up almost every morning and pour myself some cold cereal for breakfast. I used to pour a bowl of Grape Nuts or Corn Flakes and set the box right in front of me where I could read it for 10 or 15 minutes. I could read each panel close to three times in one sitting. Eating cold cereal five days of the week meant I was reading the U.S. Recommended Daily Allowances 15 times per week or 60 times in a month!
In high school I had a difficult time getting excited about scripture reading. In my seminary class, though, daily scripture reading was required if I wanted a good grade, so I would read the scriptures—for the grade. Each night, just before my eyelids were ready to close, I would remember about the “A” that I wanted in seminary and grab my scriptures from my desk. As I fell into a deep sleep, my mind would skim over the words and I never really got that much out of them.
Then I started college. Every night I was up so late I didn’t feel like I had time to read the scriptures. There were so many other things to do—like sleep! But I began to feel guilty seeing them sitting on my shelf, only taking them down for church or home teaching. Besides, I could always find the time to read a good novel or go to a movie. So one morning, I took my scriptures to the breakfast table with me. Rather than reading those daily allowances that I had memorized anyway, I read the scriptures. I found something very interesting—the scriptures fill another type of Recommended Daily Allowance: things like increased spiritual awareness, a good feeling inside, and answers to my problems.
After reading my scriptures in the morning, my day goes a lot better. Reading every day has evolved into an everyday habit which I now enjoy very much. I am glad that my Heavenly Father loves me enough to show me how much I need his word in my life.

When I was little, the doctors told my parents I had selective mutism. That is an anxiety disorder that makes it hard to speak to others. I could only speak to my close family members.
I felt anxious all the time, especially if someone spoke to me. Praying always made me feel better and calmed me down. I also saw a counselor at school for help. But I felt like I was not getting better at all. I almost felt like giving up, but I kept having faith.
My eighth birthday was coming up. My parents challenged me to read the Book of Mormon and pray to help me decide whether to be baptized. Every night I prayed to ask if I should get baptized. I always got the same answer—a warm, calm feeling in my heart. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me that baptism was the right choice.
When I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost after my baptism, I heard words of hope, love, and encouragement. I knew that the Holy Ghost would comfort me and give me courage.
I decided to try to speak to my best friend, Charlie. I tried all week, but it was so hard. But one day Charlie and I were alone in the school garden. I said a silent prayer in my head. Heavenly Father, please help me say at least one word.
Then I opened my mouth and said, “Hey, Charlie!” He was really surprised. I was so happy!
After that day, it was easier to complete more goals. Soon I was talking to pretty much everyone! I am grateful the Holy Ghost gave me the courage to talk to Charlie.

Years ago, I arrived home from work and was startled to see white paint splattered everywhere—on the ground, the garage door, and our red-brick house. I inspected the scene more closely and discovered the paint was still wet. A trail of paint led toward the backyard, and so I followed it. There, I found my five-year-old son with a paintbrush in his hand, chasing our dog. Our beautiful black Labrador was splattered almost half white!
“What are you doing?” I asked in an animated voice.
My son stopped, looked at me, looked at the dog, looked at the paintbrush dripping with paint, and said, “I just want him to look like the black-spotted dogs in the movie—you know, the one with 101 Dalmatians.”
I loved our dog. I thought he was perfect, but that day my son had a different idea. …
… Our young son had a beautiful dog as a pet; notwithstanding, he grabbed a gallon of paint and, with paintbrush in hand, determined to create his own imagined reality.
… [This is a story] of mistaken identity—presuming the real thing to be something else. In [this] case, the consequences were minor.

Jake could hear his little brother and sister arguing in the other room.
“Give it back! It’s mine!” Jared shouted.
“No! I had it first!” Lily argued back.
This sounds like a job for Super Jake! thought Jake.
In his superhero cape, Jake ran down the hall. He saw Jared and Lily arguing over a new toy truck. Jake leaped onto the couch. He raised his arms straight into the air.
“Super Jake says no fighting!”
He jumped off the couch, pushed Jared, and grabbed the truck from Lily. He held it up high so they couldn’t reach it. Super Jake had stopped the fight! He had saved the day! He was a hero.
So why were Jared and Lily crying?
“What’s going on?” Dad said as he came into the room.
“Jake pushed me!” Jared said.
“And he took the truck!” Lily said.
Dad frowned. “Jake, is this true?”
“I’m Super Jake,” he said. “I had to stop the fighting.”
“So you were being a hero?”
“Yep! And heroes do whatever it takes to stop the fighting.”
“Hmm,” said Dad. He patted the couch for Jake to sit down. “You know that superheroes on TV and in movies aren’t real,” he said. “They’re just pretend.”
Jake looked at his cape and nodded. “Yeah. But I like to play like I’m a superhero.”
“I know, and nothing is wrong with that,” Dad said. “But let me tell you about a real hero. He is the greatest hero ever. He has saved everyone.”
Jake’s eyes grew wide. “What powers does he have?”
“Well, he could walk on water, stop storms, and heal people who were sick.”
Jake’s mouth fell open. “Really? I bet he beat up a lot of bad guys!”
“Actually, he never hurt people. He taught them to be kind. He showed them how to love and help each other.”
That didn’t sound like any of Jake’s favorite superheroes. But he did sound familiar.
“Dad,” Jake asked, “are you talking about Jesus?”
Dad smiled. “Yes. Jesus Christ is my hero. He saved us all from sin if we repent. He set a perfect example for us to follow. And because of Him, we will all live again after we die.”
“I knew that’s who you were talking about!” Jake said. “I’ve heard some of those stories about Jesus before!”
“And those stories are true,” Dad said. “Jesus Christ is real. He’s not a made-up character. He lives! He is kind to everyone, and He wants us to follow His example.”
“So I can be like Jesus if I’m kind to other people?” Jake asked.
“That’s right! And I know you have what it takes to be a real hero!” Dad said as he ruffled Jake’s hair.
Jake smiled. He knew what he needed to do. He went to Jared and Lily.
“I’m sorry for pushing you,” he told Jared. “And I’m sorry for taking the truck,” he told Lily. “Maybe we can all share it.” They sat in a triangle and pushed the truck back and forth to each other.
Jake couldn’t stop smiling. Super Jake saves the day! he thought. And this time, he felt like a real hero.

Bear and Chipmunk were sitting at their kitchen table. “Do you remember what day today is, Chipmunk?” Bear asked his friend.
“Tuesday?” said Chipmunk.
“Yes, it’s Tuesday,” said Bear, “but do you remember what else today is?”
Chipmunk looked at the calendar on the wall. “Why, it’s your birthday, Bear! Happy Birthday!”
“You remembered!” said Bear smiling. “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone baked me a birthday cake and gave me a birthday present?”
“That would be nice,” said Chipmunk. “Maybe someone will.”
“Maybe I’d better leave so that someone can get busy,” said Bear.
“Maybe you’d better,” said Chipmunk, trying hard not to smile until Bear was safely gone.
“I love birthdays, especially Bear’s,” Chipmunk said, opening the kitchen cupboard and taking out a cake. “I’m glad I baked this yesterday.” He mixed up a batch of honey frosting and spread it over and around the cake. “I hope Bear likes it.”
Bear was peeking through the kitchen window. “I will,” he said quietly. “I will!”
Chipmunk carried the birthday cake into the dining room and put it on the table, then went to the bedroom and took a big box out of the closet. Taking some wrapping paper out of the desk drawer, he wrapped the big box. “I hope Bear likes it,” he said.
Bear was peeking through the bedroom window. “Oh, I will,” he said quietly. “I know I will.”
Chipmunk carried the big box into the dining room and put it on the table next to the birthday cake. “There now,” he said. “Everything’s ready. I’ll call Bear.”
But Chipmunk didn’t have to call Bear. Bear was standing right there next to him! Chipmunk laughed. “Happy birthday, Bear!” he said.
“You really did remember, Chipmunk!” Bear said happily.
Bear opened the big box. His eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Chipmunk,” he said, “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Chipmunk.
“I love them!” Bear said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Bear stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Chipmunk.”
“I’m sorry, Bear,” said Chipmunk, “but I can’t.”
Bear looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t have any roller skates.”
“Well then,” said Bear, “why don’t you take the money Grandma Chipmunk sent you for your birthday last week and buy some.”
“I already spent it.”
“On what?”
“On something special.”
Bear looked down at the new white roller skates he was wearing. Suddenly he knew what that something special was. Bear didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Chipmunk.”
“You’re welcome,” said Chipmunk, smiling again.
Just then the doorbell rang. Bear skated over and answered it. A delivery person handed Bear a big package. It was from Uncle Bear. Bear unwrapped it, and his eyes opened wide. “Look at these, Chipmunk!” he said, taking a pair of glowing purple roller blades out of the box. Bear had never seen such fabulous skates before!
Chipmunk hadn’t either. He didn’t say anything, but the pair of white roller skates he had given Bear for his birthday seemed quite plain and ordinary now.
There was a card in the big box. It said:
Dear Nephew,
I Hope you enjoy these.
Happy birthday!
Uncle Bear
P.S. If there is something else you’d rather have, please exchange these for it.
Bear looked at the glowing purple roller blades he was holding. He looked down at the white roller skates he was wearing. He looked at Chipmunk. Then Bear put the glowing purple roller blades back into the big box and skated out the front door with them. “I’ll be back soon, Chipmunk,” he called over his shoulder.
Chipmunk watched Bear disappear down the road. “He didn’t even take time to have a piece of his birthday cake before he left!” Chipmunk said sadly.
He was sitting in his favorite chair when Bear came back. Bear was still wearing the white roller skates Chipmunk had given him, but he was not carrying the big box from Uncle Bear. Instead, he had a little box. Bear skated over to Chipmunk and handed him the little box. “Open it, Chipmunk,” he said.
Chipmunk’s eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Bear!” he cried, taking a pair of little white roller skates out of the little box. “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Bear.
“I love them!” Chipmunk said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Chipmunk stopped lacing up the little white roller skates. “Bear,” he said, “where are the purple roller blades Uncle Bear sent you?”
“I exchanged them for those,” said Bear, pointing to the little white roller skates Chipmunk was wearing.
Chipmunk didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Bear.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bear, smiling again.
Chipmunk finished lacing up his little white roller skates. He stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Bear!”
“I’m sorry, Chipmunk,” said Bear, “but I can’t.”
Chipmunk looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I haven’t had a piece of my birthday cake yet! And honey frosting is my very favorite.”
Bear ate three big bear-size pieces of birthday cake. Chipmunk ate two big chipmunk-size pieces. Then Bear wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “I’m ready, Chipmunk. Let’s go roller-skating together right now!”
Chipmunk wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “Let’s!”
And the two friends did.

A few months ago, a friend came to our home under the pretext that he had some questions about the Church he needed help in answering. He said he had discovered the Book of Mormon was not the word of God and that Joseph Smith was not a prophet of God. He then proceeded to quote articles and books which were written by enemies of the Church. As he listed his sources, I replied that I also had read them and others, and they had only served to confirm my faith in the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith. He was surprised that I could have read the same things he had read and not believe as he believed. I suggested that he devote at least equal time to the right side of the issue, but he had come with a decision, not a question. His mind was made up. He did not want to know. His heart was closed. I thought of the children of Israel and their reaction to the Lord after he had guided them out of bondage: “And notwithstanding they being led, the Lord their God, their Redeemer, going before them, leading them by day and giving light unto them by night, and doing all things for them which were expedient for man to receive, they hardened their hearts and blinded their minds, and reviled against Moses and against the true and living God” (1 Ne. 17:30).

After my parents were divorced, it was a hard time in my life. Going to church usually made me feel better, but it hurt me to hear talks on families because I didn’t believe I had one.
My mother was less active and remarried. My father was an atheist and lived with another woman. Both of them had children with their new partners, and I felt like a weight—an error—as if I didn’t count for anything.
So I began to pray, read the scriptures, and meditate, and I tried to keep going to church. But I couldn’t help but wonder: What would I do in the next life without my family sealed in the temple?
The answers didn’t come right away, but they did come. I looked up the definition of family and read scripture verses on the subject, and I started seeing the brighter side of things. Instead of thinking that I didn’t have a family, I learned that I could help bring God’s children into the Church as a missionary. I learned to exercise patience and to be a light. I tried to better myself. I also realized that without a family like mine, I may not have developed the faith that I have, and I wouldn’t value the law of chastity and the plan of salvation as I do now.
I’ve come to understand that I do have a family. It has been hard, but I don’t worry about what will happen to my family after death. I trust in God, and He knows why we aren’t sealed for the time being. He knows how much I love them and what’s best for me. We can’t understand everything, so it’s important to have faith in God to sustain us and help us know that everything will turn out OK.
I am thankful for my new and larger family, and I have faith that one day we can be found all together at the temple. I know God loves me and that He loves everyone, and I know that if I do His will, one day I’ll return to Him with my family.