Gospel Story Finder

As a matter of fact, their love for Christ is so big that they wanted to share it with all their friends, LDS or not. They wanted to host an activity that would bring LDS kids and non-LDS kids closer to the Savior and closer to each other. They also decided that such an activity would be the perfect way to cap off the year’s seminary study of the New Testament.
Both youth and adult leaders were called to help organize the event. They decided that since football is such a big sport in Texas, former BYU and Houston Oiler quarterback Gifford Nielson would help attract a crowd. They invited Tim Ross, a Church member well known in the area for his wacky TV weather reports, to speak, figuring he would draw people out too. The conference would include slide presentations, testimonies, prayers, workshops, and of course, there would be some serious, heartfelt talks about the Savior—how much he means to the youth of Texas and to people everywhere. There would be lighter activities, as well, like a dance and a Texas barbecue.
Equipped with an irresistible agenda, they went out to contact various youth groups in the vicinity and invite them over for the big day.
That’s when a big problem came up.
“I contacted several youth groups, and they were really excited at first,” said Anna Francis, 17, a member of the youth planning committee. “But when it got to their ministers, they decided they didn’t want them to come to a Mormon activity. Some of them seem to think that Mormons aren’t Christians, so they said we had no right holding a conference on Christ. It’s sad, because we were trying to help them see that we really are Christians.”
At that point, Plan B went into effect. Since all the youth groups invited declined the invitation, the LDS kids were encouraged to invite their nonmember friends from school. “All the Mormon youth fasted and prayed that everything would work out, and that more people would want to come,” said Tomasyn Harlow, another member of the planning committee. “We invited our friends and talked to people all over the stake. It worked. We ended up with over 225 people.”
Actually, that was quite an impressive turnout. “On a beautiful Saturday like this, they could have been in a million other places,” said Bob Ferguson, a member of the stake high council who was assigned to coordinate the conference. “They could be out waterskiing, fishing, hitting all the new movies. They could have been out working and earning some money. But they wanted to come here to get closer to Christ.”
And the event turned out to be a big success after all.
“I think this is the best we’ve ever done,” said Johnny Apel, 16. And that’s a pretty big compliment. After all, this is a stake that sponsors memorable activities at the end of each seminary year that correspond with the book of scriptures they’ve been studying. They’ve put on things like a “Nephite Festival” that was their version of a county fair in the land of Bountiful, complete with a realistically simulated earthquake and storm, followed by a beautiful talk on Third Nephi.
Then there was the big “Wander in the Wilderness,” where the seminary students were taken to a desolate area, divided by their birth months into twelve “tribes,” and required to complete 12 Old Testament-oriented tasks like rescuing Daniel from the lion’s den, building a tower of Babel, and building an ark. At the end, they were treated to a big feast, similar to that of the Passover.
With activities like that, rating the “Come unto Christ” youth conference number one really says something.
What made the event such a big success? The location wasn’t out of the ordinary—much of the program was held in the chapel, and the workshops were held in church classrooms. Meals were brought in and either eaten outside in the Texas sunshine or inside, picnic-style, on blankets on the gym floor.
So it was the theme itself and the attitudes of the kids involved that made this such a big event. “What could be more important than to come unto Christ?” said Tisha Perry, age 16. “I hoped that this activity would help me to get closer to him, and it did.”
You could actually see some changes taking place right before your eyes as the day wore on. “I really don’t know where it started, but lately I’ve had a real problem with listening to what my parents say and following the counsel they give me,” Greg Harkrider, 16, told the entire group. “I just want them to know that I’m glad that I listened to what they said and came today to learn more about Christ. That’s what I need to be here for. I’ll try to be better because of this.”
And responses from the 30 or so non-LDS kids who did come were positive as well. Rick Moore and Eric Bradshaw, two 16-year-olds who met on the set of a movie they were both involved in, came to the conference because the subject was of great interest to them both. Rick is LDS. Eric is Presbyterian. “Pretty much everything that’s been said here today I’m 100 percent with,” said Eric. “This is really encouraging for me.”
Darla Marburger, 16, who came with her LDS friend Milli Egger, 14, had a response similar to Eric’s. “This has really helped me to grow spiritually,” she said.
“I’m just glad someone has taken the time to teach us more about Christ,” added Milli. “It’s important to learn now, when we’re young and impressionable, so we have a better chance of turning out right.”
Richard Cromwell, a very popular high school teacher and an ordained Methodist minister, also paid big compliments to the event. “This is great!” he said. “I’m all for anything that helps bring the kids closer to Christ.”
The spirit of the day was not diminished when the lights in the gym went down low and the music was turned up for the dance that finished off the conference. A stake music committee, made up mostly of youth, had previously selected all the music that would be played, making sure it was fun to dance to, yet didn’t contain inappropriate lyrics.
While the music played inside, the youth on the organizing committee wandered outside for a breather. They inevitably began discussing the big subject of the day. “Being a part of all this really makes me want to work harder to be better—to be more like Jesus,” said Mark Davies, 17. “That would be so great.”
“We heard a lot about Christ today, and his spirit was here,” added Anna. “That’s exactly what we wanted.”
“Oh yes,” Thomasyn agreed. “Even though it didn’t turn out exactly like we’d planned at first, it was a big success.”
There it was. Still another big to add to the Texas list.

The daybreak of July 21, 1879, became a fateful day in the lives of Elder Joseph Standing and his missionary companion, Elder Rudger Clawson. As a missionary serving in Northern Georgia, Elder Standing had been harassed, threatened, abused and chased by hooded mobs in the vicinity of Varnell Landing near the Tennessee border. As the missionaries were walking through the thick pine and cedar forest surrounding them, they came face to face with the mob which was in pursuit of them. There were twelve mobbers, three on horseback, and the rest on foot; a ragged lot, all armed with pistols or rifles.
The Elders asked by what authority they were being held and the leader replied, There's no law in Georgia for Mormons. The mob told them they were going to be whipped and then they would understand the laying on of hands. The threat of whipping most frightened Joseph. Victims were stripped, tied face down on a fallen log, and lashed with willow branches until their backs were bloody. The fear of this beating and impending death caused the missionaries to become pale and shake.
They were led deeper and deeper into the secluded forest to a spring. Elder Standing made a bold move to seize a revolver. Instantly, one of the assassins raised his gun to the Elder's head and fired. At that critical point the leading mobber pointed at Elder Clawson and said, Shoot that man. Every weapon was leveled at his head. He realized there was no avenue of escape. His time had come to follow his companion Elder Standing to the grave. He folded his arms, looked at his assailants, and said Shoot. For whatever unknown reason one of the mobbers said, Don't shoot and one by one the guns were lowered.
Not yet knowing if he to was to be murdered, he told the mob he was going for help and turning his back he walked slowly into the woods.
That night by flickering candle light, he carefully wiped and washed the blood from Elder Standing's body in preparation for the long train ride back to Salt Lake City.[20]
Elder Standing made the ultimate sacrifice that day and later his companion Elder Clawson served forty-five years as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

But just under three months and several blood tests later, I miscarried again—this time only a week before Christmas. Another three months passed and my hopes soared after another positive pregnancy test, only to miscarry a week later—yet another stoplight.
“Even if we have strong faith, many mountains will not be moved. … If all opposition were curtailed, if all maladies were removed, then the primary purposes of the Father’s plan would be frustrated.”2 —Elder David A. Bednar
I got pregnant again, and my next due date was going to land right around the following Christmas. I had a good feeling about this pregnancy. We had seen the heartbeat on an early ultrasound and knew that family members were praying for us. While we were sitting in an endowment session in the temple one day, I had a distinct stream of thoughts: “If I were to lose this pregnancy, would my faith hold up? Of course it would. But of course I won’t have another miscarriage because this time I am ready to accept the Lord’s will no matter what.”
Despite my positive attitude, several weeks later I saw the signs, went in for the ultrasounds, and began the painful process that I felt all too familiar with. My faith did not hold up quite like I had expected. The answers that had sustained me through my previous miscarriages no longer seemed adequate. A wave of depression set in. I felt broken, empty, and even slightly betrayed. My husband and I weren’t the only ones waiting on the Lord; our daughter frequently told us how much she wanted a baby brother or sister. Our hearts ached for her as well. As I turned my vulnerable emotions over to the Lord in fervent prayer, I again received a clear witness that Heavenly Father was very aware of my pain and circumstances and that He loved me. Although my circumstances remained the same, this sweet and simple experience miraculously lightened the burden I felt and gave me the ability to cope and even feel happy as I continued through my day-to-day life. Whatever the future held, I would be OK.
When genetic testing came back several months later with no answers, we again felt confused about the purpose of these setbacks in our lives. I tried my best to set my own desires aside and align my will with the Lord’s, but during the difficult moments my heart would cry out, “What am I supposed to learn from this? I’m trying to do something good! Where is the help I need?”
“Hard is the constant! We all have challenges. The variable is our reaction to the hard.”3 —Elder Stanley G. Ellis
Eight months after my fourth miscarriage and just several weeks after my stressful drive to meet the sister missionaries, I was peacefully waiting at a stoplight on my way home when my answers came. As I watched the cars stopped next to me and the cars making their way down the road ahead of me, I caught an eternal perspective of my life. I suddenly realized that all that mattered in my journey was that I stay on the path that would take me back to my heavenly home. How many “stoplights” I waited at would have no effect on my destination. How I responded to them would.
I began to cherish every stoplight in my life, both metaphorical and literal. Instead of wasted time, each became an opportunity to acquire patience and to gain perspective that comes only through waiting. Just as every red traffic light is paired with a green light in a different direction, I found that every stoplight in my life opened an avenue for growth, just not necessarily in the way I had been planning to grow right then. Instead of dwelling on the disappointments, I began to delight in the opportunity for progress that every unexpected turn of events provided.
“A critical question to ponder is ‘Where do we place our faith?’ Is our faith focused on simply wanting to be relieved of pain and suffering, or is it firmly centered on God the Father and His holy plan and in Jesus the Christ and His Atonement?”4 —Elder Donald L. Hallstrom
Two long years after my first miscarriage, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. In the time leading up to that joyful day for our family, I came to realize that Jesus Christ did not suffer for me in order to remove all suffering from my life. Rather, He suffered so that I could be strengthened through and grow from the challenges I face. Although the heartbreaking moments of loss and the long months of waiting are still painful to remember, they have become a treasure in my life. In those sacred moments, I came to understand how individually the Savior knows my suffering. He succored me in a way that only one who knows my personal sorrows could succor. While the opposition in our lives often seems to thwart our plans for progress, as we turn to the Lord, that opposition can function as the friction that propels us to a higher end: knowing and abiding in the Savior’s perfect love.

As a young girl, I developed a strong imagination and sense of humor. Listening to music was one of my favorite pastimes. I often pulled out our old record player and listened to the music from popular plays and movies such as Carousel, Oklahoma, and the Music Man. I had never actually seen them, so I created my own plots and story lines based on the words from the songs. I also made up all the dances and acted out many of the roles. It didn’t take much to make me happy. A few dress-up clothes from my parents’ closet, a record, an empty room, and I was off on an adventure.
In my mind, I traveled to many faraway places and experienced many marvelous things. In fact, later in my life, when I was able to travel, I discovered that the places I visited in my imagination were almost more fun and exciting than trips I actually took.

I was baptized a few months ago and received the gift of the Holy Ghost as my companion. One of His jobs is to warn me about bad things.
On the first day of school, it was too hot outside for my second-grade class to go to recess, so our teacher let us play and watch a cartoon in the classroom. The movie was funny. But then the way the characters were dancing made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t like it, so I went back to my chair and started to draw instead of watching the movie.
I know that I was feeling uncomfortable because the Holy Ghost was trying to tell me that it wasn’t good for me to watch the cartoon anymore. He was trying to protect me from bad things getting stuck in my mind.
Sometimes I like to copy funny things I see on TV and in movies. If I had copied those dance moves, I could have gotten in trouble. So the Holy Ghost protected me another way too.
I’m really glad that I was baptized and have the Holy Ghost’s extra help. I’m really, really glad that I listened to the Holy Ghost!

This is a challenging but exciting time. I predict that we will remember it all of our lives. That has been true of my memories of the bursting of the Teton Dam, on an early Saturday in June of 1976. My brother Stuart and I were working the dry farm of our home teacher, Craig Moore, when the dam unexpectedly broke. Hearing the radio report, we drove to the crest of the hill and saw what looked like a giant brown lake spreading across the valley.

The reality of the flood, though, was much more harrowing. Initially, public officials told Main Street merchants to use towels to prevent water from coming under their doors. But soon a wall of water nine-feet tall broke every ground-floor window on Main Street, with plate glass windows exploding as though bombs were going off inside. Many houses were destroyed. One was lifted off its foundation, drifted downstream, and came to rest on a baseball diamond in Smith Park. A similar house was deposited on the north end of the Ricks College football field.

All seemed lost, through no fault of the victims. But the townspeople rallied. And the college became the headquarters for disaster relief. Thanks to thousands of volunteers who came in buses from surrounding states, the college miraculously opened for classes just three months later. In the meantime, the dorms housed displaced flood victims, and the Manwaring Center served hundreds of thousands of meals.

Recently Alvin received a special award for perfect attendance at seminary. Seminary for Manila’s LDS youth is usually held during afternoon or early evening, and during those hours Manila’s almost unbearable traffic is at its peak. But Alvin comes right on time.
“Alvin is not that hyperactive when it comes to class involvement,” Brother Nolan Caceres, his seminary teacher, remarks, “but when it comes to actual application of the lesson, he tries his best.”
His seminary example spills into other youth activities. The ward basketball team he plays on garnered second place in the sportsfest awards. And in activity nights at the meetinghouse? “He doesn’t fail us,” Brother Caceres answers. “He’ll be there.”

I also knew that I felt at peace with myself when I did what was right. I learned when I was in the third or fourth grade how it felt to make a wrong choice. The rules at school were that we could not throw snowballs and that we could not go off the school grounds. One day I got in a snowball fight and crossed the street to get the advantage in the fight. Afterward I felt bad because I knew I had done something wrong.

About three years ago my son, Mark, was diagnosed with cancer. Surgeons operated on him, but the cancer continued to spread. The entire family prayed and fasted for him during those long months.
I had read in the scriptures and in various conference talks how important and real the power of faith is. I decided to fast and pray, feeling that my faith was strong enough that a miracle would occur. My son would be made well, or his cancer would go into remission. I always closed my fervent prayers with “Thy will be done.”
I read every talk on faith I could find given during past general conferences or appearing in other materials published by the Church. I found talks by President Russell M. Nelson especially comforting.
Our son died on June 28, 2021. We were all devastated and heartbroken. I felt that my faith had not been strong enough after all.
One day I looked on the back cover of a general conference issue of the Liahona and saw a photo of President Nelson standing at the pulpit. Under the photo was a paragraph taken from one of his talks. He said it takes faith to join the Church, follow the prophets, serve a mission, live the law of chastity, and teach the gospel. “It takes faith to plead for the life of a loved one and even more faith,” he added, “to accept a disappointing answer.”1
I read that sentence at least three times before I realized it was meant for me. A calm feeling came over me. I knew that our prayers for my son had not been in vain. My faith was strong in a way the Lord knew and had accepted.
Our family has experienced our share of loss, including the passing of my husband and three grandsons. My faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ tells me my deceased son is with my husband and grandsons. That knowledge brings me peace. Despite our family’s adversity, we still love the Lord and His gospel, and our testimonies have grown. I testify that President Nelson is a prophet and that the counsel he gives comes from the Lord.

David heard a horse trotting into the yard. He knew that sound—Father was home! The door opened, and Father walked in.
“I have some good news,” Father said. “The glass for the tabernacle has arrived in California!”
David felt like cheering. Everyone in their town of St. George knew about the tabernacle windows. The tabernacle was being built so the Church members in Southern Utah could have a place to worship. But the tabernacle didn’t have glass for the windows yet. They had to order it all the way from New York.
New York was a long way from Utah. Father had drawn out a map with charcoal to show David. David had traced the long line the glass had to travel by boat from New York all the way to San Bernadino, California. That’s where it was now. From there it still had to be brought the last 300 miles by wagon to St. George.
Father was in charge of leading the wagon team to California and back. “The glass is waiting for us, but we still need $800 to pick it up.”
David eyes got wide. He had never even heard of that much money!
“Do you think we can raise the money?” Father asked, ruffling David’s hair.
“Of course we can!” David answered. He ran to his room. In minutes he came back and handed a two-cent piece to his father. It was all he had.
Over the next few days, David’s family pulled together $3.87. They knew it wasn’t very much. But they also knew that if Heavenly Father wanted the Saints to build a tabernacle to worship in, then He would provide a way. They prayed for His help.
News soon spread throughout the pioneer community, and everyone gave all they could to the window fund. But when Father counted up the money on the last night before the trip, it was only $200.
“Maybe you should wait till spring,” Mother suggested. “Perhaps we could have the money by then.”
Father shook his head. “No, we have to go now. Otherwise the building will be unprotected from the rain and snow all winter. We can’t let it be damaged.”
That night they prayed for help again. They had done all they could. But it wasn’t enough. David’s father decided to start the journey to California anyway. He had faith that somehow things would work out.
Before first light, the wagon team pulled up outside David’s house. The other travelers joined David’s family inside for a prayer. Father pleaded with Heavenly Father for help.
A knock at the door startled them. When Mother opened it, a man walked in. He said his name was Peter Nielsen, and he was from a nearby town called Washington.
“Hello, Brother Cannon,” he said to Father. “You’re the man I need to see. I had a dream that I should bring you the money I’ve been saving to work on my home. I know that for some reason you need it, and God wants you to have it. Here.”
Brother Nielsen untied a red handkerchief and poured gold pieces onto the table until a big pile lay there. Father counted the coins one by one. $600! With the $200, it made $800. That was exactly the amount they needed to go and get the glass for the Tabernacle! Right away they prayed to thank Heavenly Father.
Within minutes the team was heading west. As they left, David knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father had provided a way for them.

Why do bad things always happen to me?” grumbled Harold as he tried to pull his school backpack out from under him. It was a cold morning, and the road to school was very icy. He was late, and in his hurry, he had fallen just outside the school door and landed on his backpack.
Harold looked inside the pack. “Oh no!” he moaned. “This is worse than I thought.” When he’d fallen, he’d mashed everything in his lunch, including the little box of juice his mother had put in as a treat. It had squirted over everything. Harold pulled out his book report. It was dripping with apple juice.
“Why do bad things always happen to me?” he muttered over and over as he opened the school door and went down the hall to his class, holding the dripping book report with two fingers.
“Good morning, Harold. How are you today?” Mrs. Bennett asked as he walked into the classroom.
“I’m terrible,” he growled as he hung up his coat and sat down.
Two girls nearby giggled. “Harold is always terrible,” Katie said.
“Always,” laughed Anna.
Mrs. Bennett went over and sat down next to Harold. “Why is everything so terrible?”
Without a word, Harold showed her the soggy and sticky book report. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out on the top of his desk and said, “See this? Bad things always happen to me. I can prove it because I have them all written down on this list. Now I need to add what happened on the way to school. I fell on the ice. I smashed my lunch. Juice got all over my book report, and I think I bruised my elbow.”
“Well,” his teacher said, “that is kind of a tough way to start the morning. What else is on your list?”
Harold read down his bad things list. “Yesterday I stubbed my toe. My two big brothers drank all the chocolate milk at dinner before I could get any. I didn’t get a turn on the swings at recess. On Monday I lost my favorite toy, and my pencil broke during the spelling test. Amanda spilled her milk in the lunchroom, and it went all over me.” Harold took a deep breath and was about to go on.
“I see what you mean,” Mrs. Bennett broke in quickly. “I’m wondering, though, just why you keep all of that on a list.”
“Because if I don’t, I might forget something. You see bad things always happen to me.”
Mrs. Bennett looked at Harold and then pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Do you know what I think?” she asked.
Harold shook his head.
“I think your list isn’t long enough.” Harold looked at his teacher in surprise. He thought his list pretty much covered everything. He had kept it in his pocket and added to it all week.
“I’m really curious to see what your list looks like if you write down absolutely everything that happens to you today. You will need more than that little paper. Here, use this notebook. Start with what happened on the way to school; then add everything that happens to you all day.”
“OK,” Harold said, “but you’ll see that bad things always happen to me.” Mrs. Bennett just smiled, and he started writing. He made sure that he covered all the details about the apple juice, the ruined book report, the mashed sandwich, his bruised elbow—everything.
Math was the first class. The students worked through the problems on the chalkboard while Mrs. Bennett handed back their tests. Harold’s had a big 100% written on the top! She winked at Harold when she gave it to him and said, “Better write this down in the notebook.” Harold got out his list.
Later the students were reading aloud a play, and when they drew names, Harold drew the part of the hero! Mrs. Bennett winked again, and Harold knew that he was supposed to write that down.
As the children put on their coats to go outside for recess, his teacher noticed that he had some new boots with a warm, fuzzy lining and new gloves to match. “New boots, Harold?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said. “Mom got them for me yesterday.”
“Hmmmm,” Mrs. Bennett rubbed her chin. “That sounds to me like something that happened to you.”
“I know,” said Harold. “I’d better write it down.” While he was at it, he noticed that his coat was pretty nice and warm, too. Then he realized that he hadn’t yet written down anything about the hot breakfast his mother had made for him.
As the day went on, Harold’s list grew longer and longer. Right after lunch, he put down all about how terrible it was to eat a mashed lunch and how Robert had laughed about his funny flat sandwich for an hour. But out on the playground, he scored three baskets for his team, and Nick asked him to play after school, and he had to put that on the list too.
During art, his paint water spilled all over. That went into the notebook in big, capital letters. Jenny helped him wipe everything up, though, and Mrs. Bennett winked again, so he knew he was supposed to add “help from a friend” to his list. He was on the third page of the notebook already.
At the end of the day, Harold took the notebook back to his teacher. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ve recorded just about everything.”
“Good,” she said. “What do you think—shall we count up all the bad things now?”
Harold looked at his feet and fiddled with the old crumpled list in his pocket. It was really hard for him to say it, but maybe everything wasn’t so terrible. “Mrs. Bennett,” he said as he looked at the notebook, “I think maybe I saved up all the bad things so long that I forgot to notice the good things.”
Mrs. Bennett smiled.
“This kind of list is a lot more interesting to write than the old one. Do you think I could keep this paper?”
“Harold, you can keep the whole notebook,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I hope you keep adding things until it’s a very long list.”
Harold grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “But, you know, it still makes me mad that my apple juice ended up all over my book report instead of in my lunch.”
“I bet it does,” Mrs. Bennett said, “but at least it helped you see not only that good things happened to you, too, but also that it helps to write things down. Hmmm—I think you’ll have good things happen to you next week when we start a lesson on journals. What do you think?”
“Yes!”

A conversation with my father before my first late night out as a young girl was an experience I won't forget. This is partially because he has told the story over and over throughout my life. It was a poignant moment where a father and his daughter learned from one another.
As we parked the car in front of my friend's house that evening, Dad felt anxious to give me some sage advice that would help me stay safe, make good decisions, and be who he always knew I could be. I was so excited for the evening that when the car stopped, I quickly opened the door and jumped out; but before I could close the door behind me, my father tenderly called out a phrase that I'm sure many of you have heard from your parents before. "Christine," he pleaded, "I want you to always remember who you are!" I looked at my father, confused by his earnest and serious statement, and simply replied, "Dad, don't worry! How could I ever forget who I am?" And with that, I slammed the door and went running into my friend's house.
As I've reflected upon the declaration I made to my father that night, I have wondered, how did I have so much confidence? Do I still have that same childlike conviction today? Do I know who I really am?

One day during my junior year of high school, my friend Nedra asked me, “Russ, why aren’t you going to seminary?”
At that time, my parents were not attending church. I attended only occasionally with my friends, and I did not participate in seminary. The next day, I attended seminary at 6:30 a.m. After that, I went every day—even on cold, snowy winter mornings.
The things I learned in seminary touched my heart. My testimony grew as I learned more about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. This prepared me to serve my mission in England and to continue in a lifetime of service to the Lord and His Church.
Nedra’s inviting me to seminary helps me see, in a personal way, that there are countless opportunities for you to help others come unto the Lord Jesus Christ. In simple but powerful ways, you can show your love, share your beliefs, and invite those around you to experience the joy and peace the Savior and His gospel bring.

The last year of World War II was the very worst for Holland. The Nazis took absolutely everything. Grace couldn’t go to school. There was no coal to heat their house. Grace and her family had to eat tulip bulbs to keep from starving. They tasted horrible! Worst of all, Dad was still a prisoner of war.
But hope was in the air. People said the Nazis were losing the war. And in May of 1945, the Nazis surrendered. Holland was finally free again! People celebrated in the streets. Now Grace could go back to school. There were no soldiers to be afraid of.
Best of all, one day when Grace and her brothers were walking back from school, they saw that the flag of Holland was flying in front of their home. They knew that could mean only one thing.
“Dad’s home!” shouted Heber.
Grace and her brothers ran inside. Grace threw her arms around Dad and gave him a big hug. He hugged her back tightly. It was so wonderful to have Dad home.
Soon after that, packages of food, clothes, and medicine began arriving in Holland. The Church leaders in Salt Lake City sent a lot of supplies to help people after the war. Grace even got a new dress! She had worn the same dress for five years, so she was very happy to have a new one.
For the first time in years, Grace had enough to eat. The mission presidency and the government in Holland decided to start a potato project to grow more food. Church members planted lots of potatoes in nearby fields. By fall they would have thousands of potatoes to eat.
“Look!” Grace told Dad, pointing to a sprouting potato plant. “We’ll never go hungry again!”
Dad nodded but didn’t smile. He said, “I was talking to President Zappey. He told me that the Latter-day Saints in Germany are still starving, just like we were. They are not getting help from the government like us.” Dad put his arm around Grace’s shoulders. “President Zappey has asked if we would give our potatoes to the German Saints.”
“Give up our potatoes!” Grace cried. But the Nazis were from Germany! “They might be Latter-day Saints, Dad, but they’re still Germans.”
“I know it’s not easy,” Dad said. “But they are also children of God. He loves them too. I forgave them for making me a prisoner. The Lord can help us all forgive.”
Grace looked up at Dad. He was the bravest person she knew, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to forgive like him. Then she remembered one of her teachers in school during the war. Her teacher had said that not all Germans were Nazis, and not all Nazi soldiers were bad. And now the girls and boys in Germany were starving, just like Grace had been.
Grace took a deep breath. “I understand,” she said. “Let’s give them our potatoes.”
Dad hugged her and smiled. “You are such a brave girl. This is a hard thing to do. But we are disciples of Jesus Christ, and so are our German brothers and sisters.”
Grace smiled. The angry feelings in her heart melted, and she felt calm and warm. She could forgive the Germans. And Jesus could help her love them too.
Latter-day Saints in Holland gave 140,000 pounds (70 tons) of potatoes and 180,000 pounds (90 tons) of herring to the German Latter-day Saints. Later, in 1953, the German Saints sent supplies to Church members in Holland after a huge flood.

Hans let his light shine brightly, even through hard times.
When he was six years old, he fell and broke his arm. That accident became a great blessing. His mom was planning to move to the United States and leave Hans in Ecuador with her sister for a time. “But when he broke his arm,” she says, “I realized Heavenly Father was telling me not to leave my son. If I did, he wouldn’t be able to go to church.”
That’s when Hans’s mother, Antonia Yolanda Nieto, was baptized. Since that time, her testimony has continued to grow and she has received her endowment in the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple. Hans was the missionary who brought his mother to the light of the gospel.

From her bedroom window, Sandra spied a robin tugging at a worm. She ran to the kitchen and told her mother, “There’s a robin in the yard, and I’m going to catch it!”
Sandra scurried out the door and bounded toward the robin. The bird flew away. Sandra thought, I didn’t go fast enough. So when the robin landed in the yard again, Sandra raced as fast as her legs would go. But the robin was in the air before Sandra got halfway to it.
Sandra pushed her hands into her pockets. If I could fly, I could catch that robin, she thought.
Seeing it perched in the tree, she called, “Here, birdie. Here, robin.”
But the robin just flew to a higher branch, where Sandra couldn’t see it at all. Sandra was disappointed. She sat under the tree and squeezed her eyes shut and said, “Heavenly Father, please help me. I just want to see the pretty robin up close. I won’t hurt it, I promise.
Opening her eyes again, Sandra thought, Maybe if I had a worm, that robin would come to get it.
Sandra used her sandbox shovel to dig in the dirt near the porch steps. She turned the dirt over, as she’d seen Daddy do, and found a small, wriggly worm. Sandra picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. Then she went over to the tree and held out her hand and called, “Here’s a worm, robin! Come and get it.”
But the robin didn’t come.
Sandra sat down on the porch step. She tossed the worm to the ground. A tear ran down her cheek.
Just then the robin landed in the yard. Sandra just sat there. She knew that if she moved, it would fly away again.
The robin hopped closer. Sandra held her breath as it hopped very close to her, snatched the worm, and flew away.
Sandra clapped her hands and laughed out loud. Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. She couldn’t catch a bird, but she could watch it up close if she sat very still and was very quiet. She laughed again and went inside to tell her mother.

Deborah hadn’t meant to listen to her friends’ conversation, but when she heard her name mentioned, she couldn’t resist listening.
“Did you know that Deborah’s mother is having another baby?” Cassie remarked.
“How many children does that make for them?” Tiffany asked.
“Five. Or six. Something like that.” Cassie laughed. “I don’t know how Deborah stands it. I can’t stand one little brother, and she has three—or four. Plus a baby sister!”
Deborah wanted to tell the girls that she loved all three of her brothers and her little sister. She wanted to tell them that her family was none of their business. But her throat was so tight from being upset that she could barely swallow back her tears, much less speak.
After school, instead of waiting to walk with her friends, she hurried home by herself. She found her mother in the living room, rocking two-year-old Samantha.
Deborah smiled at the sight. Samantha was snuggled against her mother, thumb in her mouth.
“Let me take her.” Deborah lifted her little sister and carried her to the crib. After kissing Samantha’s cheek, Deborah laid her down.
Mom began picking up the toys that littered the living room floor.
Deborah took over the task. “You shouldn’t be doing that. Didn’t the doctor say you’re supposed to take it easy?”
Her mother gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The words wrapped Deborah’s heart in a cocoon of warmth.
“Why are you and Dad having another baby?” she asked hesitantly as she put the toys into a basket.
Her mom sat down and placed a hand on her rounded stomach. “There’s a life growing here. A special spirit that Heavenly Father has chosen to send to our family. It’s a wonderful feeling. And a sacred one.” She looked at her daughter curiously. “I thought that you were excited that we were having another baby—aren’t you?”
“I am.” Deborah had looked forward to having another baby in the family since the moment her parents had announced the news.
“But?” her mom prompted.
Deborah thought about making something up, but she could never fool her mother. “Some girls at school were saying that our family has too many children already.” She swallowed hard. “They said that the world has too many people, that you shouldn’t be having any more children.”
A shadow crossed her mom’s face. Deborah sat beside her and leaned against her mother’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m just sorry that you had to hear that. Many people don’t understand the blessing it is to bring another spirit child of Heavenly Father into our home.” Her mother settled back in the sofa. “When we were married, your dad and I didn’t wait to start our family, like many couples do. When you were born, he was still in college, studying to be a teacher. People told us then that we should wait to have children.”
“Wait for what?” Deborah asked.
“Until your dad was out of school and had a good job. Or until we had a house and money in the bank. People have a lot of reasons for waiting to have children.
“President Ezra Taft Benson was the prophet then. He counseled families to not wait to have children, so we didn’t.” Her mother squeezed Deborah’s hand. “You were our first. And you were very, very precious to us. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have a lot of money or that we had to make do with what we had. You were more than worth it, and you still are. So are your brothers and your sister and whoever is coming this time. Your dad and I love each of you with all our hearts.”
“I’m glad you listened to the prophet.”
“So am I, sweetheart.”
The following day, Deborah found Cassie and Tiffany and other friends in the cafeteria. She took a deep breath. “I heard you talking yesterday, and I know that you think our family is too big. The truth is, we’re not big enough. There’s another spirit in heaven waiting to come to earth, to be part of our family.”
The girls looked embarrassed. “Do you really like having so many brothers and sisters?” Tiffany asked at last.
“Sometimes they can be a pain,” Deborah said honestly. “But I love all of them. And I wouldn’t trade any of them for a new pair of jeans or anything else.”
Cassie slid over to make room for Deborah. “Sit down and have lunch with us. Maybe you can teach me how you put up with little brothers.”
Deborah grinned. “First, you have to know how to make truck noises.”

A Scout council was accustomed to arranging its summer camp schedule so that the Scouts were moving to the camp on one Sabbath and returning home from camp on the next Sabbath. Latter-day Saint youth were being deprived of religious activities for two successive Sundays. A friendly suggestion to the council authorities brought about a change, so that the camp period ran from Friday to Friday. The Sunday in between was planned so that there were religious services offered for the boys who were in the camp.

When I first saw Aaron, he made me uneasy, even a bit scared because he was so … well, different. I had never really been around anyone like Aaron.
At Madison School, Mrs. Wood’s kids with special needs—we called them “SN kids”—had their classroom down the hall from Mrs. Parrick’s fifth grade room. The first day of school, as Mrs. Parrick lined us up to go to the cafeteria, Mrs. Wood marched down the hall with the SN kids—Paula, the girl in the wheelchair; Carlos, the Down’s syndrome boy with the funny grin; Maggie, the girl with the braces and twisted legs; Charles, the chubby boy who never smiled or spoke; and Aaron.
I had seen Aaron a couple times before because his family moved into our ward a few weeks before school started, I remember staring at him as his mom and dad brought him into the church. He was grinning and grunting and mumbling things that nobody could understand. Although he was about my age, he couldn’t talk, and Mom told me later that his mind would never grow up, that he would never be able to talk like other kids.
When Aaron passed me in the hall that first day of school, he stopped in front of me and grinned. I felt uneasy and embarrassed, even a little afraid. I looked at the floor, hoping he would disappear down the hall, but he reached out, pushed me, and shouted something I didn’t understand. All the kids in my class laughed, and my cheeks burned as Mrs. Wood led him on down the hall.
“What a weirdo,” Paul snickered behind me. “Watch out, Ben—you’ll get bugs from him.”
“Why did Heavenly Father make someone like Aaron?” I asked Mom that evening.
Mom thought for a moment. “Well, Benjamin, he’s a child of God too. Heavenly Father loves him as much as He loves any of His children.”
“I didn’t figure that He didn’t love him.” I fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers. “But if He loves Aaron, why did He make him so different?”
Mom thought for a long time. “I’m not sure we’ll ever know why some of God’s children are born with such special needs. But He does love them, and He wants us to love them too.”
“How can you love someone like Aaron? I mean, you can’t play with him because he doesn’t know how to play. You can’t be friends with him because he doesn’t even know you. I bet he doesn’t even know who his teacher, Mrs. Wood, is.”
“Benjamin, I think you’d be surprised by how much Aaron knows. Not about math or reading or science but about people and about how much they care for him.”
I didn’t know if I believed everything Mom told me, but every day at school, I watched Aaron as he went down the hall, ate his lunch in the cafeteria, or charged crazily around the playground during recess. Always alone.
Most of the kids in my class laughed at him. When he came around, they ran away screaming, like some monster was after them. They said that anyone who hung around him would get cooties. It was all a game. For them.
I especially didn’t like going to the cafeteria because wherever I sat, I found myself watching Aaron eat his lunch in a kind of daze, sometimes spilling down his front, always smearing his food across his face, even when Mrs. Wood was there to help him. I felt sorry for him eating alone, but I didn’t dare get close to him. I didn’t want the other kids to talk about me like they talked about him.
One day I finished my math early, and Mrs. Parrick called me up to her desk and asked me to take a note to Mrs. Wood.
My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry as I pushed open the heavy door of the SN room. Mrs. Wood was on the other side of the room, working with Paula. Aaron was at a corner table, stacking huge plastic blocks. He watched me rush across the room and hand the note to Mrs. Wood.
I turned to charge from the room, but Mrs. Wood stopped me. “Wait, young man. Let me write an answer for you to take to Mrs. Parrick.”
I stood beside Mrs. Wood, staring at the floor and poking my fists deep into my pockets. Suddenly a cool hand touched my arm. I jumped and turned. Aaron stood there, grinning and staring. As I backed up, he touched me again.
“Aaron just wants to play,” Mrs. Wood said, smiling. “When you have some time, you’ll have to come down and play with the children. They love visitors.”
I wasn’t supposed to run in the halls, but as soon as I was out the door, I ran back to my classroom. I wanted to get as far from that SN room as I could.
“I don’t ever want to go in there again,” I told Mom that evening. “It gives me the creeps. They’re so different. I don’t know what to do around them.”
“Benjamin, Heavenly Father would be very happy if you would show real kindness and love to those special children.”
“I don’t know how to be kind to them. And I sure don’t want everybody thinking I’m one of them.”
The next Sunday in Primary, Sister Roth told us about how Jesus had loved and been kind to everyone, even to people who were sick, crippled, dirty, or wicked. He reached out and cared for them all. Just the way she told the stories made me want to be like Jesus. Then she challenged us to help someone in need, like Jesus did.
I thought of Aaron. Not because I wanted to. I wanted to be kind to someone normal. I didn’t care if that someone was sick or dirty, but I didn’t want to help someone who made me feel uncomfortable. That week I did everything I could to stay away from Aaron. I didn’t want to even think about him.
On Friday I got to the cafeteria late, and all the tables were filled—except the one where Aaron sat alone. I frantically looked for a table where I might crowd in.
Then I remembered Sister Roth. I thought of Jesus Christ. And I knew that more than anything else, Jesus would want me to sit by Aaron. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t.
I walked toward him, sure that every eye in the cafeteria was on me. “Hi, Aaron,” I rasped. I set my tray next to his and sat with my head down so that I wouldn’t have to look at anyone. Aaron stared at me for a moment. Then he grunted something and held his pizza in front of my face. I nodded. “Yeah, it looks good.”
He shouted and touched me with his other hand. It was covered with pizza sauce, and I had to use my napkin to wipe it from my arm.
When I looked up, I saw Marni at the next table. She’d just moved into town and started school here on Tuesday. She was a very nice girl, and I’d been happy when she was assigned to my class. She was staring at me as I sat next to Aaron. I could feel my cheeks and ears burning, but there was nothing I could do except stay there and eat my lunch.
The best way to keep from noticing the staring eyes was to concentrate on my own lunch and to help Aaron. I helped him cut his pizza into small pieces. I used a napkin to wipe his face. When he knocked his carton of milk over, I helped him clean it up. When it was time to dump our trays, I helped him carry his.
Then he disappeared outside! I hotfooted it toward a different door.
“Benjamin?” Marni was standing there. “Benjamin, I think … well, I think you’re the most wonderful boy in this whole school!” Then she scurried past me to the playground.
“Do you like eating with that weirdo?” Paul snickered as he brushed by.
Later, while I was working on a science project, Marni came over to my table. Usually I don’t talk to girls because they make me nervous. I couldn’t think of anything to say then, either, so I just sat there and pretended that one of the nicest girls in the whole school wasn’t standing next to me.
“Is that boy in the cafeteria a friend of yours?” she asked.
“I know him a bit. His name is Aaron.”
“I have a cousin like Aaron.” Marni looked down at the table. “He’s not exactly like Aaron, but …” She pressed her lips together. “I like David—that’s my cousin’s name. Once you know him, he’s really a neat kid. But he’s different. Ever since coming here, I’ve watched Aaron because he reminds me of David.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she confided, “Benjamin, that was a brave thing you did today.”
I coughed. “It wasn’t anything.”
We were still talking—not just about Aaron and David but about lots of things—when Mrs. Parrick came over. “Benjamin, Mrs. Wood wondered if you’d like to work with her students for a few minutes this afternoon.”
Paul, who was sitting at the next table, grinned and muttered, “Benjamin’s getting so he really likes those retards.”
Mrs. Parrick was starting to scold him, when Marni asked, “Could I go with Benjamin?”
Paul’s mouth dropped open, and Mrs. Parrick apparently decided she didn’t need to say anything more to him. She just told Marni that Mrs. Wood would be delighted.
Marni and I were both a little nervous, but as we worked and played with all the kids—not just Aaron—the jitters left us, and I realized that I was actually having fun.
The following Monday at lunchtime, Marni and I sat on either side of Aaron and helped him with his lunch and talked to him, even though he didn’t understand anything we said. By the end of the week, lots of kids sat at Aaron’s table. Even Paul came over on Friday and squeezed in between Aaron and Marni.
In the afternoons, if I finished my work, Mrs. Parrick let me go to Mrs. Wood’s room for a few minutes. Sometimes Marni went with me. Sometimes I went alone. One day Randy, who sat behind me, asked, “Can I go with Benjamin today? I’m finished with my work.”
It was funny how, after a few weeks, our class kind of adopted Mrs. Wood’s class. If we were working on an art project or having a class program, we invited them to come to our room. At recess Aaron would hang around while my class played football or soccer. He didn’t know how to play, but he chased around the field and shouted and laughed like he was part of the game.
“I saw Mrs. Wood in the store this afternoon,” Mom told me one evening. “She said that you’ve become great friends with Aaron.”
I smiled. “He’s fun. He doesn’t make me nervous anymore. I still don’t think he knows me, though. I’m just some kid to him, like all the others.”
“But Heavenly Father knows you and knows how kind you’ve been to Aaron.”
The next Sunday I was walking down the hall at church, when I heard a shout. I turned and saw Aaron charging toward me. His mother was down the hall, struggling to catch up to him. Laughing wildly, he crashed into me and threw his arms around my neck. When his mother reached us, Aaron pushed away, jabbed his finger against my chest, and grinned at his mother.
For a moment she just stood there. Then a huge smile covered her face. “You must be the boy at school! We’ve known for some time that Aaron had someone very special at school. He can’t exactly tell us things like that, but we knew that there was someone. You must be Aaron’s very special friend.” Her face was beaming, and tears wet her cheeks.
Aaron stopped pointing and wrapped his arms around me again. I felt a strange, happy warmth spread over my body, and tears jiggled in my own eyes as I wriggled loose and put my arm around the shoulders of my special friend Aaron.

Some years ago a dear, faithful couple who are friends of mine were blessed with the arrival of a long-yearned-for son, for whom they had been praying for a long time. That home was filled with joy while our friends and their daughter, who was their only other child back then, enjoyed the company of the newly arrived little boy. One day, however, something unexpected happened: the little boy, who was only about three years old, suddenly went into a coma. As soon as I learned of the situation, I called my friend to express our support at that difficult time. But his reply was a lesson to me. He said, “If it is the Father’s will to take him to Him, then it is all right with us.” My friend’s words contained not the slightest degree of complaint, rebelliousness, or discontent. Quite the contrary, all I could feel in his words was gratitude to God for having allowed them to enjoy their little son for that brief time, as well as his total willingness to accept the Father’s will for them. A few days later, that little one was taken to his celestial mansion.