Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in Aruba.
Henry slowly walked into the Primary room. His feet felt heavy as he reached his seat.
His teacher, Brother Rass, smiled at him. “Are you ready to talk about temples?” he asked.
“Yep,” Henry answered.
Why did I say that? Henry thought as he sat down. He didn’t feel ready. At all.
Henry’s Primary was learning the song “I Love to See the Temple.”* His class had been asked to talk about going to the temple.
But Henry felt sad. He wanted to go to the temple when he was old enough, but he felt like he made too many mistakes.
One by one, Henry’s friends stood up. They were happy and excited as they talked about going to the temple someday. Henry felt worse and worse.
Then it was time to sing. Henry sang along with the rest of the Primary: “I’ll prepare myself while I am young; this is my sacred duty.”
How can I prepare to go to the temple when I make so many mistakes? Henry thought. He slumped lower in his chair.
When the song ended, Brother Rass leaned over. “Are you OK?” he asked Henry.
Henry stared down at his hands. Then he said softly, “I want to go to the temple, but I’m afraid that I’m not worthy.” He took a big breath. “I don’t always get along with my family. I forget to do my chores. I make too many mistakes. Do I really have to be perfect?”
Brother Rass smiled gently. “Being worthy to go to the temple doesn’t mean you have to be perfect. We can be worthy by trusting Jesus Christ and sincerely trying to keep the commandments. We all make mistakes, but we can repent and be clean again.”
Henry sat up a little straighter.
“I’m sure Heavenly Father is proud of you for trying to be good,” said Brother Rass.
Henry thought about some of the good things he had done that week. He cooked dinner with Mom, helped his sister with her homework, and said hi to a new boy at school.
The weight of Henry’s worries began to lift. He knew the Holy Ghost was helping him feel peace.
When it was Henry’s turn to share, he smiled and stood up. “I want to keep repenting and becoming more like Jesus Christ so that one day I can enter the temple,” he said.
Henry felt happy as he sat down. One day, he would be able to make sacred covenants with God inside the temple. He wanted to try his best to prepare!

Some people only write the songs that spring out of intense personal experiences. But I write songs for a living and can’t always wait around for those dramatic moments. For instance, when my little boy Sam was just three years old, he stood up after family prayer one night and announced that when he grew up he was going to be god. He said, in a child’s words and a child’s faith, what the whole gospel plan is all about. When I recovered from the audacity of it, and the beauty of it sank in, I thought, “Wow, out of the mouths of babes is come a beautiful song!” And so my children went to sleep that night to the sound of Daddy and his guitar trying to catch in a song the spirit of what Sammy said.

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.

Family—what a sacred name for those we love the most. If someone asked you to name the greatest thing about your family, what would it be? I know that most families, including mine, are not perfect, but every day we are trying to be more kind and thoughtful to each other. This past month my father died. I learned many lessons from my dad. He had such great faith. He said, “Dying is just like walking into another room.” The day he died, I thought: My dad died today! This was his last day on earth! He has just walked into another room. It was such a sweet, sacred experience for my family and me.

During the Great Depression, Harold B. Lee, serving then as a stake president, was asked by the Brethren to find an answer to the oppressive poverty, sorrow, and hunger that were so widespread across the world at that time. He struggled to find a solution and took the matter to the Lord and asked, “What kind of an organization will we have … to do this?”

And “it was as though the Lord had said [to him]: ‘Look, son. You don’t need any other organization. I have given you the greatest organization there is on the face of the earth. Nothing is greater than the priesthood organization. All in the world you need to do is to put the priesthood to work. That’s all.’”12

Sherman and Austin are two of many chimpanzees living at the Yerkes Regional Primate Research Center in Georgia. They, too, have learned to communicate with humans by means of sign language. Taking it one step further, however, they have now begun to converse with each other by this means. Located in separate rooms with a small opening between them, Sherman will use his computer keyboard to ask Austin for a certain food. Austin will read his request and then proceed to fill his order, choosing from among as many as fifteen different delicacies, such as orange drink, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and candies. These chimpanzees are now at the point where they are asking each other for specific tools to help them reach food in hard-to-get-at places.

Years ago on Temple Square I heard a boy pour out the anguish of his troubled heart and make a commitment to God. He had been living in a spirit of hatred toward a man who had criminally taken the life of his father. Nearly bereft of his senses with grief, he had been overcome with bitterness.
On that Sabbath morning when others and I heard him, he had been touched by the Spirit of the Lord, and in that hour through the pouring in of that spirit had flooded out the hostility that had filled his heart. He tearfully declared his determined intent to leave vengeance to the Lord and justice to the law. He would no longer hate the one who had caused the grievous loss. He would forgive and would not for another hour permit the corrosive spirit of vengefulness to fill his heart.

A few days after I arrived in Taiwan, I met Mickey Chang, a young man who had recently been been baptized. I shall never forget his coming to me to ask that I share something from the Book of Mormon. He wanted to know more about it. He wanted to read it. Once when we talked, Mickey cried while trying to express how difficult it was to have a testimony of the Book of Mormon without being able to read it. I began with increased understanding to plead with the Lord to make possible the sharing of the fulness of the gospel with every nation, kindred, tongue, and people.

The other night when I announced to my family that I was taking my adorable wife to see a certain GP (rated general admittance with parental guidance) movie, my thirteen-year-old daughter firmly stated, “Oh, Daddy, I don’t think you’d better take Mother to that show. It has some bad things you shouldn’t see.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because I’ve seen it, of course, and I just don’t think it’s the kind of show you ought to go to.”
“When did you see it?” I thundered.
Well, it seems that a neighbor had taken her daughter and mine to the GP-rated show.
After my family had given me my allotted time for stern words on the subject of permissive neighbors (my own children think I’m a strict neanderthal), my wife sweetly pointed out that I ought to be grateful that a thirteen-year-old girl would be concerned enough to warn me about a movie she’s seen that isn’t fit for her forty-eight-year-old father and his ageless wife.
That really set me off. If children are going to be that strict with their parents, how will we ever learn about life? Fortunately, in this age of tyrannical youth, my children still permit me to discuss such matters at family night, so the following Monday after our regular discussion I conducted a survey to find out just what my children think about today’s movies.
Meantime, in spite of occasional frustrations, I’m glad to have in this permissive age a strict thirteen-year-old daughter to regulate my own movie going. Other parents should be so lucky!

February first at ten o’clock in the morning, Willie Wonka greeted the five lucky young finders of his golden tickets and their selected guests and escorted them on a tour through his famous candy factory.
They first visited the Chocolate Room and sailed down the Chocolate River, which carried them to the Inventing Room, and eventually to the Great Glass Elevator.
In the process of the tour, four children and their guests were separated from the others and only Charlie Bucket was left. When Mr. Wonka pressed the button he had been longing to press for years, the Great Glass Elevator shot upward to a bright future for Charlie.

When Ellen awoke, she heard the cry of a newborn baby. Her feet swiftly pattered past the cabin doors until she came to the bedside of Elizabeth Hopkins. Wrapped in a blanket beside her lay the tiny baby. Ellen stared in wonder.
Little Demaris Hopkins grinned and announced, “He’s my brother!”
“Just imagine, Demaris, having a brother born in the middle of the ocean!” Ellen exclaimed.
Steven Hopkins, the baby’s father, patted Ellen on the head. “Guess what we’re going to name him! We’re going to call him Oceanus (Latin word for ocean).”
“Oh, my!” Ellen exclaimed and ran swiftly to tell her mother.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

Here I recall a pioneer example of faith, commitment, and courage by some young men just about the age of our missionaries. A few months before the Prophet Joseph Smith was murdered at Carthage, some of his enemies plotted to kill him. As part of their plan, they sought to enlist others in their conspiracy. Among those they invited to a meeting in Nauvoo were two young men still in their teens, Robert Scott and Dennison L. Harris. Dennison’s father, Emer, was the older brother of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon. Being loyal to the Prophet, these young men immediately reported the invitation to Dennison’s father, who advised the Prophet Joseph and sought his advice. Joseph asked Emer Harris to request that the young men attend the meeting, pay strict attention to what was said, make no commitments, and report the entire matter to the Prophet.

As events proceeded, there were three meetings. They began by denouncing Joseph as a fallen prophet, proceeded to considering how Joseph could be overthrown, and concluded with specific planning to kill him. All of this the two young men reported to the Prophet Joseph after each meeting.

Before the third meeting, the Prophet foresaw what would happen and told the young men this would be the last meeting. He warned them that the conspirators might kill them when they refused the required oath to participate in the murderous scheme. He said he did not think the conspirators would shed their blood because they were so young, but he called upon their loyalty and courage in these words: “Don’t flinch. If you have to die, die like men, you will be martyrs to the cause, and your crowns can be no greater.” He renewed his original caution that they should not make any promises or enter into any covenants with the conspirators. Then he blessed them and expressed his love for their willingness to risk their lives for him.

As Joseph had foreseen, the third and final meeting required all present to unite in a solemn oath to destroy Joseph Smith. When the two boys refused, explaining that Joseph had never harmed them and they were unwilling to participate in his destruction, the leaders declared that since the boys knew the group’s plans, they must agree to join them or they must die on the spot. Knives were drawn.

Some protested killing the boys, especially since their parents knew of their presence, so their failure to return would cast suspicion on some of the conspirators. By the barest margin, the cautious course was chosen, and those who opposed killing prevailed. The boys were threatened with certain death if they ever revealed what had transpired in the meetings or who had participated, and they were then allowed to leave unharmed.

As the boys passed beyond the view of the guards, they were met by the Prophet, who was anxiously watching and praying for their safe return. They reported everything to him. He thanked and praised them, and then, for their safety, counseled them not to speak of this to anyone for 20 years or more.

It was a hot summer day in Japan. I was 10 months into my mission and had finished packing my luggage and getting ready to transfer to another area. Now I was leaving the apartment to catch a train to a new city.
More than anything, I remember the look my companion and I gave each other then. Usually farewells like these are marked by words of thanks and well-wishing. But I remember my companion’s simply glancing down the hall at me with no hint of friendliness. I did the same to him and then walked out the door.
The previous five weeks of my mission had been bitter and contentious. I had been in the city for several months when this companion had arrived. From day one we started fighting. We found we had different attitudes and ideas. When we had disagreements, instead of cooperating, we blamed each other and insisted that the other one change.
Some nights we came home frustrated and barely talked to each other. Most mornings we almost dreaded having to leave the apartment. The work in the area suffered as contention and selfishness drove away the Spirit.
When I transferred, I moved on to new places and experiences, but I often found myself thinking back on the unpleasant memories of those five weeks. As I gained maturity and experience, I felt regret. I began to recognize the good things my companion had done and realized how foolish our arguments had been. Sometimes I would hear other missionaries say complimentary things about him. Deep down, I felt guilty that I had nothing good to say.
Months later, I was reading back through my journal entries from that month. As I thought back on my mistakes and the way I had left, I resolved to do something. I knew I might never see him again, but I followed an impression I had and wrote him a long letter, apologizing and expressing my desire to reconcile.
Three weeks later my zone leader called. I was being transferred to another new city. To my surprise, he told me that I had been assigned to work again with that same missionary.
Having the same companion twice was very rare in my mission, and I knew it wasn’t happening by chance. The day we met again, he thanked me for sending the letter, and we spent a long time that night talking and making amends.
Our second time together was the opposite of the first. This time we put aside our arguments and turned to cooperation and respect. As the days flew by, we became close friends and would come home at night talking and laughing about how the day had gone. We were always eager to go out again the next morning. We had the Spirit with us as we worked and taught, and we had much more success as a result.
After a few weeks my companion was transferred. The day he left, we gave each other a warm embrace. This time, I experienced the bittersweet feeling of saying good-bye to a friend.
A few years have passed, but I still remember the valuable lessons I learned about friendship, forgiveness, and second chances. We don’t always get another chance the way my companion and I did, and I learned that it’s best to make amends before it’s too late.

When Sister Burton and I were first married, we lived in the southeast part of the Salt Lake Valley. On occasion, as we bought groceries from a small neighborhood store, we saw President and Sister Joseph Fielding Smith in the same store, making their purchases. President Smith (1876–1972) was the tenth President of the Church.
I finally mustered the courage to ask President Smith why he traveled all the way from downtown, past a dozen grocery stores, to shop at this one. Looking over the tops of his glasses, he declared, “Son! Sister Smith and I patronize establishments that keep the Sabbath day holy.”

In Huddersfield, England, Brother Samuel Bridgstock was diagnosed with stage-four cancer shortly before the calling of a new stake president. Given his dire diagnosis, he asked his wife, Anna, why he would even go to be interviewed.
“Because,” Sister Bridgstock said, “you’re going to be called as stake president.”
Initially given a year or two to live, President Bridgstock (who is here today) is now in his fourth year of service. He has good and hard days. His stake is rallying with increased faith, service, and kindness. It is not easy, but his wife and family live with faith, gratitude, and understandable sadness they trust will become eternal joy through Jesus Christ’s restoring Atonement.

I was born in Fiji. My parents were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but they went to another church.
When I grew up, I married my wife, Anita. She was a member of the Church. She kept inviting the missionaries over to meet me.
One day I told them they could come to dinner for the next three nights. I said they had to use only the Bible to answer my questions. Their answers were perfect. On the third night, they asked me a question.
“If you had a grocery store, what would you call it?”
“I would call it the Wakolo Family Grocery Store because it’s my store,” I answered.
“Who should a church be named after?” they asked.
It was a great question. And I knew the answer with my heart and soul. The true Church would be named after Jesus because it’s His Church. And The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was named after Him!
I had just one more question: “When can I be baptized?” One week later, I was.
When I was baptized, I took upon myself Jesus Christ’s name. That means I became a member of His Church and promised to follow Him. I try my best every day to live as He did. I know that this is Jesus Christ’s true Church.

By the time my husband and I graduated, we had been married for a year. Elder Russell M. Nelson (at the time, he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles) came to speak at our graduation. A luncheon followed, and only 16 students were invited to attend. Oddly enough, both my husband I were selected to be there. When the discussion was opened for questions and answers. I raised my hand, looked Elder Nelson in the eye, and expressed my concerns about being both an artist and a mother. I had worked so hard to build my talents in school, and I wanted to continue to work hard and improve, but I also knew that motherhood took precedence. Was there a way to do both? Elder Nelson’s eyes sparkled as he replied, “Absolutely!” He encouraged me to improve upon my talents and to pray to Heavenly Father for help in knowing how I could do both and that with Him, I would be able to do things I once thought impossible. I took that advice to heart.

When Wade first showed up at school, he let me know right away that he didn’t have any use for me. Thanksgiving was three days away, and the class was working on a report about the Pilgrims when he marched into Mrs. Steinhart’s fifth grade class with a huge scowl on his face.
He was wearing a pair of dusty blue jeans with black grease marks below the knees. His faded sweatshirt was a bit ragged at the neck, and the sole of one shoe was pulling away at the toe.
“It’s nice to have you in our class,” Mrs. Steinhart welcomed Wade with a smile.
“I’m not going to be here long,” he grumbled. “I have better places to go.”
“Well, we want to make sure you’re comfortable while you are here,” Mrs. Steinhart answered, as polite and cheerful as always. She looked around the classroom. “Why don’t you take that desk back by James,” Mrs. Steinhart said, pointing at me. Suddenly I felt sick. “James, will you make sure Wade feels comfortable? Answer his questions and help him in any way you can.”
Wade stomped back and dropped into the desk next to mine. I turned toward him, and he muttered, “Just stay out of my way, kid. I don’t need anybody holding my hand.”
I tried to pretend that Wade wasn’t there, but I couldn’t help sneaking a glance at him now and then. He was big for fifth grade, probably the biggest kid in the class. Once Mrs. Steinhart had him read out of our social studies book, and he stumbled over the words, even some of the little ones.
At noon, he snapped at me when I told him where to get his tray and pick up his milk. “I’ve been in a cafeteria before.” But not our cafeteria! He picked up a plate from the wrong side of the counter, and the cook yelled at him. When he left the serving area, he went out the wrong door, and Mr. Hansen, the principal, made him go back and use the right one. He found a place to sit—at the sixth grade table. Mr. Hansen made him move.
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, even though he had been so unfriendly. “You can sit over here with me,” I offered. He glowered at me and found a spot at the end of the table by himself.
Wade wasn’t any friendlier on his second day of school. He didn’t speak except to snap at someone or brag about how much money his dad made. At recess he sat in a corner of the playground and glared at the rest of us as we played.
The next school day was the last before Thanksgiving break. When I got home, Mom called me into the kitchen. “James, Sister Wray called. Wilbur ran away again. She’s wondering if you’d mind looking for him.”
“Not again. Why doesn’t she just get rid of that crazy cat? He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
Mom smiled. “Sister Wray loves that old cat, and you do, too. Maybe you could bike around the neighborhood and see if you can spot him.”
Grumbling a little, I buttoned my coat, climbed onto my bike, and started riding around. A couple of blocks from home, I spotted the big orange tomcat dart down a dirt lane to a vacant lot overgrown with bushes and trees and filled with junk. It was just the kind of place that Wilbur loved to explore.
I was so busy looking for him that I didn’t notice that I’d ridden right up to a small trailer. Wade and a younger boy were in front of it, smashing aluminum cans. Wade and I were almost face to face before either of us realized it.
“What are you doing snooping around here?” Wade demanded. “This is private property.”
I stood straddling my bike. I’m l-looking for my n-neighbor’s cat,” I stammered.
“Well, we don’t have him,” Wade fired back. “Now get out of here!”
The younger boy stepped forward. “I’m Wade’s brother, Russell,” he said with a friendly smile. “I saw a big orange cat over there just a minute ago.” He pointed to a pile of trash near the tiny trailer.
We all looked. A moment later, Wilbur’s tail twitched into view, and then his head peeked over a cardboard box. “That’s him!” I said.
“Well, take him and get out,” Wade growled. “Dad doesn’t like anybody coming around here without permission.” He stomped into the trailer.
“Don’t mind Wade,” Russell remarked, mashing a soda can and tossing it into a rusty barrel. “He’s just embarrassed for people to see where we live. You’re in Wade’s class, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “I’m James.” I pressed my lips together. “So, you collect cans?”
Russell set another one down. “It’s the only way Wade and I get any spending money.” He stomped on the can, then shrugged. “Mostly though, we give the money to Dad for milk or something.”
I looked around. “I didn’t know anybody was living here.”
“Dad works over at Mr. Aylor’s wrecking yard. Mr. Aylor owns this place, too, and he said we could stay here if we’d clean things up. Dad’s trying to get enough money so we can move to Colorado. He thinks he can get a good job there so we won’t have to stay in a dump like this.”
“Where’s your mom?” I asked.
Russell looked away. “She died a couple of years ago. Dad looks after us, but it’s not the same as when Mom was here.” Russell smiled. “Dad can’t cook, so Wade and I are learning.”
“Why are you still here?” Wade barked from the trailer door. He clomped down the shaky wooden steps. “Get your cat and go. We have work to do.”
“I was talking to him,” Russell said. “I was telling him that we’re going to move to Colorado if Dad can get that job.”
“Don’t tell him anything. It’s none of his business. He’ll just go back to school and tell everyone how we’re living here, and they’ll start making fun of us.” Wade jabbed an angry finger at me. “You open your big mouth, and you’ll answer to me! Now go away and stay away.”
Slowly I went over and picked Wilbur up, then started back to my bike. “I’ll say whatever I want,” I called back. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Wade started toward me, but Russell grabbed his arm. “Leave him alone, Wade. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
I took Wilbur to Sister Wray, then went home. As I started up our walk, I took a good look at our house. We weren’t rich or anything, but we had a real house and a nice yard. I had a mom and a dad, three sisters and a brother. I hadn’t ever thought of myself as having a lot, but compared to Wade and Russell, I was rich. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like living in a tiny trailer surrounded by trash and weeds, without a mom, and not knowing how long we’d be there.
I wanted to dislike Wade, but I couldn’t, not without feeling guilty. The last few weeks in Primary, Sister Pearce had talked about Jesus and what He did when people were mean to Him. What would Jesus do if He ran into somebody like Wade? I wondered. I knew one thing for sure—He wouldn’t just walk away and forget about him.
As I pushed my bike into the garage, I spotted a plastic bag that was lumpy with several dozen empty pop cans. I wondered what it would be like to collect aluminum cans just for a little spending money. Or for buying milk.
Mom was making pies. “Are we having lots of company tomorrow?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “Not this year. Your Aunt Renae and Uncle Albert were going to come, but they’ve had a change of plans, so it looks like it’ll be just us. Do you think we can eat all this food by ourselves?”
“What if I invited somebody to help us out?”
Mom laughed. “Just tell me how many and how hungry.”
I returned to the garage, grabbed the bag of cans, and rode my bike back to Wade’s. He and Russell were still smashing cans. Wade saw me coming. “I told you to stay away from here.”
I climbed off my bike and handed him the cans. “We had these in the garage. I thought that maybe you could use them.”
Wade glared at me without moving. Russell took the bag. “Thanks. Every can helps.”
For a moment we all stared at each other without speaking; then I asked, “Could I help smash cans? I’m not doing anything right now.”
“Are you just trying to—”
“He wants to help,” Russell cut him off. “We don’t have to be mean to everybody. He didn’t have to come back, and we’re already behind.”
“Nobody comes by just to help. Nobody ever has. You wait and see what happens,” he barked at Russell. “He’ll be telling everybody about us.”
“You obviously don’t know me very well,” I said quietly.
Ignoring Wade, Russell said, “We’re supposed to have all these smashed by the time Dad gets home.” He jabbed a thumb toward Wade. “Don’t mind him. He’s not half mean.” He grinned. “Sometimes he’s even nice.”
For a long time Wade just watched as Russell and I stomped cans flat and tossed them into the barrel. Finally he bent over and started helping. We worked fast, none of us saying much. Thirty minutes later we were finished.
“Thanks,” Russell said. “You can help anytime.” He grinned.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked him.
“Dad has to work late tomorrow. But he is going to pick up some chicken for our supper.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “Why don’t you and Wade come over to my place for dinner? Usually we have lots of company for Thanksgiving, but not tomorrow. There’ll be plenty to eat. I already told Mom to set a couple of extra places. She’ll be upset if you don’t show.”
“We have work to do,” Wade spoke up. But he didn’t sound as gruff and angry. He even looked a little disappointed. “Thanks anyway.”
Russell nodded and motioned around the trailer. “We’re supposed to clean a bunch of this up.” He shrugged. “Dad’s counting on us.”
“I’m not doing much tomorrow. What do you say I come over and give you a hand?” I looked at Wade. “Then—if it’s OK with your dad—you can come eat with us and still have supper with him tomorrow night.”
“What are you doing this for?” he asked suspiciously, but he was starting to soften.
I thought for a moment. “Everybody can use an extra friend. Even guys like me.” I smiled. “I’ll be here early in the morning. Then we’ll head over to my place for dinner about one—unless we get hungry before then. Mom always has a few things we can snack on before the big dinner.” I grinned and started for my bike.
“Hey, wait,” Wade called to me. I stopped and turned, half expecting him to growl at me again. “Thanks.” He glared at the ground, then sneaked a look at me. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once when I was playing soccer goalie at school, I missed the ball. Someone yelled, “You’re such a bad goalie!” I didn’t feel very good after I heard that. I ran into one of the bathroom stalls and started crying. After I said a prayer, I felt much better and went back to playing soccer. I’m glad I can remember that special day when I felt the Holy Ghost help me for the first time.
Alli S., age 6, Lima, Peru