Gospel Story Finder

“Grannie Smith’s coming for supper tonight,” Mom said as Carrie scurried around, getting everything ready for the meeting of the Super Scooper News staff.
“Oh no!” Carrie moaned. “Everybody’s coming over!”
“That’s fine,” Mom said. “Go ahead with your newspaper meeting. I’m sure that Grannie won’t mind.”
“No! Not now. Maybe I’ll call the others to tell them to come some other time,” Carrie said. Then she remembered that last week Shauna hadn’t been able to come, and the week before, Adam couldn’t make it. It had been several weeks since they’d printed their newspaper, and now everybody had plenty of news for another issue.
“It’s up to you,” Mom said. “It’s been ten days since we’ve had Grannie over, and she must be feeling pretty lonely.”
Carrie stomped into the living room to watch TV. Why can’t Grannie be like other grandmothers? she wondered. Adam’s grandma was always baking cookies and giving them to the kids in the neighborhood. One of Shauna’s grandmothers was a writer who published lots of books about all the places she’d traveled. Shauna had an autographed copy of each book that she had written. Carrie’s other grandmother had moved to Arizona, far from the cold prairie winters.
But Grannie Smith was different and something of a problem. Most of the time she stayed in a nursing home, but whenever she came over for dinner, all she did was embarrass Carrie. Sometimes she’d ask Dad what his name was, and she’d call Carrie “Penelope.” Aunt Penelope was Grannie’s sister, but she had died a long time ago. Sometimes Grannie spilled her food, and one time she had even started eating her mashed potatoes with her fingers! When that happened, even Mom had looked as if she were about to cry, though they all realized that Grannie couldn’t help it. She did things like that, the doctors had explained, because she has Alzheimer’s disease.
Carrie heard the doorbell ring and went to open the door.
“Hi, Carrie!” It was Adam, one of the newspaper’s best reporters. “Boy, do I have news! Let’s get it typed up.”
“Great!” Carrie went over to her corner of the living room and sat down at an old beat-up desk. She rolled a sheet of paper into her rickety typewriter. Some of the machine’s letters didn’t print right, and Mom kept saying that she was surprised that the typewriter hadn’t broken down long ago.
Soon Shauna came in, and the three of them sat on the floor, trying to decide which news items to put on the front page.
“Come on in and sit down, Mother.”
Carrie cringed at the sound of Dad’s voice. She wished that she could pretend that she hadn’t heard, but she knew that she had to go give a kiss to the wobbly little lady with the cane and white hair. “Hi, Grannie,” she said.
Grannie stroked a wrinkled hand over Carrie’s hair. “You’re growing like a weed, lass,” she said with a smile. “Run along and play with your friends now; they’ll be waiting for you.”
Carrie gave a sigh of relief and went back to her desk. Maybe, just this once, Grannie won’t do anything awful.
Shauna’s eyes were wide. “How old is she, Carrie?” she whispered.
“Eighty-one,” Carrie said quickly. “Now, about the front page, …”
They decided to use three pieces: Mrs. Currie’s fall off her stepladder, Bryan Wilson’s plans to become a hockey pro, and the mysterious footprints in the dirt around the Adam’s family’s garbage can.
As they worked, Carrie could hear Grannie talking. At first she thought that Grannie was talking to her father, but when she looked around, Dad was in the easy chair, reading the newspaper.
“Look at the clowns!” Grannie was saying. “Oh my—see how many elephants there are!”
Nervously Carrie looked at her friends. Their heads were bent over the dummy sheet that they were putting together. Maybe Grannie’s watching TV. Carrie glanced over at the television set, but the screen was blank. Grannie was staring out the front window.
Elephants on McDonald Street? That’s impossible! Grannie’s seeing things again. Carrie felt her face getting red. Why did Mom have to invite Grannie for the same night that Shauna and Adam were coming?
“Oh! There’s the lion tamer!”
Adam looked up and began to stare.
Carrie quickly turned back to her typewriter and said, “Super Scooper News,” loudly as she picked out the letters.
“Bonnie, come here. I have some treats for you and your friends.”
Carrie’s face got redder. Bonnie was her mother’s name, but she was sure that Grannie was speaking to her. “Just a minute, Grannie,” she said.
But Grannie had sounded so pleased with herself that Carrie couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. She went over to Grannie’s chair, where the old woman pulled some lint-covered cough drops out of her dress pocket. “Here. And when these are gone, I have some more.”
Carrie nodded and took them.
“What’d you get?” There was an expectant look on Shauna’s face.
“Oh, nothing—just some cough drops.” Carrie tried stuffing them into her jeans pocket, but Adam stopped her.
“Can I have one?”
“Well …”
But it was too late. Adam reached and took one. It had not only lint on it but a clinging hair as well.
“Yuck!” Shauna started giggling.
“She can’t help it!” Carrie whispered, embarrassed. “She just doesn’t know any better.”
“Some people get senile,” Adam said sympathetically. “Boy, I hope I never do.”
It sounded as though Grannie were busy watching her invisible circus parade again. Tears burned in Carrie’s eyes as she turned back to the typewriter once more. “What’s the best title for this one—‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall’?”
“So you’re using that typewriter again, Penelope.”
Oh no! Grannie was coming over! Carrie wished that she could tell her grandmother to leave her alone. She poked at the r extra hard, and her finger went between the keys, jamming the r and t keys together.
Now Grannie was looking over her shoulder. “I used to be a real good typist in my day,” she said. “I could type eighty words a minute—clean copy, without a single error.”
Carrie’s head lifted. She had to admit that that sounded fast. “We’re doing our newspaper, Grannie,” she said.
“Oh yes!” Grannie beamed. “Our newspaper, Penelope! I’d almost forgotten. Be sure to tell about how Mrs. Schneider’s cat chased off those huge dogs.”
Shauna looked uncomfortable. Adam looked restless. Carrie’s finger hurt, and the letters were still jammed. “I need to type now,” she finally said in a low voice. Maybe Grannie would take the hint and go back to her chair.
Grannie reached out and unjammed the keys. “Careful, Penelope.”
“I’m Carrie,” Carrie said loudly. Shauna began to giggle.
The old woman sighed and shook her head. “Carrie. Yes, Carrie. Sometimes I get so mixed up these days.”
Does she ever! said the look in Shauna’s eyes. Adam looked puzzled. And Grannie looked very sad.
Carrie took a deep breath. Does Grannie feel bad about the way she is? It must be terrible to be so forgetful and not be able to do anything about it. “Want to help, Grannie?” she asked. “You could type, and we’ll dictate the copy to you.”
Grannie’s smile was like sunlight coming through clouds. “Why, yes, Penelope! You just tell me what to type, and I’ll be extra careful to get it right.”
Carrie held her breath. Shauna was holding her breath too. Grannie sat down at the typewriter. Adam began reading in a loud, steady voice: “‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall.’”
Nervously Carrie looked over her grandmother’s shoulder. The words were typed just as Adam had read them.
Maybe Grannie was a little strange and sometimes got all mixed up, but she really was a special person. Besides, the Super Scooper News staff didn’t need cookies or autographs right now—they needed their newspaper typed. And from the look of it, Grannie was going to give them the neatest copy they’d ever had!

Several months ago my husband performed the baptism of a dear friend. As I sat in the service, my mind and heart raced over her years of preparation for that single event—the principles carefully taught, constantly observed, and quietly accepted, the acknowledgment of God’s hand in life events, the sweet confirmation of the Spirit as difficult, but right, choices were made. My mind recalled the past and rejoiced in the present, and I couldn’t help but anticipate the future. I hoped with all my heart that this good woman would remain actively connected to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the rest of her life—that she would continue to learn and live the gospel and experience the fulness of its blessings.
I telephoned our newly baptized friend last week to ask how things were going for her. Her response was enthusiastic: “My husband and I have been called to teach the 15- and 16-year-olds, and I’m learning so much!” I felt reassured and excited. What better place than a classroom—for her and for each of us!

There was one time when the chase crew didn’t quite make it on time, and the story of their rescue is a sure-to-be-told-tale at quorum get-togethers.
The chase crew, who were pulling a trailer that day, made a wrong turn down a long narrow lane with no room to turn around. By the time they had managed to back out, the balloon had already landed, and no one had been able to see where. While the chase crew searched, the balloon crew was waiting in a strawberry patch where they had landed. It seemed that a hundred people knew exactly where the balloon had come down, and a hundred people were absolutely wrong. Finally, almost two hours later, the bewildered searchers saw a little boy sitting on his bike with all the manly nonchalance of John Wayne on his horse.
“You see a balloon?”
“Yep.”
“You know where it is?”
“Yep.”
“Will you show us?”
“Yep.” And hunched over his banana seat, legs churning like pistons, the one-man cavalry led them to their stranded companions.

When Elder Henry D. Taylor was a little boy living in Provo, Utah, he often walked across the lane from his home to his grandmother’s house. Whenever he visited her, she would offer him crackers, raisins, or other delicacies. “One day, however,” Elder Taylor recounts, “without waiting to be offered a treat, I reached into the box where the crackers were stored and, much to my amazement and anguish, put my hand into a mousetrap that had been set. This remains as one of my earliest recollections.”

Elder Taylor was the fourth boy born to Arthur and Maria Dixon Taylor. Later two more boys and two girls joined the family. Elder Taylor’s father and three older brothers, as well as his two younger brothers, all had red hair, but Henry had dark hair like his mother. He has often jokingly said, “I must be the black sheep of the family.”

Although they lived in town, where Henry’s father was a businessman, the family owned a fruit farm several miles from Provo. Elder Taylor recalls that “for several years we moved to the farm for the summer. Father would travel by bicycle or horse and buggy to his work at the Taylor Brothers Company. We learned to spray the fruit trees, to irrigate them, and to harvest the fruit. Night irrigating was a cold, unpleasant task, and it discouraged us from wanting to become farmers.
“Mother gloried in farm life. She had a beautiful garden and enjoyed picking the various kinds of vegetables and fruits when they were ripe. In the evening she delighted in walking along the brow of the hill and in admiring the magnificent sunsets. I suppose from her enthusiasm most of us children developed an appreciation for sunsets and other beauties of nature.
“Father and I would often drive from Provo out to the farm. Just over the Provo River bridge was a grocery store with a blackboard in front that was used for advertising. Across the top of the blackboard was scrawled the saying, ‘As we travel through life, let us live by the way.’ On our return to Provo, I would recite this statement. Father would chuckle as he caught the hint. We would stop the horse in front of the store, and he would buy me an ice-cream cone.”

Later on, instead of spending summers at the farm, Elder Taylor’s family would move up the canyon to a tent-cabin and stay until school started in the fall. Moving up the canyon meant moving the cows as well. Because it was very hard on cows (and boys) to walk in the heat of the day, Henry and one of his brothers would leave between 3:30 A.M. and 4:00 A.M. in order to reach the mouth of the canyon by sunup.

“It was the summers that brought us together. I remember the annual building of a raft to float down the Provo River (Huck Finn style), swimming in the same waters, trekking over the mountainside to gather logs for bonfires in anticipation of Indian stories to come, leaping from a tall swing to see how far we could jump, hiking up Mount Timpanogos with John Swensen or Uncle Walt Dixon long before easy trails had been constructed.”

Reminiscing about his happy childhood Christmases, Elder Taylor remembers that “just through the block from us lived Professor Robert Sauer, a German convert. He was a music instructor at Brigham Young University and the leader of its band. While it was still dark on Christmas morning, Brother Sauer would arise, stand on his front porch, and play ‘Silent Night’ and ‘The Holy City’ on his trumpet.
“Father and Mother went to great lengths to make Christmas a happy time for us. One Christmas a piece of string led from our filled stockings to our major presents hidden somewhere in the house. Hours had been spent making these preparations. We boys arose before we were supposed to, and in the dark we accidentally broke the strings. Father and Mother had to spend the remainder of the night repairing the damage.
“We were a missionary family. There was never a question about whether or not we would go on missions; it was just a matter of waiting until we were old enough to serve. Father and Mother themselves went on a mission to England.”

Elder Taylor received a call to the Eastern States Mission. But during the summer before he was to leave, he and a brother had drunk some contaminated water while on a trip to southern Utah. As a result, Henry contracted typhoid fever and was not able to leave until later. He recalls that “when I first reached my mission, our room wasn’t well heated. We had our study class at 6:00 A.M., and I would don my bathrobe and sit there with my teeth chattering. I found that putting a hot toaster under my chair helped a little.”

At that time missionaries often traveled without purse or scrip. Elder Taylor said that during his mission “the Lord was good to us, and the people were kind and provided us with food and lodging. My mission experiences were humbling and inspirational.
“I salute you noble young people. You will be the leaders in your communities and the Church in the very near future. Live clean and useful lives. Happiness comes from keeping the Lord’s commandments. I leave my blessing with you, and pray that our Heavenly Father will guide, guard, and protect you.”

The Brethren gathered in that meeting listened with anticipation, for a number of vacancies among the General Authorities were to be filled at the approaching conference. The First Presidency called a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Boyd K. Packer, and then Joseph heard, to his amazement, his own name. The Lord had called him to serve as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve. He looked up with surprise and wondered if he had heard correctly. All the Brethren were looking at him—the men whom he had felt it an honor to serve—and realized that he was now to be numbered with them. “Nothing was further from my mind,” he said later.

Armed with cleaning rags, needed supplies, and lots of heart, more than 400 youth in Nampa, Idaho, set out to do some good in their community. In a citywide effort that included 20 wards and 1 branch in the 2 Nampa stakes, the youth committed a Saturday to serving. But they also spent weeks in preparation: making quilts, practicing programs, and organizing food, clothing, and toy drives. On the day of the project they did everything from stacking firewood for the elderly in their wards to filling the supply closets at shelters. Following all their service the youth got a much-deserved rest, including a testimony meeting, dinner, and a dance.

Shannon, a young mother, did not expect that she would teach her children the power of prayer when they piled into their van to drive to their home just 40 minutes away. There was no storm when they left their grandmother’s home, but as they began to drive through the canyon, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The van began sliding on the surface of the road. Soon visibility was near zero. The two youngest children could sense the stress of the situation and began to cry. Shannon said to the older children, Heidi and Thomas, ages eight and six, “You need to pray. We need Heavenly Father’s help to get home safely. Pray that we will not get stuck and that we will not slide off the road.” Her hands shook as she steered the car, yet she could hear the whisper of little prayers repeatedly coming from the backseat: “Heavenly Father, please help us get home safely; please help us so we will not slide off the road.”

In time, the prayers calmed the two little ones, and they stopped their crying just as they learned that a road closure prevented them from driving any farther. Cautiously, they turned around and found a motel for the night. Once in the motel, they knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for their safety. That night a mother taught her children the power of holding true to prayer.

After a Stake Conference that I was asked to preside over, the Stake President introduced me to a wonderful and courageous young single adult woman. I learnt that just weeks before serving a mission she was diagnosed with a severe and acute form of cancer. She had undergone painful, lengthy and invasive treatments that left physical and emotional scars.
I could see and feel her anguish. My heart wept for her. She was in tears as she questioned why this happened to her as she had such a strong desire to serve the Lord. “How should I go on to live the rest of my life with so much uncertainty?” she asked. I invited her to treat every day of her life as a gift from God. After all, none of us know when our Heavenly Father will call us home. If we live and love every day we have breath and place ourselves in the service of our God we will feel blessed, even in our trials and tribulations. I shared some personal things with her that I learnt about turning to God and finding joy in my own afflictions. The Spirit moved me to invite her to consciously step outside of herself and I urged her to pray for mindful eyes. That she may see through the eyes of the Saviour the trials of others and be a blessing to them every day of her life.
Our perspective of our own lives will change when we strive to serve others. Our bitter cup will become blessed and sweeter as we strive to shift from a “Why do I suffer?” to a “How can I serve?” mindset. We will feel supported by angels and experience the healing power of the Saviour more abundantly in our lives.
In Mark 5, we read of a woman who had suffered for 12 years with an issue of blood. Her condition not only affected her health, but also left her socially isolated. She must have been desperate. When she heard of Jesus, she believed that touching His robe would make her whole. In faith, she reached out and touched it. Jesus turned and looked for her saying: “Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.” Now here is the remarkable thing, she wasn’t just physically healed, she was “made whole”, restored spiritually, mentally, emotionally and socially.
Jesus Christ offers more than just comfort or healing, He offers wholeness. We may all carry unseen burdens: pain, illness, grief, addiction, doubt, guilt or shame. We may feel broken and in need to be made whole. When we reach toward Heaven in our anguish, and cry unto the Lord in an earnest faith-filled prayer, He hears us, meets us where we are, and makes us whole.
The deeper meaning of wholeness is to be complete, at peace and aligned with our Heavenly Father. Through the Saviour’s atonement we can all overcome physical and spiritual death and be made whole.
My wife Kirsty and I took part in the 2022 international FSY in Germany. One FSY song from that year has stuck with me the most. It’s called “Healer”. These are the words of the refrain: “He’s the healer, The deliv’rer From all pains, from all burdens and scars. When you’re hurting, Find His mercy, And He will fix ev’ry piece of your heart.” I find it hard to sing along without getting emotional and shedding tears. Oh, how I need the Saviour to abide with me and make me whole! As we walk the covenant path with faith together, the Saviour walks with us. His invitation is the same for all of us: “Come unto Me”. He knows your heart. He knows the burdens you carry. And He alone can make you truly whole.

On March 11, 2011, I was standing on a platform in the Tokyo Shinagawa train station to visit the Japan Kobe Mission. At approximately 2:46 p.m., a 9.0-magnitude massive earthquake struck. I was not able to stand because of the intense shaking, and I held tightly to a stair rail. Lights on nearby ceilings began falling to the floor. All of Tokyo was in a panic.
Fortunately, I was not injured, and four hours later, I was relieved to learn that my entire family was safe.
On television there was a stream of terrifying, shocking footage. A massive tsunami surged into the Sendai mission area—sweeping away everything in its path: cars, houses, factories, and fields. I was stunned by the tragic images, and I wept. And I fervently prayed that our Heavenly Father’s protection and assistance would be upon all the people living in this region that I so dearly love.
Later, it was confirmed that all the missionaries and Church members were safe. However, many members were affected, losing their family members, homes, and household possessions. Nearly 20,000 people perished, communities were destroyed, and many people were forced to leave their homes as a result of a nuclear power plant accident.

The current racial tension in America has brought me a lot of heartache and anxiety. My emotions have been all over the place as I’ve gone through some recent painful experiences of my own.
I’ve overheard colleagues and other people around me describing Black people in a negative way; making harsh, generalized judgments; and expressing preconceived notions about Black people more than I ever have before. Whenever I overheard conversations like these, I was usually the only Black person around. It can be scary to speak up in such situations.
One day, two young men yelled a racial slur at me as they drove past me in a car—an experience that left me shocked and hurt.
Talking about it has been difficult because so many people around me don’t understand how big of a problem and how common racism really is, and how hurtful it is to those who experience it. And as the only Black person in my ward and neighborhood, I started feeling isolated and misunderstood.
I started avoiding people out of fear.
I started wondering if I really belonged anywhere.
These painful feelings settled in my heart for a while, but everything changed when I heard a recent Brigham Young University devotional by President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency. I felt his sincere love and concern for me as he said: “My brothers and sisters of the rising generation of the restored Church of Jesus Christ, I love you. I want to help you. … I must try to help you through teaching correct principles and trying to help you follow them.”1
I did not realize just how much I needed to hear President Oaks’s address, “Racism and Other Challenges,” until I did.
“Of course Black lives matter!” he said. “That is an eternal truth all reasonable people should support.”2
Those words meant everything to me. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders when I felt the Spirit confirm the eternal truth that God loves me regardless of my skin.
I’m an immigrant from the beautiful African country of Zambia. I’ve lived in America for 14 years. I married my white husband, and we have three beautiful half-Black, half-white children. Being a mother to them and being a Black woman myself, I found so much peace, comfort, and reassurance in President Oaks’s message that I am in the right place and that I truly do belong, especially in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I forwarded the devotional to several of my Black friends who were also struggling like I was. They too loved this message because each of us has experienced racism in one form or another, ranging from hurtful name-calling to physical danger.
We all felt an enormous amount of joy, because the Lord’s prophets were speaking out against racism and reminding us of Heavenly Father’s love for each of us.

I read the “Let Your Light Shine” article (Jan. 2018) and had a chance to let my light shine with my friend. I had a feeling that I should grab a bag of my favorite chips before school. After lunch my friend looked sad, and I asked him what was wrong. He said he had forgotten his lunch. I remembered my chips, so I gave them to him. After school he came up to me and said, “That was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me at school.”
Durham M., age 11, Utah, USA

Learning to rely on the Lord in Church callings can bring the Spirit in abundance. Rachel Murdock, a Primary president in American Fork, Utah, found that when she needed to recommend someone to fill a vacant position in the Primary, she often simply submitted the name of the person who had most recently been released from a calling in another organization or who had just moved into the ward. But now she prays about each calling. “I don’t know that the results have been any different,” she says, “but I have given myself the opportunity to receive confirmation from the Spirit that the choice is acceptable to Heavenly Father.”

Just the other day, we met a girl about your age who had never heard of God. It was very hot and sticky, so my companion and I were glad to go inside an apartment building when we knocked on doors to try to tell people about the Church.
We met Ina’s mother first, but as we talked outside the door with her in Russian, Ina poked her head out and stared at us with big blue eyes. She was amazed that we spoke her native language. When her mother explained how busy they were and said that she just didn’t have time to hear about Bog (God), we were disappointed. We really want to tell people about Heavenly Father, and no one had wanted to listen that day.
Then Ina gave us hope. As we left, she asked, “Did Bog send you here?”
I told her, “Yes,” and we smiled at each other.
Later, as my companion and I left another apartment down the block, discouraged because we had just finished a discussion with people who wouldn’t believe God existed, Ina came roller-skating by. “What are you still doing here?” she asked.
“We’re telling people about Bog.”
“Who’s Bog?”
I’d forgotten that she’d grown up in Russia and didn’t know anything about Him. “Bog is the Father of your spirit, and you are His daughter,” I told her.
“His daughter?”
“Yes.” My companion and I explained. “Tyee deetya Boga (You are a child of God). In fact, we all are children of Bog—everyone on earth is brothers and sisters.”
Ina giggled. “Then that means that my mom is my sister. That’s funny!”
“You’re right—she is your sister.” We continued, “And Bog loves all of us, just as your parents love you.”
“Where is Bog? How come I don’t see Him?”
“Bog is in nyeba (heaven), and you might not see Him, but He’s there, and you can talk to Him.”
“I can talk to Him?”
We explained to Ina about moleetva (prayer). We told her that she could really talk to Heavenly Father just like she talks to her mom and dad and that when she did, she would feel good inside.
“But how will I know that Bog listens to me?”
“How do you feel when you help your mom?” we asked.
“Well, … good. … Sort of warm.”
“That is how Bog tells you that what you are doing is good and that He is happy with you. You’ll have that same feeling when you pray.”
Ina wanted to know how we knew about Bog. We told her that we had prayed to know if He really existed and was our Father and that He had answered our prayers. We added that He spoke to men called prorokee (prophets) and that when they told us about Bog, we felt warm and good inside then, too.
“Someone has seen Bog?” Ina was excited.
“Yes, Ina, prorokee have seen Bog. They talk to Him and tell us what He says.”
“Why can’t I see Bog?”
“Do you know what?” we said. “You did see Him. You lived with Him before you came to earth, and you will see Him again when you die.”
Ina was really thinking hard. “I want to see Bog again!”
“Do you know how you can do that, Ina—how you can live with Him again? You can start now by being nice to everyone and doing kind things for them. You can also pray to Him and help your mom and dad pray to Him.”
“I’m going to!” she exclaimed. With determination in her stride, she skated down the street toward her home. Suddenly she stopped and called back, “Can I pray by the window?”
“Yes, you can pray anywhere, anytime,” we assured her.
“I’m going home to pray right now!”
We didn’t get in any more doors that day, but three days later, we ran into Ina again. When she saw us, she grabbed our hands and exclaimed, “It’s my seostra (sisters)!”
We asked if she had prayed, and she nodded. “How did you feel?” we asked.
“Warm!” she said. “Good!”
Sara, sometimes missionary work gets frustrating, and I begin to be discouraged. Then I think about Ina and about what the Savior said to the Nephites: “Ye must … become as a little child.”* Heavenly Father is real. He loves us, and He answers our prayers. I want you to know that I love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I know that They love me and that They love you, too. Thank you for praying for the missionaries. We need your prayers.
Please pray for Ina, too.

The Ninth Ward of the Las Vegas Nevada Stake planned a 5-day superactivity that would take place in their own valley. The focus of the activity was to learn more about the life and hardships of the early pioneers in their area.
The theme of the activity was “Handcarts to Husqvarnas,” representing old-fashioned and modern methods of travel in the valley. Handcarts were used by the early pioneers, and Husqvarnas, a type of motorcycle, are a popular vehicle with the members of the Ninth Ward.
The opening activity was a game night in which the group was divided into companies of ten each. Of the twelve games played, six were games that might have been played in pioneer days, and six were modern games. The companies finished the evening by decorating their handcarts for the Saturday trek.
Friday evening a modern formal dinner was served complete with musical entertainment. The evening was concluded with a film on the history of the Las Vegas area.
Early the next morning, the groups met at the chapel ready for a day of exploring the valley’s history. On the way to the desert, the caravan of trucks and cars stopped at designated spots to receive short 15-minute history lessons on the area. After arriving at the desert, the group mounted motorcycles or loaded into trucks for a three-mile ride to a predetermined destination. There they found the handcarts waiting for them. Loading up the carts, the youth began the trek that would cover the same three miles they had covered so quickly by modern means. They soon found it was hard work as the sun heated the desert. In rest areas planned along the way, the groups were encouraged to stop and appreciate nature or stop and bury bad habits.
After a pioneer luncheon cooked over an open fire, the group cleaned up the area and returned to the chapel to clean the trucks used on the outing.
On Sunday evening a special fireside was held with the featured speaker talking about looking to the past to help with the future.
The final day of the superactivity was held on the following Activity Night. Video movies had been taken of the various activities and were shown. A local historian talked about the places the youth had visited. The Las Vegas youth felt they really had learned more about their home area and had a greater appreciation for the sacrifices of the pioneers that settled their valley.

What could be better than spending a Saturday morning in the rain and mud, sorting garbage and stacking cement blocks? Youth in the Fredonia Branch, Jamestown New York Stake, can’t think of a thing. When rain started to fall the Saturday the youth were scheduled to do cleanup work at the Elm Flats Preserve, workers at the Chataqua Watershed Conservancy fully expected the group to cancel out on their service project.
But, as one of the leaders said, “Mormons don’t melt,” and the youth and their leaders went to work, cleaning junk, wood, and other debris from the area. They worked so hard and so fast that by lunchtime they were finished.
Their hair and their clothes may have been a little damp, but their spirits weren’t. They spent the afternoon hiking through the preserve and are looking forward to their next visit.

For this story you will need 5? x 6? (12.5 cm x 15 cm) piece of paper, pencil, scissors, and crayons or colored pencils. Fold the paper in half lengthwise and trace pattern onto it. As you read the story, cut as directed.
Fold Pattern
Every Friday was show-and-tell day at Mi Lee’s school. Mrs. Green, her teacher, had made show-and-tell time a game. If you had something to share, you were to bring it to school all covered up so that it would be a secret. Then, during show-and-tell time, you would give the other children clues about your surprise, and they would try to guess what it was. (Cut 1 to 2.)
Mi Lee watched while her classmates shared a doll with hair that grew, a rocket that zoomed toward the ceiling, a book with pages that folded out into a house, and a collection of tiny glass animals. But Mi Lee hadn’t yet taken anything to share. (Cut on dotted line, 2 to 3.)
Then one day Mi Lee received a package from her grandfather in Japan. (Cut 3 to 4.)
The next day Mi Lee carried a large paper bag to school (Cut 4 to 5.)
When Mrs. Green called on her, Mi Lee gave these clues:
“Sometimes it’s open; sometimes it’s closed.” (Cut 5 to 6.)
“When it’s open, it’s too big to go through a door, but I can carry it in one hand.” (Cut 6 to 7.)
“I can use it on hot, sunny days or I can use it on wet, rainy days. What is it?” (Cut 7 to 8.)
Unfold the paper and see what Mi Lee shared, then color it.

Two of our missionaries knocked on a door one day. It was opened by a man in his seventies. He said, “No, I don’t think I am interested, but let me ask my sister and my mother. They may want to talk to you.” He was in his seventies, his sister was in her eighties, and their mother was ninety-nine.

The missionaries taught them, and a baptismal date was set. Mother became so excited and happy that she ended up in the hospital. So another baptismal date was set. Now, this is the important thing. In the testimony meeting after Mother was baptized, she said, “I have been waiting eighty years for this. When I was twenty years old, the missionaries taught me, but they did not invite me to enter the waters of baptism. How happy I am for this day.” She had reached her one-hundredth birthday when she was baptized.

Ever since he was little, Jack had wanted a dog. Mom and Dad surprised him with a little tan puppy with big brown eyes and white paws. Jack named his new dog Skout, and soon they became great friends.
Jack worked very hard to take care of Skout and teach him how to be a good dog, but Skout was only a puppy and often made mistakes. One time he chewed up Grandpa’s umbrella, and another time he ate the pepperoni pizza and drank the pink soda at a family party.
Skout lived in the backyard behind a locked fence. Soon he learned how to dig a hole under the gate and crawl out onto the street. Every night Jack tried to patch up the spot where Skout escaped, and every night Skout found a new way to get out of the backyard.
One day Jack’s mother received a phone call. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds, this is Mr. Hoolihan, your neighbor. I’m calling because your dog has been getting into my yard every night. He has ruined my new flowers and destroyed my garden! If that dog comes in my yard again, I’m calling the dogcatcher to take that naughty dog to the pound.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. Hoolihan,” Jack’s mother said. “We’ll make sure that this does not happen again.”
“It better not, or you can say good-bye to that naughty dog!” Mr. Hoolihan yelled.
The whole family felt terrible. After dinner, Jack and his father gathered some large rocks and bricks and stacked them near the gate to make sure Skout could not dig a hole under it or push it open. Everyone was so worried about Skout that they hardly slept.
The next morning before school, Jack ran into the backyard to check on his dog. He was almost scared to look, but there was Skout happily wagging his tail behind the gate. Jack sighed with relief. “Hi, boy!”
But just as Jack was filling Skout’s food bowl, he noticed something—a large chewed-up shoe. Jack had seen this shoe somewhere before, but it was too big to be Dad’s. Then Jack remembered—every night after working in his garden, Mr. Hoolihan left his muddy shoes on his front porch. If this was Mr. Hoolihan’s shoe, Skout must have been out again last night.
Jack ran to the front yard and looked across to Mr. Hoolihan’s front porch. Sure enough, one shoe was missing. Only Jack knew where the matching shoe was.
Jack was worried. If he told the truth, Mr. Hoolihan would be angry and Skout would be sent away. Jack quickly hid the shoe behind a bush and went inside.
“I knew those rocks would work!” Dad said.
“I am so glad that Skout was a good dog last night,” Mom said.
Jack dragged his heavy feet upstairs into his room. He sat on his bed and thought about what to do. Jack knew that telling lies was bad, but this seemed different. Maybe Mr. Hoolihan would think that somebody else stole the shoe. Maybe no one would ask Jack about it, and then he wouldn’t exactly be lying.
He looked around his room for an idea of what to do. He saw his scriptures on his bookshelf, and he saw a photograph of his family on the dresser. He saw his Sunday clothes hanging in his closet, and he saw a picture of the Savior hanging on the wall. The song “I Am a Child of God”* came into his head and he began to hum the tune. Jack’s frown melted away. He knew what he had to do—he had to be honest.
Jack explained the truth to his parents, grabbed the shoe from behind the bush, and walked over to Mr. Hoolihan’s house. Jack nervously rang the doorbell. Mr. Hoolihan answered the door in his pajamas with an angry look on his face.
“Mr. Hoolihan, I am very sorry, but my dog, Skout, was out again last night. He chewed up your shoe and brought it into our yard.” Jack held up the mangled shoe. “I will work to pay for some new shoes for you.”
Mr. Hoolihan grabbed the shoe, mumbled something about calling the dogcatcher, and slammed the door. Jack walked home with a few tears in his eyes. He went to the backyard and gave Skout a hug.
After Jack went inside, the doorbell rang. Mr. Hoolihan stood on the porch, dressed and with a little bit of a smile on his face. “Jack, I’m glad that you came and told me the truth. I owe you an apology for reacting so rudely. You can wash my car every Saturday for one month to pay me back for the shoes. And to pay you back for my bad manners, I would like to help you fix your fence so Skout will be safe in your backyard.” Jack could hardly speak; all he could do was smile.

Shortly after his baptism, Brother Rivera was called as president of the Cuzco Branch. In this position, he was instrumental in blessing the lives of the members. He recalls one such instance: “A recently baptized member, Pablo Concha, was an engineer who was unemployed, and he decided to go to Lima to look for a job. Before he left, I said to him, ‘You will be in Lima fifteen days, no longer. When you return, not only will you have a job, you will have two jobs.’ When Brother Concha returned home fifteen days later, he had been named professor of geology at the university in Lima and president of the Office of Land and Mine Claims for the government.”
Brother Rivera credits the Lord with putting the words into his mouth. “The Lord prompts his members to say what he wants them to say.”

“It is related of Tamerlane (1336–1405) the honored warrior, the terror of whose arms spread through all the eastern nations, and who was victorious at almost every step, that he once learned from an insect a lesson of perseverance, which had a striking effect upon his future character and success.

“When closely pursued by his enemies—as a contemporary tells the story—he took refuge in some old ruins, where left to his solitary musings, he espied an ant tugging and striving to carry a single grain of corn. His unavailing efforts were repeated sixty-nine times, and at each time as soon as he reached a certain point of projection, he fell back with his burden, unable to surmount it; but the seventieth time he carried away the grain of corn, in triumph, and left the wondering hero reanimated and exulting in the hope of future victory.”