Gospel Story Finder

Sitting in a hastily dug defensive position, I looked out over the sand toward the north—toward Iraq. It was December 24 during Desert Shield, and I had drawn guard duty starting at midnight.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in my battalion, so the holiday was even lonelier. We had been in the desert of Saudi Arabia since August, and now Christmas was here with a cold, star-lit night. The camp was asleep, and I had a few hours with the bluish-grey dunes and my thoughts.
I thought of my wife and son in Georgia, USA, and how I would miss the festivities back home—the tree, the presents, a real Christmas dinner. Then I began to ponder the Christmas story.
I wondered about the night that Christ was born. I wondered how dark it was and if there was a moon to cast its brightness over the landscape or if there was only starlight. Since there were no electric lights at His birth, the night must have been something like the one I was witnessing. There would have been no festivities—just dark, quiet night.
Then a wonderful thought struck me. The Bible states that Wise Men later came from the East, guided by a star that appeared in the night sky. As I looked into the dark sky, I realized I was to the east of Bethlehem and that one of the centers of knowledge at that time was Baghdad. Could the Wise Men have come from a location not far from where I was? What star shone? Was it still in the sky? Could I see it?
I gazed skyward in wonder at God’s creations and felt a warmth that came from within. It did not matter if I was in the same location or if the same star was in the sky. What mattered is that I shared the same knowledge as the Wise Men of an infant born in Bethlehem who is the King of kings.
I was not alone that Christmas; rather, I was united with all those who seek Him, whether they be Wise Men, prophets, or just lonely soldiers in a hole in the desert. That night my testimony of the birth of the Savior was strengthened, and the next morning the Holy Spirit was still with me.
Instead of being a sad Christmas that year, it became one of my most prized Christmases.

Budgeting and financial management need not be overly complicated or time-consuming. The story is told of an immigrant father who kept his accounts payable in a shoe box, his accounts receivable on a spindle, and his cash in the cash register.
“I don’t see how you can run your business this way,” said his son. “How do you know what your profit is?”
“Son,” replied the businessman, “when I got off the boat, I had only the pants I was wearing. Today your sister is an art teacher, your brother is a doctor, and you’re an accountant. I have a car, a home, and a good business. Everything is paid for. So you add it all up, subtract the pants, and there’s my profit.”

I was leaving for Malawi, Africa, in less than six hours, and my bags still weren’t packed. I had purchased the biggest suitcases available at the local thrift store and crammed my belongings into the smallest space possible. I had saved the bulk of my travel allowance to buy school and medical supplies that Malawians desperately needed.
Staring at piles of books, pencils, medicines, and bandages, I agonized over what items would improve the quality of life most for the people I was going to serve as an English teacher. What would make the greatest contribution toward individual and national progress? I packed and deliberated through the night, finishing just moments before my ride to the airport arrived.
Forty-three hours and thousands of miles later, I arrived in Malawi—the “Warm Heart of Africa”—a country known for its generosity in accepting refugees from neighboring countries plagued by war, famine, and floods. Although I was not a refugee, I experienced the same warmth and acceptance from nearly everyone I met. This was especially true within the Church.
After a long day of bus rides, I was greeted by two brothers who had borrowed bicycles to transport me the remaining miles to the Sitima Branch. We bumped along a red dirt path past baobab trees and mud huts. Upon our arrival, the branch members literally greeted me with open arms. On the Sabbath day, the branch held sacrament meeting under a canopy of thatch with the congregation seated on woven grass mats. The meeting place was humble, but the Spirit was rich.
I was enjoying a similar spirit in the Blantyre Branch when Sister Frampton, a senior missionary, approached me with a big smile and a Personal Progress book.
“We just received these!” she said. “It looks like a wonderful program, but it wasn’t around when I was young. It would mean so much to the girls if you could share your experiences with Personal Progress!” She squeezed my shoulder and bustled off to greet someone else.
During sacrament meeting I stared at the book like a long-forgotten but familiar friend. I traced the letters on the cover: P-R-O-G-R-E-S-S. Malawi’s constant contrasts of poverty and rich traditions forced me to consider this word daily, but never in this light. I opened the book and pored over the words I once skimmed as a Beehive. The introductory message burned with new clarity and brightness, as if I were discovering it for the first time.
As I addressed this group of Malawian young women, I knew something momentous was occurring, and the girls sensed it too. They received the books with such reverence and gratitude that I felt a twinge of guilt remembering my own tattered book, stashed in a dusty box.
For most of these girls, these were the first books they had ever owned. They opened them tenderly, and I read aloud, “You are a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father, prepared to come to earth at this particular time for a sacred and glorious purpose” (Young Women Personal Progress [2001], 1). My voice cracked, and the words on the page blurred as my eyes filled with tears. The Spirit was unmistakable as it testified of the truthfulness of this message.
I remembered the supplies I had packed and delivered months ago. The people had accepted them graciously and put them to use immediately, but I felt frustrated I had nothing more to give.
I looked into the shining eyes of these beautiful Malawian young women. There was no second-guessing, no frustration, just an overwhelming sense of peace and hope for genuine, lasting progress. Here in a tiny room in the Warm Heart of Africa, a few of Heavenly Father’s daughters were embarking on a journey that will bless their lives and countless others with opportunities for eternal progress.

An anteater began to feast upon a group of thirty ants. After he had eaten six of them, along came a buddy and asked him to share. They split the remaining ants between them evenly and began eating. They had each eaten three of their ants, when another friend happened by. It would be rude not to share with him, they thought, so they divided the remaining ants equally among themselves. How many ants did each anteater eat?

The 2022 For the Strength of Youth theme4 perfectly describes this pattern. My wife, Ailsa, and I had the privilege of being part of the Manchester Scotland session of FSY in 2022. We witnessed this pattern playing out in the lives of many participants. One young woman brought many difficult questions to FSY, with no expectation that they would all be answered. She recounted in joyful tears that, during this Christ-focused event, every one of her questions had been answered. She knew that He knew her. This young woman has recently been called to serve Him in the Frankfurt Germany Mission.

Wilford Woodruff traveled across the United States several times as a leader in the Church. One time he stayed overnight in Indiana on his way to meet with the Saints in Boston, Massachusetts.
Wilford: I think we should sleep here tonight. I know of some brethren who will let us stay with them.
Wilford, his wife, and one of their children decided to sleep in the carriage.
Wife: It looks like all of the other children are settled down in the house for the night. Good night, Wilford.
Wilford: Good night.
Not long after getting in bed, Wilford heard a voice tell him to move his carriage.
Wilford: I have to move the carriage.
Wife: What for?
Wilford: I do not know. But I do recognize the voice of the Spirit, and it’s telling me to move.
Wilford moved the carriage forward. About 30 minutes later a sudden whirlwind blew a nearby oak tree over. The huge tree was snapped into pieces and crushed two fences.
When the Woodruffs’ hosts and children came out to look at the damage, they noticed that the tree had landed right where Wilford’s carriage was parked before he moved it.
In the morning the Woodruffs were able to safely continue their journey, and they went on their way rejoicing.
Wilford: By obeying the revelation of the Spirit of God to me, I saved my life as well as the lives of my wife and child.

Most Saturday afternoons my husband and I make a trip to the grocery store for our weekly supplies and food storage items. Recently, after filling our shopping cart and while waiting to be checked out, we watched the cashier totaling the purchases of customers ahead of us. Nearly all were in sizable double-digit figures. We discussed the high cost of food for large families with limited incomes, elderly people with small pensions, and single parents often with uncertain means. We concluded that in most households resources must be managed very carefully in order to meet current demands.
The economic situation today is sobering. It requires us as women to be very resourceful if we are to meet this challenge successfully and at the same time find satisfaction in doing it well.
A young bride went to be with her husband at an army camp on the edge of a desert. Housing was scarce and costly. All they could afford was a small cabin near an Indian village. The 115-degree heat was unbearable in the daytime. The wind blew constantly, spreading dust and sand over everything. The days were long and lonely. When her husband was ordered into the desert for two weeks of maneuvers, she just couldn’t bear the living conditions any longer, and she wrote to her mother that she was coming home. An almost immediate reply included these lines:
Two men look out from prison bars;
One saw the mud, the other saw the stars.
She read the lines over and over. All right, she would look for the stars.
She determined to make friends with her neighbors, the Indians. She admired their artful weaving and pottery work and asked them to teach her. As soon as they sensed her interest was genuine, they were most willing. She became fascinated with their culture, their history—everything about them. The desert changed from a desolate, forbidding place to a world of wondrous beauty.
What had changed? Not the desert, not her environment; her own attitude transformed a miserable experience into a highly rewarding one. (From Bits and Pieces, Vol. C no. 5, pp. 21–23.)
How might Relief Society enable a woman to look to the stars—stars to steer by? How might Relief Society enable a woman to create an environment of optimism and adventure, while at the same time helping her stretch her dollars and resources by implementing sound economic principles in the home?

Sara Wadsworth of Panaca, Nevada, resolved to read the Book of Mormon in one year. She had to schedule her reading around the many demands on her time. She took piano lessons, competed on the school’s basketball and track teams, maintained straight A’s, did not miss one day of early-morning seminary, and completed her chores at home and on the family farm.
One year later, Sara finished reading the Book of Mormon, not for the first time but for the third time that year.

Christmas Eve in the Philippines was a bright, sun-drenched day. The evidence that it was Christmas boomed from the jeepney radios as we made our way along the crowded streets to the barrio where our investigators, the Juguilons, lived.
They were not only our investigators; they were our friends. We were going to share Christmas Eve with them. They didn’t have much, but they wanted to share what they did have. We found that the Filipinos were very generous: you could never give them something without them wanting to give you much more. As missionaries in the Philippines we were always receiving from the kindly people we served. The Juguilons were such a family. Their home was modest, but it was filled with love, love they were always willing to give away.
Their home was one of the smallest in the barrio; its one room was clean and tidy. All of the family’s belongings were tied in neat little bundles which hugged the walls. When we came to teach the gospel we sat on the floor with the family.
Our meetings with the family were wonderful and productive. Brother and Sister Juguilon worked hard to understand all that we were telling them. They read the Book of Mormon we gave them. They had to read from our Bible because they could not afford to buy their own. They were diligent; they listened and studied and prayed so they could become a part of the Lord’s true church.
When we arrived on Christmas Eve, the room was almost filled by two borrowed, king-sized wooden chairs. We were invited to sit while our friends sat at our feet.
Sitting in the middle of the circle of children was a scraggly little Christmas tree which had been delivered anonymously to the Juguilon home that evening. Underneath it was a gift for each of the children. With beaming faces our friends shared their joy with us. The small, green symbol of Christmas was, to this family, the world’s most beautiful. It boasted of widely spaced branches draped with candy-filled ornaments and a popcorn garland which hung lazily from its limbs.
Six pairs of children’s eyes focused lovingly on the tiny tree. A small hand lifted to touch a branch, as if to confirm its reality. Another softly coaxed a hanging ornament into gentle movement. We all enjoyed watching the children until the Christmas festivity began. This festivity was a quiet, yet joyful one.
With grateful reverence, Sister Juguilon placed a white box in front of her. Each of us waited in anticipation as she knelt and carefully began to unfold the sides of the box. Even the Christmas tree could not hold the children’s attention now. Inside were swirls of snow-white frosting that blanketed the enticing Christmas feast—it was a cake, a beautiful, store-bought cake. For the Juguilon family this was a most unusual and rare treat.
All eyes were turned upon us as we received the first pieces. No one else ate, just us. We were their guests; they waited to eat until they were certain that we desired no more. Their joy came in giving.
Together we celebrated the birth of our Savior. We left filled with the joy they shared. However, their story continued in our absence on Christmas Day.
Mealtime on that Christmas Day was attended by Brother Juguilon, but not partaken of. Finally Sister Juguilon asked her husband why he would not eat that day. He quietly answered that this day was, for him, a day of fasting, and a day of thanksgiving. Knowing that it was Christmas she agreed that it was a day for thanksgiving. “But fasting?” she asked.
Quietly he answered. “This year was different. This year each of our children received a gift for Christmas.” This, to him, was cause to return thanks to God.

One of the greatest examples in my life happened when I was a brand-new General Authority on my first assignment. One of the General Authorities had a wife who had passed away just a few days before. I walked onto the airplane and there he was, sitting on the front row of the airplane. What a great message! I was moved by it because at the time I said to myself, “How can one who is suffering go out to help others?” He talked to me about how difficult it was for him to go on assignment, but he went to give succor and helped others when he was hurting.

Suffering is universal; how we react to suffering is individual. Suffering can take us one of two ways. It can be a strengthening and purifying experience combined with faith, or it can be a destructive force in our lives if we do not have the faith in the Lord’s atoning sacrifice. The purpose of suffering, however, is to build and strengthen us. We learn obedience by the things we suffer. We should be humbled and drawn to the Lord, as in the case of the prodigal son who appreciated his home only after going into the world and experiencing sorrow when he shut out his loved ones. (See Luke 15:11–32.) So suffering in his case was a vital part of his repentance.

When suffering comes as a consequence of sin, it should lead to repentance. Alma testified to his son Helaman:
“And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.
“Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.
“And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” (Alma 36:17–20.)

Youth in the Mililani Hawaii Stake were up against the wall during their youth conference. In two-and-a-half hours they painted 38,000 square feet of cement fence along the Haleiwa Beach Park, on Oahu. They even restored the original Hawaiian graphics.
Along with workshops, speakers, and dances, there was another unique activity at the conference. The conference theme was Valiant Youth of Today, taken from Alma 53:20, and at one point “Captain Helaman” sent the youth off to “battle” just like the 2,000 stripling warriors. The battle consisted of dividing into groups and finding their way to various outdoor stations where they fought against evil by doing righteous activities like writing letters of appreciation to parents, underlining scriptures on faith and courage, helping each other through mazes, etc.
Just like the stripling warriors, not one soul was lost.

Many years ago, when I was engaged in the private practice of the law, a lawyer in Texas engaged me to take care of a legal problem for him in Utah.
This legal matter was satisfactorily adjusted by the payment of a sum of money, in the form of a check to our office. I forwarded the check to my friend in Texas without first cashing it, with the understanding that a portion of it would be returned to settle part of the obligation through our office.
After I sent the check, I heard nothing more from my friend. Letters, telegrams, and telephone calls went unanswered for many months. I became concerned because it was not my money and if he did not keep his word I was honor bound to make good the loss. The obvious solution was to file a complaint against him. There lurked in my mind, however, the possibility of a far more subtle approach.
I recalled how, as a boy, I had been taught by my mother the words of the Savior, as recorded by Matthew, that tell us that true Christians are supposed to pray for those who despitefully use them (see Matt. 5:44). I certainly felt that I had been despitefully used. I happened to be serving as a bishop in the Church at that time, and I chastised myself because I was something less of a Christian than I ought to be. I had not first considered the direction of the Master. At an appropriate place and time, I went to my knees and uttered a simple but sincere prayer for the well-being of this man in Texas. I am ashamed to say that this was the first time in my life when the sole and only purpose of a prayer was in the interest of one who, in my opinion, had not done well by me. The prayer seemed to have been almost instantaneously heard and brought dramatic results. In the time that it takes for an airmail letter to come from Texas, there arrived a communication from this man containing the promised money. In the letter was an explanation that he had been seriously ill, had been in the hospital, and had had to close his office but now was doing better. He asked our pardon and apologized for the inconvenience that this caused.
I relate this experience without apology to anyone who might think that I was weak, inadequate, or foolish for having humbly sought to follow a commandment of the Savior for a solution to a practical problem. The price of discipleship is obedience. In many languages, the word disciple has the same root as the word discipline. Self-discipline and self-control are consistent and permanent characteristics of the followers of Jesus.

“Since I am the oldest with all sisters, we have lots of dolls without too many doll clothes. I started designing and making doll clothes for my sisters. Then for this project, I decided to try to make a dress from a pattern. I made a pink dress for my littlest sister, Molly Sue, with a fluffy skirt that she can twirl. It turned out really well and made me feel good about trying. I wanted to know that I could do it to increase my feelings of individual worth.”
Stephanie HowardNephi Utah Stake

The bus pulled into the parking lot of the hotel at 10:00 P.M. and deposited 36 nervously excited singers, a load of stage equipment, and a couple of dazed advisers who were showing the effects of a 16-hour bus ride. Inside the hotel’s ballroom Bob Hope was finishing up a few jokes while 750 Hollywood celebrities and top military officials finished their dinner. In the parking lot a few last-minute instructions were given, a prayer was offered, and on the cue of “Footprints, let’s go!” the Footprints of Freedom entered the Beverly Wilshire Hotel to entertain at the annual Air Force Ball.
The group had left Provo the night before and had not really slept since. After the show they would have six hours of sleep before the bus picked them up for the return trip to Provo. But cramped buses, lack of sleep, and a steady diet of roadside hamburgers are minor inconveniences when the Footprints have the chance to sing about America’s proud 200 years.
The performance at the Air Force Ball was a rousing success. General David C. Jones, Air Force Chief of Staff, personally came backstage after the performance to congratulate the Footprints. The group was invited to film a short segment in a movie for the Air Force, and it was nearly midnight before everyone got back to their hotel rooms. At 6:00 A.M. the bus would arrive for the return trip. There’d be another round of “Good,” “Bad,” and “Ugly” awards, another luggage rack rotation, and another 16-hour bus ride.
But it had been worth it—they had sung about America for 20 minutes. And during those 20 minutes perhaps one person had decided not to let the good land pass him by.

Hal nevertheless completed his degree in physics in 1955 before entering the U.S. Air Force. The Korean War had recently ended, and the number of young men called as full-time missionaries from each ward had been restricted. For a period of time the Mission Home in Salt Lake City was closed, and no missionaries went into the field. In a blessing, however, his bishop promised him that his military service would be his mission. Two weeks after arriving at the Sandia Base near Albuquerque, New Mexico, Hal was called as a district missionary in the Western States Mission—a calling he fulfilled in evenings and on weekends during the two years he was in the military.

I was diagnosed with an eye disease when I was eight years old, and over the years my vision has been reduced to less than 10 percent. But I have had many blessings through the sport of running and competing in the Paralympics. A few years ago, an injury resulted in surgery, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to compete again. But I was blessed by Heavenly Father to heal well and be able to continue competing.

I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants what is best for me, and that gives me comfort and reassurance that what happens is what’s best for me.

Being a member of the Church provided spiritual blessings, of course. But it also gave me some wonderful friends. Around the time of my baptism, several young men my age began coming to church, and we formed a very close-knit group. We started attending every meeting and activity together.

When I was 17, I left my city to go to college. Three of my friends decided to go to college in the same city, and we lived together. This was a great blessing because we could support and protect each other. We encouraged each other to go to church. We also had home evening among the four of us, and sometimes we invited other students who were members of the Church. All of those years at the university, we strengthened each other. Forty-five years later, those young men are still my best friends. Although we live in different parts of the world, we are always in contact. All six of us served missions.

One summer our young family traveled 2,000 miles (3,200 km) across the country for my husband’s new job. We were excited for our new adventure, but we felt very far from our home, our families, and everything else we knew. We pulled up to our new home during a downpour, and in an attempt to protect our home’s newly laid carpet, we unloaded the truck with umbrellas overhead and sheets underfoot. We knew that heavy rains had been causing basements to flood, and we nervously kept an eye on ours after everything was unloaded.
All seemed well that night, and with our three young children finally asleep, Greg and I hurriedly made our bed. We were both exhausted, and falling into bed sounded so good. For some reason, though, Greg felt that he should unpack another box.
“Please,” I said, “let’s just go to sleep. We can unpack in the morning.”
He shook his head and headed to the basement. After a few moments, I heard him scream. Panicked, I ran to the basement only to be met by a miniature flash flood. We stood there shoulder to shoulder as cold rainwater began pooling around our ankles. Instantly we snapped into action and began dragging box after box up the steep staircase. I felt completely and hopelessly lost, my tears mixing with the floodwater on the floor.
I called the only member of the Church we knew in our new ward, Brother Lindsay Sewell, to ask for instructions on running our sump pump to drain the water. Brother Sewell gave some quick advice, and then I went back to work trying to save our belongings. At midnight, the doorbell rang. Pulling the door open, I was met by Brother Sewell, his arms laden with a fan, a wet vacuum, and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.
“Sounds like you guys could use some help,” he said with a bright smile. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so far from home.
All through the night, Brother Sewell stayed with us, trying to conquer the flood. When the water level in the basement rose to more than a foot (30 cm) deep, he suggested that we call the fire department; they brought large pumps that eventually solved the problem.
The next morning Sister Sewell and other members of our new ward arrived with food, extension cords, and more vacuums. We were overwhelmed by their goodness. In the end we saved all of our belongings.
I am so grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. No matter where I go, I have brothers and sisters waiting with open arms to welcome my family and to help in times of need.

Earlier this year, President Bryan Willets of the Philippines Quezon City Mission contacted the Philippines Area Presidency to inform them about a woman who claimed to be one of the first Filipino members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, after the commencement of missionary work in June 1961. The Area presidency in turn relayed the information to the Church History Department.
The woman, Mildred Rivera Wilcken, was based in the United States but was then visiting the Philippines with members of her family.
Sister Melanie Gapiz, the local Church History manager, was intrigued because the available historical information she possessed had never mentioned this woman. But after checking Church membership records, she discovered that Sister Wilcken was baptized on August 5, 1961—exactly two months after the first four Latter-day Saint missionaries arrived in Manila to begin proselyting work.
An appointment with Sister Wilcken was set at the hotel where she was staying, to find out more about her. During the meeting, Sister Wilcken, already 83, proceeded to share a wonderful and inspiring story, assisted by her daughter Cathy Ford, also a Church member.
Mildred Coloma Rivera was born on April 17, 1941, and grew up in rural San Manuel, Tarlac. She came from a large family, with her parents engaged in tedious farm work. “We were a poor family,” she recalls, “and we struggled economically, so I looked for opportunities to earn.”
In 1961, Mildred started working for an American family at Clark Air Base in Pampanga. The Apel family were Latter- day Saints and Mildred was intrigued by the family’s faith. She told the family head, Charles Apel, that she wanted to come to Church with them on Sunday, to which Brother Apel replied positively.
Mildred liked what she saw and felt. “I knew right away the Church was true,” she affirms, “and I was interested in the Church because of the friendliness of the Apel family and also the members.” She was taught gospel principles by members of the small Church unit in Clark, as there were no missionaries available in that area.
Mildred soon gained a testimony. “I want to be baptized,” she excitedly told the Apels. The Church was so new in the Philippines that the pioneering missionaries—who had been given authority to baptize converts—were too far away in Manila to know about Mildred and her request. Thus, unit leaders in Clark had to get special permission from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City to baptize her.
Mildred waited patiently and prayed for a positive response. Her prayers were answered when permission was granted to hold a baptismal service, which took place on August 5, 1961. On that day, Mildred Coloma Rivera was baptized by Brother Paul Sharp, becoming one of the very first members of the Church in the Philippines.
“I felt so elated that I kept thanking God for being baptized,” Mildred joyfully remembers. Sister Rivera became one of the pioneer members of the Angeles Branch and grew in her testimony of the restored gospel as she prayed, read the scriptures, and attended Church services.
By 1968, she was holding another job at Clark Air Base when she met another American military officer and Latter-day Saint, Willis Lane Wilcken. “When he shook hands with me, he wouldn’t let go of it,” Mildred humorously recalls. Brother Wilcken proposed to her and the two were married in a Church ceremony at Clark in November of the same year.
A few months after their marriage, Brother and Sister Wilcken left for the United States. The couple were later sealed in the Idaho Falls Temple and raised a family of seven children. Brother Wilcken managed a luxury vehicle service business until his death in 2012.
Sister Wilcken raised all her sons and daughters in the Church, sometimes hoping that those who would serve missions would be assigned to the land of her birth. While her wish did not come true immediately, she was happy when one son was called to serve in Hawaii, which had a large population of Filipino descent, and even more happy when her youngest son and two of her grandchildren were assigned to the Philippines. Also, another grandson recently completed a Tagalog-speaking mission in Alberta, Canada.
From the early days of her membership, Sister Mildred Rivera Wilcken continues to be strong in her testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. “The only thing that I can ever give you is my testimony,” she affirms as her eyes turn moist. “The Church is true, and I forever cherish those days when I found out about the Church and developed my testimony.”

“And so,” Sister Adams said, “as Jesus tells us in Matthew 7:7 [Matt. 7:7], ‘Ask, and it shall be given you.’ When we ask in faith, and do our part, Heavenly Father will always answer us. He wants us to be happy.”
So, Brandon thought, if Heavenly Father wants me to be happy, then He must want me to get away from what makes me unhappy. Yeah! And what makes me unhappy is Bobby!
Brandon rolled his eyes, remembering Bobby’s “Please, let me come with you, Brandon.” … “I didn’t mean to break it, Brandon.” … “Can I ride your bike?” … “Can I sit by you?”
That night Brandon prayed eagerly, “Heavenly Father, please make Bobby leave me alone. He’s always pestering me and making me really unhappy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Brandon hopped into bed with a smile on his face.
On Monday, Bobby insisted on walking to school with Brandon. He kept interrupting Brandon and Peter while they were talking about important stuff. He squeezed in beside Brandon at lunch and dripped milk on Brandon’s new pants. After school, he cried so hard that Mom made Brandon take him along to nail down the floor of the tree fort. On the way there, he spilled all the nails.
This isn’t working! Brandon’s thoughts raged. He grabbed Bobby’s hand and stomped back home.
Brandon flopped into bed after a complaining prayer that night. Then he thought, What did Sister Adams say exactly? Oh, yes—we have to do ourpart too. Of course! That’s what’s wrong. I’ve been expecting Heavenly Father to do it all for me.
“Run, Peter,” whispered Brandon the next morning. “Go to school by yourself, Bobby,” he yelled over his shoulder as the two older boys raced away.
At lunchtime, when Bobby approached their table, the two friends locked elbows and spread out their legs. “He’s turning around, Brandon,” Peter said, holding up his hand for a high-five. Brandon looked. All he could see of Bobby was hunched shoulders as he trudged away.
“No, you can’t carry the hammer, and no, you can’t come!” Brandon hissed at Bobby after school. “You’re nothing but a pest, and nobody wants you along anywhere—especially at the tree fort.”
Bobby’s face began to crumple. Brandon grabbed Bobby’s shirt front. “And if you start to bawl, I’ll never let you do anything with me again.”
Tears coursed down Bobby’s cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound.
Brandon marched off, clutching his hammer so tightly that his fingers ached. Nailing down the floorboards was hard work, but it went fast without his brother’s pestering. He stopped only when the sun was almost down.
Walking home, he was glad that he’d finished so much and glad that his prayers were being answered. But when he went inside, there was Bobby, sitting as still as a statue outside Brandon’s room. Brandon scowled and slammed his door shut, all his good feelings vanishing. His mind saw only Bobby’s sad face.
He’s just making it worse and worse, Brandon ranted to himself. He breaks my stuff. He ruins my games. And now he’s ruined my enjoying the tree fort too. Well, he’d better leave me alone—or else!
On Saturday afternoon, he came home from soccer practice to find Bobby wobbling down the street on his new bike. Brandon grabbed the handlebars and yanked the bike around hard. Bobby flew off. The next instant he was screaming. His hands were skinned, and a bump was growing on his forehead.
Brandon pushed his fear away with more anger. “Don’t you ever touch my bike again! Don’t ever touch anything of mine, for as long as you live!”
Brandon felt himself marched into the house. Up the stairs he went and into his room. “Hurting someone else is not the way to take care of disagreements, Brandon,” Dad said. “You know that. You will stay in your room until you can make things right with Bobby.”
Glaring at Dad as he closed the door behind him, Brandon stomped to the window. Mom was helping Bobby into the house and holding a cloth to his forehead.
Brandon refused to come down for dinner. He wasn’t about to “make things right.” It wasn’t fair to be punished when Bobby had taken his bike without permission.
On Sunday, Brandon came out only to go to church. Sister Adams taught the class how to use the Topical Guide in their Bibles to find scriptures to answer their questions and help them learn how to solve problems. She explained that the Holy Ghost could help them know which scriptures to read.
Back home, Brandon ate his meals in his room, still fuming. I’ll never make up with that little pest!
Monday was Bobby’s birthday. After school, Brandon stood at his bedroom window, watching Bobby and his friends yelling and jumping around in the backyard.
“Oh, wow! My favorite!” Bobby yelled as he tore open a package. “A praying mantis transformer robot!”
Brandon clenched his fists. He’d been wanting one of those for months.
“Oh, wow! A dragonfly robot!” Bobby waved a robot in each hand.
Brandon slumped on his bed.
After the guests had gone home, Bobby pounded up the stairs and into Brandon’s room. “Brandon!” He stopped at his brother’s scowl. “I—I just wanted to show you my transformers. …”
“Well, I don’t want to see them. So just get out of here.”
Bobby turned and shut the door softly behind him. Tears squeezed out onto Brandon’s cheeks. Since he’d decided to pray for what he wanted, everything had gone wrong! He didn’t understand it at all.
He must have dropped off to sleep, because it was dark when he woke up, way past dinnertime. His stomach growled as he opened his door to listen. They’re having family home evening without me, he thought. They don’t care about me at all.
Then he saw it—the praying mantis transformer robot. It had been placed on the tray of food by the door.
He sat in his doorway and picked it up. Did Bobby really give this to me? Shame flooded through him. Why would he do that, after how mean I’ve been to him? And what do I do now?
Sister Adams had said to look in the Topical Guide. She’d said that the answers to our problems are all in the scriptures.
He knelt by his bed, wanting help more than he’d ever wanted it before. “Heavenly Father, I feel awful! Please help me to feel the Holy Ghost prompting me, so I can know what scriptures to read that will help me. I really want to understand what to do about Bobby. Everything I’ve done so far has turned out wrong.”
Opening his Bible to the back pages, Brandon searched in the Topical Guide until he found the word Ask. That was what he needed to know: how to ask Heavenly Father for blessings so he could really get them. He began reading the phrases listed there. When he came to “Mosiah … 4:21 whatsoever ye a. [ask] that is right,” he was sure that this was his answer. He almost tore a page in his Book of Mormon in his haste to find the scripture:
And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another.
Understanding flooded Brandon. It was right to ask Heavenly Father to help him be happy. What was wrong was trying to have happiness by making Bobby unhappy. Bobby couldn’t just disappear. He was part of Brandon’s family! So what was right was for them to be happy together. And that meant doing what the scripture in Mosiah said: imparting—sharing. Sharing things. Sharing time. Sharing fun.
And Bobby showed me how. Brandon picked up the transformer, which was even more precious now. Then his eyes scanned his room. When they came to his shell collection, he picked it up and went downstairs. “May I talk to Bobby?”
Brandon beckoned Bobby into the kitchen. “I found the transformer, Bobby. Thanks! That’s the best present I ever got.”
Bobby’s grin could have lit a rocket.
“And this is for you,” Brandon told him, handing him the box.
“Your shell collection? But, Brandon, it’s your most special thing!”
“No, it isn’t—my brother is.”
The warm feelings flooding Brandon were unmistakable. This time, he had asked for what was right and had done his part right. He could feel himself receiving happiness through his body. Bobby wasn’t a pest—he was a pretty neat kid. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently.
With their arms around each other, the brothers trooped into the living room.