Gospel Story Finder

Normally his mother, Sarah, didn’t worry too much about his childhood sicknesses, which came and went. But once he became very sick, and she began to worry. It started with a fever that kept rising. Then he had a stomachache and headache. Finally rose-colored spots appeared on his body, so she called for the doctor.
The doctor came and examined George Albert. He told Sarah that her son had typhoid fever, a disease that sometimes killed people. He told her to keep her son in bed for three weeks and to have him drink coffee but not eat.
When the doctor left, George Albert told his mother that he didn’t want to drink coffee because it was against the Word of Wisdom. He knew that Heavenly Father had given Joseph Smith the Word of Wisdom, a revelation that teaches us to not drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. It also teaches us to eat and drink only things that are good for our bodies. He didn’t want to break the Word of Wisdom. His mother and father had taught him to always obey Heavenly Father.
Because his father, John Henry, was away serving a mission, George Albert asked his mother to send for Brother Hawks, a faithful and good member of their ward who held the priesthood. When Brother Hawks arrived, George Albert asked him for a priesthood blessing.
Brother Hawks placed his hands on the boy’s head and blessed him that he would get better. George Albert had faith that the blessing would help him recover from the typhoid fever.
When the doctor arrived the next day, he found the boy playing outside with other children. The doctor was surprised. He examined George Albert and found that he was all better. George Albert later said, “I am grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I was sure that He had healed me.”

One example may suffice in illustrating the spiritual strength that comes to those who persevere in the service of the Lord in temples. I came into the temple one morning about 4:30 a.m., grateful to have been able to plow through heavy snow from our home to get there. In a secluded room, sitting thoughtfully as he leaned forward on his cane, I chanced upon an older, deeply admired friend. Like I, he was dressed in white, temple workers’ white. I greeted him cheerily and inquired what he was doing there at that hour of the morning.
He said, “You know what I am doing here, President Hanks. I am an ordinance worker here to fulfill my assignment.”
“I do know that,” I said, “but I am wondering how you got here through the snow storm. I just heard on the radio that Parley’s Canyon is closed to all traffic, indeed barricaded.”
He said, “I have a four-wheeler that will climb trees.”
I said, “So do I, or I would not be here, and I live only a few miles away.”
I then asked him how he had managed to get through the barricades that the news announcements had said were in place in the canyon. His answer was not atypical of this rancher and stake president whom I had first seen as a robust, strong man astride his horse when I spent an afternoon with him prior to stake conference meetings. Arthritis and age had literally shrunk him now and would soon take his life. He had much pain in moving about. His answer that morning was, “Now, President Hanks, I have known those highway officers, many of them, since they were born. They know I must get through and that if necessary I might try to go overland! They also know my truck and my experience, and they just move their barricades if they need to.”
He was there, faithful and loyal at that hour of the morning, to begin his sacred work. It is such individuals with such faith and devotion that temples help to develop.

I’m on a cheer-dance team at my school, and they’re known for doing some dance moves that aren’t very appropriate. So when I joined the squad last year, my mom and I talked with one of the school administrators and asked if they would enforce the school rules that didn’t allow inappropriate behavior. They said they’d try to enforce the rules better. I still had to go up to my coach a couple times and talk with her about it. That was really nerve-racking, but I’d always talk with my parents and pray about it beforehand. After I talked with my coach, I knew I did the right thing, even though it wasn’t the cool thing to do and some of the girls still don’t understand and think it’s weird. But in the end, I was proud of the decision I made. I was glad that instead of doing what was popular, I chose to stay strong in what I believed.
Annie B., California, USA

Sometime, either before, during, or after the call, the Lord confirms to the man being called that his call is of God. One young stake president reported his confirmation this way:
“When I was interviewed, I was 32 years old and had served about four years as bishop. One of those conducting the interviews asked two poignant questions: (1) How did you gain your testimony? and (2) Would you share with us your testimony of the Savior? I shared my experience as a teenager, shortly after my mother passed away, when I learned for myself the truthfulness of the restored gospel, specifically with regard to the Book of Mormon.
“As I shared my testimony of the Savior, I received a witness that I would be called as the next stake president. I drove home and told my wife about my experience. When I told her that I thought I could be called as the next stake president, she responded, ‘You’re good, but you’re not that good.’ The phone rang two hours later, and I was invited to return with my wife, and the call was extended.”

In another city, a young mother with little children and her husband are surprised and overwhelmed but accept when she is called to serve as ward Relief Society president. Shortly thereafter, ice storms cut electric power, leaving store shelves empty and homes as cold as iceboxes. Because they have power and heat, this young family generously opens their home to several families and individuals to weather the storm.

On my birthday one Sunday morning, my husband and I were getting ready for church when the phone rang. I answered, and the bishop said, “I know today is your birthday, but could you meet with me in my office in 30 minutes? I would like to talk with you.”
Curious, I hurried to church.
In his office, the bishop said to me, “Sister Cruz, I have a birthday present for you. The Lord is calling you to serve as Young Women president. Will you accept this calling?” I felt overwhelmed, but I accepted the calling. I was sustained and set apart that day.
When I returned home after church, I sat on my bed. The weight of responsibility hit me. I cried and felt inadequate for the work. What a responsibility to guide those young women! I was baptized when I was 22 and had never attended Young Women activities before. How could I be Young Women president?
I did the only thing I knew to do: I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for guidance in this new calling. At that moment I had an experience I will never forget. As I visualized each young woman, I understood that each was a daughter of Heavenly Father. Each needed a president who loved her and could help her understand that God loved her. In my mind I saw the names of all the less-active young women (whom I had never met), and I understood that they were also daughters of Heavenly Father and needed my attention. I felt each one’s potential.
The following months were not easy. I worked hard to get to know each young woman and to understand her needs. Together with the active young women, our presidency helped those who had been less active return to activity. I saw the hand of the Lord at work in many ways.
When I was released from my calling, I worried that perhaps I could have done more. Upon arriving home, I knelt and asked Heavenly Father if my service had been acceptable. I received a sweet feeling that He was pleased.
I thought back on that birthday when I could have turned down the calling because of all my other responsibilities. But I am the one who would have lost most by not accepting the calling. I would have lost the opportunity to learn humility, gain understanding, develop patience, and become an instrument in the Lord’s hands. But mostly I would have failed the Lord in the confidence He placed in me, and I would have failed to learn that the opportunity to serve is a gift.

I was so excited to read “Conver(t)sation” by Laird Roberts in the October New Era. When I read “The best way to get someone interested in the Church is to be friends with him,” it really hit home. My best friend, Diane, is responsible for my conversion. Thanks to her loving patience and friendship, I am now a member of the Church. We were close friends for about four years before I was baptized, and in that time she never once passed judgment on my actions or tried to force the Church on me. When the time was right, she made an appointment for me to have the missionary discussions. She sat through every discussion with me. Her entire family became involved, and her older brother helped teach me the gospel. He confirmed me a member of the Church and recently left on a mission. What a choice experience my baptism was for me! Since my baptism, Diane’s been the perfect example, and we’ve become even closer friends. I am so thankful for her and her family. In fact, they even subscribed to the New Era for me. It is because they took the time to care and offer friendship that I am now a member of the Church.
Becki LeDouxSacramento, California

I was born into a Latter-day Saint family and grew up following the Church standards as outlined in the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth. I didn’t drink, smoke, or swear; I dressed modestly, and I tried to keep the Sabbath day holy. This made me something of an oddity in my small New England town.
Though I did have a few friends who had similar standards, I had many more friends who did not. In my high school I was frequently teased about my standards and the fact that I was a Mormon. I was also the only person in my high school who could boast of living on a dairy farm, which didn’t add to my popularity. I was known as “the good Mormon farm girl,” wholesome to the core.
When I was 16 I had the opportunity to go to Ecuador for the summer as an exchange student. I looked forward to this opportunity to live in an exotic location, but some of my excitement was reserved for meeting new people who wouldn’t know I was a Mormon. I decided that it wasn’t necessary for the people of Ecuador to know that I was LDS. I could still live the standards—but quietly and unobtrusively.
In Ecuador I attended an orientation with other exchange students from all over the United States. I quickly made friends, some that I would see almost every day that summer because we were staying with host families in the same city. Others I saw throughout the summer at parties and field trips. It felt wonderfully liberating to meet people who didn’t know my family’s entire history. They didn’t know I was a farm girl or that I was Miss Squeaky-clean. For the first time in my life I felt popular and accepted.
After orientation I met my host family. The very first thing we did, before I even unpacked, was to walk to a liquor store. My host sisters informed me that they were giving a big party that night in honor of my arrival, and they wanted me to pick out the booze. They were surprised to learn that I didn’t drink and pressured me about it. I finally had to admit that I was Mormon.
My stay in Ecuador marked the beginning of the most intense test of living Church standards I had ever faced. I was frequently pressured to drink alcohol. I met several handsome, fun young men who were anxious to get to know me a little too well. The other exchange students quickly learned that I was a Mormon, and they had quite a bit to say about it, much of it negative. One girl, who was known for her partying, teased me frequently about my moral standards. She suggested that I thought I was better than others because of these standards.
Though I never seriously considered abandoning my standards, I did begin to question why I was making these choices. I felt like it wasn’t good enough anymore to say, “Because of my religion, I don’t do such-and-such” or “That’s how I was raised.” I knew I needed a testimony of my standards if I was going to continue to uphold them. I wanted a stronger testimony of the restored Church.
I started reading the Book of Mormon on my own for the first time, and I finished it in 13 days. The Spirit testified to me that the powerful testimonies of those ancient prophets were true. I was filled with joy and gratitude that I had the privilege of being a member of Christ’s Church. This precipitated a complete change in my attitude toward Church standards. My newfound testimony of the Book of Mormon gave power and substance to my beliefs. I felt proud of my standards, and it became easier to live them.
Nothing had really changed as far as how I lived, but my feelings were different. Nothing about me had outwardly changed, and yet I was a new person. I even noticed that my new friends responded to this change in me, perhaps without realizing it. They seemed to have greater respect for me.
One day I was alone with the girl who had been making fun of me in front of the other exchange students. She confided that she wished she had been raised to have the same standards I had. She said she wished she had never had a drink and had never been unchaste. She was not the only one to tell me that.
When I was a senior in high school, a good friend who had gone on to college was visiting at Christmas break. She told me that she wished she had been taught my standards as a child because it would have been much easier to keep from getting into trouble. She told me to hold on to my standards no matter what because they would keep me safe.
A couple of years later when I was in college a girl I had known in Ecuador came to visit. She told me she wished she had been raised a Mormon because then she might have avoided the burdensome sins she’d committed. I felt very sad for my classmates, and on both occasions I cried with them over the pain they’d suffered. They’d had to learn the hard way that “while you are free to choose for yourself, you are not free to choose the consequences of your actions” (For the Strength of Youth [2001], 4.)
At first it surprised me a little to think that other teens were envious of my standards. Hadn’t so many of them made fun of me in high school? Didn’t teens want fewer restrictions instead of more? However, it soon began to make sense. My standards did keep me safe, and everyone wants to feel safe. Living the standards as outlined in For the Strength of Youth had spared me a great deal of pain. Also, more importantly, because I was exercising faith by living those standards and reading the Book of Mormon, I was worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. It was through the Holy Ghost that I was able to obtain one of my most valued possessions: my testimony of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

Many years ago, I joined the United States Air Force to serve my country. Soon I found myself at boot camp in Texas, USA. The weeks passed slowly as I endured the many things one typically experiences at boot camp.
One day I attended a large meeting of over 200 airmen, all in training just like me. The meeting began with one of our drill instructors—who regularly shouted loud and vulgar things—yelling out, “Does anyone object to the way I’m running things around here?”
Of course, no one dared answer, but surprisingly, one young man raised his hand.
“Airman, stand up!” the instructor shouted. “What do you object to?”
We all listened intently as the young man loudly declared, “I object to you taking my Savior’s name in vain. It hurts my soul. I would ask that you stop.”
The room fell completely silent. The instructor stared at him and then asked him what religion he belonged to. The brave airman proudly said, “I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!”
The instructor thanked the airman for his courage to speak out, and the meeting continued. This act had a tremendous effect on me. I often thought that I would like to have the kind of courage that airman had.
I don’t know the brave airman’s name. I never saw him again, but I will be eternally grateful for his courage to stand up for what he believed.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt: I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
Mom: It can be hard at your age. But if you listen carefully, you’ll understand something from each talk.
Dad: In every conference there seems to be at least one message just for me. Maybe there will be for you too.
Later—Matt: I did understand some things, but I don’t think any of it was just for me.
Mom: You know, when we listen to conference, the messages don’t come just from the speakers. The Spirit can speak to us too.
Dad: That’s right. It isn’t only what we understand that counts. It’s what we feel.
That evening—Matt: When I listened to President Hinckley, I didn’t understand everything he said. But I had a good feeling that he really is a prophet.
Dad: That was a conference message just for you—one you’ll remember your whole life.

Todd parted the barbed wire carefully and climbed through the fence. Then he held it up for King. The collie leaped through carefully and bounded into the field. He ran in wild circles, his nose to the ground, stopping occasionally to snap at bees. Todd watched him, laughing. The April sun glinted on the dog’s golden coat, thick and deep from the cold winter. Blackbirds perched on the fence posts and cried their shrill, musical notes into the warm air.
“Come here, King!” Todd called. He put his hand on King’s sun-warmed head. King was Todd’s best friend—his only nearby friend, except for Mr. Phillips. There were no boys Todd’s age in the small mountain town where he lived, and he had to ride the school bus ten miles to attend school in Dirkston.
Todd climbed through another fence into Mr. Phillips’ sheep enclosure. He could hear the old man moving around in the lambing shed. “Hi!” he called as he walked into the dimness of the shed. Then he saw Mr. Phillips watching a ewe lick her newborn lamb. His large frame was slightly stooped, and he ran his fingers through his thick white hair as he watched the lamb teeter on its legs.
“Look at this fine lamb, Todd.” A smile crinkled the old man’s weathered face, making his eyes disappear. The ewe nuzzled its lamb, and soon the newborn was sucking contentedly. Todd watched the lamb, smiling. He wanted to pick it up, to feel its woolly little body.
“You can hold it later,” the rancher said, picking up two shovels. “We have a less pleasant job to do now. Come on.”
Todd followed his friend into the bright sunlight where King waited patiently by the door. He spent most of his Saturdays with Mr. Phillips, helping him with the sheep. Todd liked being there, for Mr. Phillips was like a grandpa to him.
“What are we going to do?” Todd asked, running a little to catch up.
“Well, Todd, I’d just as soon you didn’t see this, but I guess it’s part of our job.”
As they approached the corner of the fields, several black and white magpies flapped noisily into the air. Todd saw two dead sheep on the ground. “What happened?” His stomach tightened as he looked at the sheep’s torn bodies.
Mr. Phillips started to dig in the moist ground, piling the muddy shovelfuls onto the grass. “Dogs,” he said, not looking up.
“Dogs?” Todd felt amazed and indignant. “Are you sure? Why would they do it?” Todd began digging too, widening the hole.
Mr. Phillips stooped and stopped beside the sheep. “That’s the question, Todd. They don’t even eat the sheep. They just chase and kill them.”
“Don’t you ever hear them bleating?” Todd asked.
“That’s kind of a funny thing about sheep. They don’t make a sound when they’re really frightened; they just run. I never hear a thing.”
Todd still couldn’t understand how this could happen. “When do the dogs come? Have you seen them?”
“I’ve seen four or five dogs running together ever since work started on the new dam and the men moved their trailers in up there. Everybody has a fierce watchdog because they keep so much equipment outside their trailers.”
Todd knew what he meant. He had seen a pack of large dogs too. “What can you do?” he said.
“I just don’t know.” Mr. Phillips reached out and touched the sheep’s woolly head. “These were last year’s lambs, such fine sheep. This has happened too often lately, but I haven’t told you. I’ve lost ten or twelve sheep this way.” Todd could see the tears standing in his friend’s dark eyes. He knew how much Mr. Phillips loved his sheep, how he called each one by name as he worked with them.
The boy felt a terrible anger and frustration inside him. “Can’t you go to the owners and tell them?”
“I’ve tried that. But each one claims his dog is tied at night or for some other reason couldn’t be the killer. And since I don’t actually see who does the killing, I don’t really know who’s responsible.”
“I’d put out some poison,” Todd said, angrily pushing his hair out of his face as he worked.
Mr. Phillips began digging again. “Well, Todd, I just couldn’t do that. It’s not legal. And you never know what animal might get the poison. Suppose good old King there ate it.”
Todd’s throat tightened at the thought of anything happening to King. He looked at the dog lying on the cool grass, eyes half closed against the sun. Then he had another idea. “Why don’t you get your gun and sit out here all night and watch. If you see a dog coming in here, just shoot it.”
“I’ve thought of something like that. Maybe if I clipped off one or two it would discourage the others. I don’t like the idea of shooting somebody’s dog, but I just can’t let this keep happening, and I’m within my legal right to shoot if a strange dog is on my property.”
Todd helped Mr. Phillips drag the sheep into the hole and cover them. Then they walked silently across the field to the sheds, King following sedately behind them.
Sunday morning Todd lay with his eyes closed a minute, eager to begin another beautiful spring day; but when he opened his eyes the room was gray and dim. A light rain was falling outside. He dressed quickly and quietly, wanting to see Mr. Phillips before Sunday School started and find out if anything had happened during the night.
Todd closed the back screen door quietly behind him and gave a low whistle for King. He was surprised when the animal didn’t bound out of his doghouse, but without waiting he walked quickly through the fields to Mr. Phillip’s sheds. As he crawled through the last fence, he saw Mr. Phillips leaning over something on the ground. He’s shot a dog, Todd thought. He ran forward quickly, but before he reached Mr. Phillips he stopped, fear and grief gripping his body. He walked forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the golden coat of the dog, now soggy with rain. Mr. Phillips looked up. He came toward Todd and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Todd,” he said, “it’s King. I’m so sorry.” Todd looked into Mr. Phillips’ face and saw tears mixed with raindrops, running into the deep wrinkles of his face. His dark eyes were full of suffering.
Todd felt numb. “How did it happen?” he asked.
“The night was so dark with the clouds and all—I’d fallen asleep waiting. When I woke up, I saw the dark form of a dog moving across the pastures, so I shot. I didn’t even look at the body until this morning. When I saw it was King I couldn’t believe it. He was probably headed for the house to see if we’d put out any scraps for him.” Mr. Phillips moved to put his arms around the boy.
Todd stiffened and pulled away. “How could you shoot King? You know him. You see him every day.” His voice rose with anger.
“It was dark. …” Mr. Phillips dropped his hands. Todd ran to King’s body, still hoping that it wasn’t really King, but it was. He lifted the dog’s head, thinking to carry him home. Mr. Phillips came behind him. “I’ll get the cart,” he said.
“No, I’ll take him myself!” Todd cried angrily.
Mr. Phillips went for a cart anyway as Todd struggled to lift the large wet dog. It was impossible. Together they lifted the dog into the cart and the old man pulled it down the road toward Todd’s house. The boy walked a few feet behind, grieving in silence.
Mr. Phillips wanted to dig the hole, but Todd wouldn’t let him. He dug it himself in the soft earth of his mother’s flower garden, where she would put her petunias and marigolds later on. Mr. Phillips stood silently a moment watching him and then turned and went home. Todd’s mother brought the old woolen blanket from the porch swing and wrapped it around King’s body. His father, wearing his Sunday suit, helped lower the dog into the hole.
Todd sat through Sunday School and sacrament meeting, hearing nothing, feeling only grief for his dog. He kept picturing King running through the field in the sunshine. Yesterday seemed months ago.
On Monday night Mr. Phillips came to the door with a little bummer lamb for Todd. Todd wouldn’t see him. He told his mother to tell Mr. Phillips he didn’t want the lamb. All week Todd stayed in his room after school, mostly just lying on his bed. After dinner and chores he went back to his room. On Friday night, Todd’s father followed him into his room. He sat down on the side of the bed, not saying anything.
Finally Todd spoke. “Dad, do you honestly believe in dog heaven, or is it just a story to make little kids feel better?”
“I don’t know about dog heaven, but I do believe firmly that all life is eternal, because everything was created spiritually before it was created physically.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to understand, but to you it means that King still lives.”
“Will I see him again after I die?”
“I don’t know that for sure, but it may be possible.” Todd’s father looked at him closely. “You haven’t done any work at school all week, and you’ve just lain here every night. Aren’t you beginning to feel a little better?”
“No,” Todd answered, looking away.
“One thing bothers me,” his father said. “You had two great friends in this rather lonely place. You lost one by accident, something that couldn’t be helped. I don’t know why you chose to lose the second one. Have you thought any about how Mr. Phillips has been feeling this week?”
Todd had tried not to think of it. But he kept seeing Mr. Phillip’s face with tears and rain running down it. His conscience had also reminded him that shooting the prowling dogs was his idea. “Well, I don’t want that little bummer lamb. How could he think a lamb would ever replace King?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that, but he needs to do something to show how sorry he is. You’re hurting him far more than he hurt you, because you’re doing it intentionally.”
Todd hadn’t thought of it quite like that. He still didn’t look at his father, who suddenly leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Saturday morning, Todd woke up early, the same knot of pain forming in his stomach as it did every morning since King died. Sunshine streamed in the window. Todd dressed, went out quietly, and walked through the fields, the morning dew drenching his sneakers. As the sun warmed his face, Todd slowly began to feel a little more alive again. His heart still ached for King, but he felt some sense of comfort, a feeling of his heart softening just as he had prayed it would.
He saw Mr. Phillips in the shed gathering his shearing tools. “I guess I need that lamb if I’m ever going to have my own flock,” Todd called from the doorway. Mr. Phillips turned and came through the door into the sunlight, his eyes warm and shining.
“I’m sure glad to see you, Todd,” he said. “I’m going to need help with this shearing.”
And together they went into the shed.

“Matthew, Brother Erickson is here!” These were the words I had been dreading to hear all day. It was the type of situation you knew you would have to face eventually but hoped desperately would always be one more day away. But this was the day.
Earlier that morning, just before opening exercises for priesthood, 80-year-old Brother Erickson had caught me. “You have been called as my home teaching companion. Would it be all right if we visited one of our families later today?”
I was shocked. All my friends had been assigned to be their dads’ companions. At least when they made a fool of themselves it would be in front of a family member, not someone who has had eight decades to get to know everything about the gospel. I muttered to him that it would be fine.
He replied, “We will be going to the Wiseman family. You are going to love it!”
I was convinced this was a rather large lie.
The Wiseman family truly lived up to their name. Like Brother Erickson, they were older and wiser members of the ward. They had known apostles and even prophets and had a reputation for having a great understanding of the gospel. If that weren’t enough, there were two of them; what one didn’t know, I was sure the other one would. So I trudged out the door and into the car where Brother Erickson waited, smiling.
We talked a bit about school and my family on the way to the Wisemans. I think Brother Erickson sensed I was nervous. We finally arrived at the door, and I forced a smile. When I entered the home, warm smiles and hearty handshakes greeted me. The Wisemans were as amazing as I had thought, only they were so much cooler than I imagined they would be.
“Will you be starting school soon, Matt?” Sister Wiseman asked.
“I will be in ninth grade in August,” I responded quickly, not knowing how Sister Wiseman would react.
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, and she actually meant it.
“What things do you like to do in school?” she said, diving in for more.
“Well, I’m in the choir,” I said a little less timidly.
“I used to love to sing too,” Sister Wiseman said, and the conversation continued more fluidly from there as my nervousness slowly eased away.
We continued talking about school, skiing, television, and everything else imaginable. I was amazed that I actually had things in common with these people! And more than that, they seemed to enjoy talking to me. To my great surprise I found that when the lesson was over and the closing prayer said, I didn’t want to leave. My fear of home teaching turned into a fear of the clock telling us it was time to go.
As I continued as a home teacher I grew to love my companion, Brother Erickson, and the Wiseman family more than I thought I ever could. They taught me much and allowed me to teach them as well. I never knew I had so much in common with other members of the Church, regardless of age, background, or education.
I know that even though the home teaching program is meant to bless the lives of the families taught, it also has a great impact on the home teachers. To this day I still consider Brother Erickson and the Wisemans as three of my best friends.

In the 1950s my mother survived radical cancer surgery, but difficult as that was, the surgery was followed by dozens of painful radiation treatments in what would now be considered rather primitive medical conditions. She recalls that her mother taught her something during that time that has helped her ever since: “I was so sick and weak, and I said to her one day, ‘Oh, Mother, I can’t stand having 16 more of those treatments.’ She said, ‘Can you go today?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, honey, that’s all you have to do today.’ It has helped me many times when I remember to take one day or one thing at a time.”

I know this might sound strange, but I have been saving money to pay for my mission since before I was born. When my mother learned she was going to have a baby, she took an empty milk can, put a hole in it, and labeled it, “Mission Fund.” Since that day, my family and I have been saving for my mission.
Saving for my mission has been a family effort. After I was born, my uncles and aunts who came to visit would drop Philippine pesos into the mission fund can. And when holidays like Christmas or New Year’s came around, family members gave me money to add to my mission fund.
Sometimes my grandparents give me money for doing well in school and competitions. These gifts go to my mission fund too. Once, when I received several medals, my aunt counted all the medals I earned and gave me money for each one. After I paid tithing, this money also went into my mission fund.
When I was baptized, my desire to serve a mission grew even more. My family set a goal to save enough money to pay for my mission in full. Because I now have siblings, money we save is added to their mission funds too.
I am now nine years old and almost halfway to the age I will be when I serve my mission. My desire to serve a mission has increased because I know there have been so many people who have contributed to my mission fund.
I will continue to save for my mission. I know that Heavenly Father will bless me so that I can serve Him as a missionary one day.

I was baptized on December 5, 1993, in the city of Minsk. At that time, it was the only city in Belarus with a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I attended worship services there, but I lived in Borisov, 40 miles (70 km) away. I was 17 years old, and there was sharp opposition in my family. But because of the trials I had at that time, my faith and testimony of the truth were strengthened. I was even fortunate enough to go to the temple twice in Freiberg, Germany, to perform baptisms for the dead. I impatiently awaited the time when I could receive my endowment.
In 1996 I began dating my future husband. Igor gladly accepted the news of the Restoration and was baptized on February 23, 1997. On March 1 we were married. Having a strong testimony of temple work, I wanted more than anything to go to the temple as soon as possible.
In September 1997, we moved to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Igor studied at the university. Our daughter Nelly was born there. Even after Igor had been a member for a year and a year had passed since our marriage, we still couldn’t go to the temple because we didn’t have visas and couldn’t get exit papers.
When Nelly was six months old, I became pregnant. It seemed to me we were in a hopeless situation. Igor couldn’t find steady work because he didn’t have a visa. He was holding down three jobs, but it wasn’t enough money for us to live on. Igor’s parents helped by sending money and food from time to time, but I was practically in despair because of our financial struggles. I felt even worse because we couldn’t go to the temple. In August 1998, after the exchange rate rose sharply, we decided to return to Belarus.
Our second daughter, Yelyena, was born in Minsk on January 6, 1999. Igor had a steady job now, but we still didn’t have enough money to go to the temple. Gradually we saved, however, and at the end of August 2000, we took the children to Germany. Igor has relatives in Kaiserslautern, and we stayed with them.
Early on the morning of September 2, we began our journey to the temple in Frankfurt. Although the trip was very tiring and included two transfers, we were full of enthusiasm and joy. We are grateful to all the temple workers, the temple president, and also the sisters who watched our daughters while we went through the endowment session. That was an unforgettable day! It is difficult to put into words the feelings we experienced there, but they were very good.
After the endowment session, we went into the sealing room, where Yelyena was already crying (it was her nap time). I hardly heard any of the sealing ceremony because of the crying, but we were very happy anyway. That was the most wonderful trip of our lives because we were in the house of the Lord.
We even managed to return to the temple. In February 2001 a group of members from Minsk went to Freiberg. I wanted to participate in the ordinance of sealings for the dead, since I had heard so little during our own sealing. I was grateful when Igor and I were invited to participate.
We now have a son, Robert, and as a family we attend the Minsk Second Branch (or, as it is known in Belarus, the Second Religious Community of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Minsk). And while we have overcome several difficulties, we now have new ones. I am very grateful for all of these trials. No matter what happens to us on this journey, Heavenly Father wants only good for us. No one else can help us in our most difficult hour. If we reject Him because of some difficulties, it would be like throwing away a life preserver because it did not keep us from falling into the river.
The burden is easy and the yoke light when we are with the Lord. He will not give us trials we cannot bear.

While a lot of good things were happening in his life at Dixie, like joining the Church and being named the National Junior College Player of the Year in 1991, some hard things were happening. Kalin’s father, whom he never knew well, died. Then three months later his mother passed away from cancer. It shook Kalin. “During her worst time, I wasn’t there to comfort her. It helped out an awful lot that I knew I would see her again, but it was still very hard. Both my parents are gone, and I don’t have any blood brothers or sisters. I’m the last of my immediate family.”
During this time, Kalin was adopted by Wendell and Joyce Donahoo. He met the family while playing with their son Kelly in high school. “They have been great to me,” says Kalin. “They are a great family.”

The story that stood out to me in the November 2010 New Era was “He Is My Savior Too.” The story is about a young woman in a choir class who hears someone else take the Lord’s name in vain. When she asks the girl not to swear, other classmates agreed. The reason that this story is my favorite is because it made the girl who took the Lord’s name in vain stop and realize what she was saying.
Bradi M., Utah

Fatima skipped down the street. She was walking home from school with Mamá. She hummed a song while she skipped.
“Ms. Lopez asked us to learn a song,” said Fatima. “Can you teach me one?”
Mamá smiled. “Of course!”
When they got home, Mamá and Fatima sang songs together. They sang lots of songs. But they hadn’t sung her favorite one.
“Can I sing a Primary song?” Fatima asked.
“Sure,” Mamá said.
Fatima sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.” She practiced the words with Mamá. Then she sang it alone. She sang it until she got all the words right.
At school, Fatima was excited to share her song with her class.
“Does someone want to share their song?” Ms. Lopez said.
Fatima raised her hand. “I will!”
She stood up and smiled. “I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me,” she sang.
While she sang, Fatima felt happy. And she remembered the whole song! Everyone in her class clapped.
After class, Mamá came to pick up Fatima. Ms. Lopez spoke to Mamá.
“She sang a beautiful song. And she didn’t seem scared at all.”
Fatima smiled. So did Mamá.
“We sing beautiful songs every week at church!” Fatima said.
“You can come with us anytime,” Mamá said.
Ms. Lopez smiled. “Thank you.”
Fatima sang as she walked home with Mamá. She liked sharing a song with her class. Singing made her feel happy.
This story took place in Guatemala.

“The animals have to earn their keep.” Papa’s words echoed in Megan’s mind. The dogs guarded the sheep, and the chickens laid eggs. The sheep produced wool to sell. Megan helped shear them every spring, and their thick wool always looked like snow melting on the green field.
But Megan’s lambs were different. They were runts that were born last year, and they were too small to produce enough wool to pay for their upkeep. Papa had wanted to take them to the butcher, but the two tiny, frail babies had captured Megan’s heart. She’d pleaded to keep them, and Papa had finally agreed. “But,” he had warned her, “you will have to take care of them all by yourself.”
At first, everything had been OK. Megan had used her birthday money to buy hay when the lambs began to eat. But now her birthday money was gone, and Papa said it was too expensive to let the lambs graze in the field he rented outside town. Besides, Megan knew she would rarely see them if they went to the field. She sighed as she watched her lambs nibble the last bit of hay. It would be gone tomorrow, and she needed to find a way to feed her lambs.
Megan patted the white wool on the lambs’ heads as she leaned against the pen. Down her street she could see Mr. Flowers tending his roses. A couple houses down, Mrs. Wilmot hobbled slowly out to get the mail. Mrs. Wilmot was a widow who lived all alone. Sometimes Megan’s brother raked leaves for Mrs. Wilmot, but he always complained because Mrs. Wilmot couldn’t afford to pay him.
Megan noticed how long Mrs. Wilmot’s grass was. “I’ll offer to trim her lawn for her,” Megan decided. “But not now. I need to find a way to feed my lambs.”
Suddenly Megan had an idea. Mrs. Wilmot had grass, and Megan had sheep that needed to graze—the perfect combination! Megan patted her lambs quickly on the head and ran to Mrs. Wilmot’s house. When Mrs. Wilmot answered the door, she beamed at Megan, happy to have a visitor. The words tumbled out of Megan’s mouth as she explained her idea.
“Mrs. Wilmot, I think this could be great for both of us!” Megan finished. She held her breath, waiting for a response.
“I think so too!” Mrs. Wilmot said. “I could use the company, and my lawn could use the help. Bring the lambs over first thing tomorrow morning.” Megan and Mrs. Wilmot smiled at each other, and Megan grinned all the way home.
The next day was the beginning of a long and wonderful friendship. Megan took her sheep over to Mrs. Wilmot’s house every morning before school, and in the afternoons she stayed to visit for a while before she took her lambs home for the night. Mrs. Wilmot’s lawn stayed trimmed at the perfect height, and Megan’s lambs earned their keep.

Strong families and an active seminary program have produced enthusiastic and willing Latter-day Saint youth in Brooklyn. But according to Randy Dow, a native of Maine who has worked with the youth for years, “A few years ago, we started seminary with only a couple of students. One of the problems was that parents didn’t want their children out late at night.” Private cars are rare in Brooklyn, but rides were organized, and activities later followed the weekly classes. Now seminary is held on Friday nights—the unanimous choice of the youth.