Gospel Story Finder

Lizzie used to think a lot of Primary songs were boring. She liked the ones about Jesus, but she felt too old for the playful ones. She’d usually slouch and mumble the words.
But not anymore. Now Lizzie sang all the songs as joyfully as she could. She sat up straight. She sang loudly. She had fun.
Because now, Abby was sitting next to her.
Earlier in the year, Lizzie and the other kids in her class had each been matched up with a new Sunbeam. It was their job to help their Sunbeam buddy feel more comfortable in Primary.
Abby was Lizzie’s Sunbeam buddy. They sat together in Primary. They sang together. Whenever they saw each other at church, they always waved or hugged.
Lizzie loved seeing Abby every Sunday. And she knew that Abby loved seeing her. Abby watched her a lot. When Lizzie sang loudly, so did Abby. When Lizzie folded her arms and sat reverently, so did Abby. It made Lizzie want to always be a good example.
Lizzie wanted Abby to love Primary. She wanted Abby to have fun and feel loved. They could learn about the gospel together!
Abby and Lizzie sat side by side, just like every Sunday. But today they were sitting on the stand in the chapel with the rest of their Primary. It was the Primary program.
Abby swung her legs and grinned up at Lizzie.
“It’s almost your turn,” Lizzie whispered. Each of the Primary children had a speaking part in their program. The older children, like Lizzie, read longer parts. The younger ones, like Abby, recited shorter ones. Lizzie had helped Abby learn her part.
“Just remember, be loud and clear for everyone to hear,” Lizzie said.
“You’re coming with me, right?” Abby said. She looked nervous.
“Of course!” Lizzie said. “I will be right next to you. You are going to do great.”
They stood and sang a song with the rest of the children. Lizzie remembered how she used to not like being in the Primary program. But with Abby, it was so much fun!
Next it was Abby’s turn to speak. Together, the two girls walked to the microphone. Lizzie helped Abby step onto a little stool. Abby froze. She looked scared.
Lizzie put her arm around Abby. She gave her shoulder a little squeeze and whispered, “In my prayers …”
Abby took a deep breath. “In my prayers, I tell Heavenly Father what I’m thankful for.” Her voice was confident and clear.
Abby smiled big, took Lizzie’s hand, and hopped off the stool. They sat down as other children stepped up to the microphone.
“You did so well, Abby!” Lizzie said.
“Was I loud and clear enough?” Abby asked.
“It was perfect!” Lizzie said. “I’ll bet they could hear you all the way in the back row!”
Abby wiggled happily and leaned against Lizzie. They listened as other children recited what they were grateful for.
“Hey, Lizzie?” Abby said. She pulled Lizzie down to whisper in her ear.
“I’m grateful for you!”
Lizzie smiled. “I’m grateful for you too!”

If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame or jealousy or disappointment or envy, from self-recrimination or self-justification, consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or who were otherwise afflicted. His was a life of service, both to the Church and to his community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and always looked forward to the missionary reunions. When he was older, he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions. That modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion, when the Spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his own. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things about his life I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community with a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He married his sweetheart, and presently everything was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick.
After many hours of labor, the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
John’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife. He had no way to tend both the baby and his work.
As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
He thought of little else, and in his bitterness, he became threatening. Today, no doubt, he would have been pressed by many others to file a malpractice suit. And there are lawyers who would see in his pitiable condition only one ingredient—money!
But that was another day, and one night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader.
This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from that wise servant was simply, “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial—his Gethsemane. How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed and somebody must pay for it. It was a clear case.
But he struggled in agony to get hold of himself. And finally, he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I understood! It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
Mandy is busy with her campaign for student council.
Matt promised to help. But he’s been spending a lot of time getting to know his cousin Max in Australia.
Hey, Matt.
Hey what?
You said you’d help with my posters. I could really use your help now.
I did promise.
Be right there!
How’s this?
That’s great. Hope you won’t mind hanging on the wall at school for two weeks.

My husband Kevin and I were baptized last May. Soon afterward he was called to the position of branch magazine representative. The New Era is a wonderful, uplifting, “good read.” The stories and addresses build our testimonies. Our first child is expected soon, and sometimes when I’m low or moody, I reach for the New Era and my sad heart or dampened spirit finds something inspiring to give it new courage.
Linda GrayFawley, Southampton, England

In June 2022, Swansea Ward member Jill Morgan attended the annual Welsh Festival in Malad, Idaho, to give a presentation on the history of the Church in 19th century Wales.
Malad was settled by Welsh converts in the 1860s, and there are still plenty of Jones, Davies, Williams and Evans living there. It’s small town of just 2,500 inhabitants. But they’re so proud of their Welsh heritage, that some 15 years ago, they reinstated the traditional Welsh festivals that the town had held up until the 1930s. These would originally have been an “Eisteddfod”, with competitions in song, dance, poetry and instrumental music. The modern counterpart in Malad still includes music, in the form of concerts which take place throughout the two days of the festival. These can be found both on an outdoor stage, and inside the lovely 1915 meeting house beside the park where the festival takes place.
But the competition is reserved for poetry, with the winning author seated on a specially carved Bardic chair as they would be in the traditional Welsh Eisteddfod. Sister Morgan’s presentation was based on the research which she and other Welsh Church history specialists had conducted into places of historic interest for the Church. These included former meetinghouses, such as the purpose-built chapels in Llanelli, Abergele and Monkton; places where baptisms took place such as at the Point of Ayr lighthouse on the Dee estuary; places where missionaries preached (and were often heckled or chased away); and places of special note such as Nantygwenith Street in Merthyr Tydfil where John Sylvanus Davis translated the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants into Welsh in the 1850s. Among the audience at the festival were descendants of those mentioned in the presentation—ordinary people whose lives were changed by the gospel and who accomplished great things, including the settlement of small towns across the American West where the restored gospel could be lived in peace.

Katy and her brother Christian set their bikes on the grass.
“Want to get ice cream at the store?” Christian asked.
“Yes!” Katy said. It was hot outside, and biking was hard work. Ice cream sounded perfect!
Katy ran inside. She found the little bag where she kept her money. When she opened it, she frowned. She didn’t have enough money for ice cream.
Then she glanced at the jar of money on her shelf. She kept her tithing money there to give to the bishop. There was enough money for ice cream in there!
Katy took some money from her tithing jar. Then she and Christian hurried to the store and picked the flavors they wanted. Katy felt a little guilty as she licked her chocolate ice-cream cone. But she hadn’t taken very much money. She could pay it back later.
A few weeks later, Katy went to get ice cream again. She still didn’t have enough money, so she took a little more from her tithing jar. I’ll pay this back too, she told herself.
Katy kept taking money from her tithing jar. She always promised to pay it back. But it got hard to remember how much she had taken. And she didn’t have enough money to replace it.
Soon it was time for her family’s tithing interview. They would meet with Bishop Leavitt. He would ask each of them if they had paid a full tithing on all the money they earned that year.
That Sunday, Katy put the rest of her tithing money in an envelope and gave it to the bishop. But she knew it wasn’t enough. Her stomach felt sick.
Later, Katy’s family sat together in Bishop Leavitt’s office.
“Are you a full-tithe payer?” Bishop Leavitt asked Christian.
“Yes!” Christian said.
Katy shifted in her chair. Would it be OK to tell him that she was a full-tithe payer too? She hadn’t paid all her tithing yet, but she was going to!
“Are you a full-tithe payer?” Bishop Leavitt asked Katy.
Katy looked down. It would be wrong to lie.
“No,” she said quietly. “I used some of my tithing money to buy ice cream.”
“I know Heavenly Father is grateful for the tithing you did pay. And when we make a wrong choice, we can repent and try to do better.” Bishop Leavitt smiled at Katy. “I know you will try to pay all your tithing in the future.”
Katy nodded. She wanted to be a full-tithe payer!
The next time she earned some money, Katy put 10 percent in her tithing jar. Then she put in a little more. Is this enough to replace what I took? she wondered. She added even more, just in case.
But she still felt guilty. Maybe she could pay even more tithing until she felt she had replaced it all. She put her head in her hands.
Mom came into the room. “What’s wrong?”
Katy sighed. “I don’t know how much tithing I need to pay to make up for what I spent.”
Mom gave Katy a hug. “I’m glad you want to fix your mistake,” she said. “But sometimes we just need to start where we are and try again. Heavenly Father will forgive us when we do our best to repent.”
Was that true? Even for her tithing mistake?
When Mom left, Katy prayed. “Heavenly Father, I’m sorry that I didn’t pay all my tithing. I want to pay it back, but I don’t know how much I owe. Will You forgive me and let me start over and try again?”
Katy felt peaceful. It felt good to ask for forgiveness. She knew that Heavenly Father would help her do better from then on!
Illustration by Matt Smith

It was about that time Bob began talking again about going on his mission. We hadn’t mentioned it much, but then one day he said, “Well, I guess when we get home I’ll start getting ready for my mission.” From then on, he talked about a mission more and more. One night, about 1:00 A.M., after a long, hard day, he rolled over in his sleeping bag and said, “Dad, tell me about eternal life.” We talked for about two hours. Then, with his last effort, he said, “That’s for me,” and fell asleep. For me that made the whole trip worthwhile.
We slowly made up time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had run every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we portaged around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.

Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shares a great lesson he learned when he and his wife went to visit his ailing father-in-law. As they arrived, they found the bishop leaving his father-in-law’s home. Elder Rasband discovered that his father-in-law had invited the bishop over because he wanted a temple recommend interview, because, in his own words, “l want to go recommended to the Lord”.3

And, says Elder Rasband, he did.

Elder Wilcox’s interest in art led him into the field of architecture. “Art must have been born in me,” he said. “My mother told me that even before I could walk or talk, I drew a picture of a house on her wallpaper. She was so proud of it that she didn’t wash it off.

On a cold morning a few weeks ago, I jogged along the Tagus River in Lisbon, Portugal. I came to a monument dedicated to the Portuguese explorers from centuries past. I stopped as the sun rose and splashed its warm light on the imposing monument and on me. I was inspired as I looked at the determined faces of the explorers gazing out over the water. These were men who were willing to do things that very few had done. They left a familiar and comfortable world and courageously went out into the unknown ocean and discovered new lands. They changed the world.

I see you when I think of that monument of courageous explorers. I see you on a personal journey that few in the world today choose to pursue. I see you fulfilling your duty to God.

The Medford Oregon Temple is special to me because I was sealed to my parents after being in foster care and then being adopted by them. I was also able to attend the temple when my little brother was sealed to our parents. I want to go back to the temple again and again and again!
Thomas M., age 8, Oregon, USA

The opportunity to visit a temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a seemingly impossible, yet cherished dream for those who live an ocean away. A group of people from the small Vanuatu island of Tanna were grateful to have recently made the trip to Suva Fiji to worship in the temple there.
The people of Tanna have endured much hardship in recent years as cyclones have destroyed many homes and crops. This temple trip was a bright spot and an inspiration as they continue the labour of building back their lives.
For one member of the group, Rex Morgan Ialulu, worshipping in the house of the Lord was an unforgettable experience. He said, “We were overjoyed to feel the love of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ in the temple. I know God lives, He loves His children and has a plan for them to return to Him. The temple is the House of the Lord.”

Photograph posed by model
I grew up in an unstable environment. My biological parents abused and neglected me, and I experienced a lot of difficult challenges. I battled with anxiety, body-image issues, anorexia, and situational depression that held me prisoner for years.
My biological parents had been sealed in the temple, but soon after I got baptized at eight, they started drifting away from the Church. And the further they drifted away from their covenants, the worse our situation became.
At 14, I was the caregiver to my autistic brother and my mother. I was lost and out of control. I hated myself and my situation and believed my life would never change.
But then a miracle happened. My biological mother realized she couldn’t take care of me and called her brother in Singapore to ask if he would adopt me. With packed bags and teary eyes, I boarded a plane to begin a new life—one free from abuse. But adjusting to my adopted family and a new culture was difficult, and I struggled to move forward.
My adoptive parents did everything they could to help me. I saw therapists and doctors. I also started going to church again, but learning about a Heavenly Father who loves me and has a purpose for me was hard, because I didn’t believe it after all I had endured.
I wasn’t happy. I didn’t know how to heal from the past and still felt hopeless about the future.
One day, I was pondering about how short mortality is. I didn’t want to spend my life unhappily. I needed to learn from my trials, apply the gospel principles I had been taught, and invite Christ into my life.
I took a leap of faith and started kneeling and asking Heavenly Father every day for the power to forgive my biological parents, to change my fear into faith, to find healing and happiness, and to recognize love in my life. I went to institute and began studying scriptures and applying gospel truths in my life.
I truly sought the healing power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. And over time, my life started to change. As I was patient, received therapeutic and medicinal treatment, and filled my life with the Spirit each day, I began to heal: I felt less withdrawn and more like myself. I felt safe. I served others. I loved, forgave, and accepted myself. I built healthy, loving relationships. I began to feel Heavenly Father’s love for me. And for the first time in my life, I felt true joy.
I can’t change my past, but as Doctrine and Covenants 122:7 says, “All these things shall give [me] experience, and shall be for [my] good.” I know now that the Savior sustained me through my struggles. Despite them, I have grown so much because of my desire to change and because I continue to turn to Him.
If you are in a difficult family situation, know that you have a Father in Heaven who knows you and loves you and will open the doors to a bright future. Before being adopted, I told myself that my circumstances would never change, and that I would never get married or have children because I was afraid they would suffer as I did. But I’ve learned that no matter what struggles we have experienced in our families, as we seek Christ, we can build our future homes and eternal families with hope, gospel truths, and love.
As Elder Clark G. Gilbert of the Seventy taught: “We all … start in different places with different life endowments. Some are born with high intercepts, full of opportunity. Others face … circumstances that are challenging. … We then progress along a slope of personal progress. Our future will be determined far less by our starting point and much more by our slope. Jesus Christ sees divine potential no matter where we start. … He will do everything He can to help us turn our slopes toward heaven.”1
Whatever your circumstances, there is hope and healing found in Jesus Christ! He is with you, and He will guide you to peace and joy as you seek Him—always.

My sister and I felt an emptiness because we had no idea who our Laurunen forebears were. All we knew is that they had come from Finland to America in 1901. So in August 2004, my sister Janice and cousin Sandy joined my husband, Charlie, and me on a trip to discover our ancestors.

In the process of researching for our trip, Sandy discovered a two-page report on the Laurunen Homestead, built in 1605. The earliest mention of our family was in 1569 in the town of Kauhajoki.

Once in Finland, we rented a car and left early the next morning for the long drive to Kauhajoki. We had a hard time finding it and were about to give up when Charlie caught sight of a small airport. We drove there to ask for help. Sandy showed a young man our report, and he kindly offered to take us to the town library. I am sure we would never have found Kauhajoki by ourselves since it is well hidden down a forested highway. It seemed the Lord was leading us in our journey.

At the library a young woman gave us a map, circling the Lutheran church and cemetery. We found the church easily. After two hours of research, with the help of the pastor and several clerks, one of them called our Laurunen relatives and told them they had visitors from America. They came immediately with family genealogies dating back to the year 1550.

With the church bookkeeper as our interpreter, we walked through the beautifully manicured cemetery. Sandy stood at her grandfather’s grave for the first time. Later, she saw a picture of him and held his violin. We were all deeply touched as the void we had felt before was being filled.

Then our Finnish cousins drove us to the family homestead, which was pictured on our two-page report. They told us that our family had owned as much land as the eye could see. The house on the family homestead was enormous and had housed Laurunen families as far back as 1550. When the Russian military came into Kauhajoki, they used the homestead for military headquarters. They burned down the church and all other homes in the area. Everyone, including our family, fled to the woods for safety. After the Russians left, our grandfather led the building of the new church that we had seen earlier. Eventually the land around the homestead was divided and sold.

In 2005 Janice, Sandy, and I returned to Kauhajoki for another visit with our newly found cousins and more research. In 2006 we had our first Laurunen family reunion in America, and 15 of our Finnish cousins joined us. Eighty-nine family members celebrated the lives of our grandparents.

What a joy it has been to discover such a rich, fascinating family history and know more about who I am and where I came from. Family history is the work of the Lord.

Some years ago, following a stake conference, I felt impressed to pay a visit to a priesthood brother who had fallen away from the Church. We found him working in his garden. I approached him and said, “Dear brother, the Lord Jesus Christ has sent me to see you. I am Elder Hammond, one of His servants.”
We exchanged a Latin abrazo and entered into his lovely little home. He called for his wife and three children to join us. Two handsome young men and a beautiful girl sat beside their father and mother. I asked the children what they would like, more than anything else in the world, right now. The oldest son spoke: “If only all of us could go back to church as a family, we would be so happy—so grateful.” We told them how much they were needed by the Savior and how He loved them. We bore our testimonies to them and then knelt in prayer. The father prayed. The mother wept. They are now back in full fellowship. The children are proud of their father, and they are happy.

The shrieks of delight told me the party had started. Needing a break from studying my Gospel Doctrine lesson for the next day, I went to the living room and looked in. There they were, most of my daughter’s track team, eager to celebrate “taking state.” They had just come from the meet, and some were still dressed in their uniforms.
The ten o’clock news announced the sports, and every eye was turned toward the TV. Yes, there was the announcement that they were now number one. What a pleasure to see our school’s name flash across the screen!
After the news, the coach brought out his part of the evening’s entertainment, a video of the track meet. I watched for a few minutes and then went back to my studies. I could hear the enthusiasm of the team members as they watched the video of the meet. “Look at her go! Run! Run!” “Why did you drop the baton?” “She catches it! Go. go!” “Turn it back, and let’s see that again.” “Wow! You really do know how to pour it on.” “She wins!” “Boy, that looks terrific on color TV.”
I closed my bedroom door, so I’d be able to concentrate. Some time later I suddenly noticed how quiet the house had become. Again I went to the living room and looked in. The track meet video was over, and two of my daughter’s teammates were adjusting another video, this time a movie.
I had picked up my studies once again when Kate burst into my room and closed the door behind her. Her quick, agitated movements told me that something was not right.
“Hello, Kate. How’s the party going? It sounds like fun.”
“Okay, I guess. I’m not at the party anymore.” An apologetic sadness came over her face as she looked away.
“So tell me why you’re not at the party anymore. It is rather late and quiet. Have they gone home?”
“They’re still here. The party’s no good anymore. I’m going to my room to study.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“What happened? You’re the hostess. This is your party. Why are you going to study now?”
“Mother, I can’t stay in there. They’re showing a video movie rated R. How can I stay there? I have never seen an R-rated movie and never want to. How can I stay there?” she demanded.
Whatever answer I gave I would be responsible for. While her father was out of town I was the head of the family, and I needed help. Should I ask them all to leave? Or should I tolerate this movie in our home? Either way, what would be the implications for my Kate? What should I do?
Stalling for time, I began to question her. “Are you sure that it’s R rated?”
“They told me it is.”
“Do they know that you left? Did you tell them you would not stay and watch?
“Yes, I told them. They didn’t seem to care. No one even asked me to stay or tried to talk me into staying.” More tears welled up. “What shall we do? What do you think Dad would do?”
I agreed that it was a good and heavy question. I said a silent prayer.
“They already know I’m not staying to watch. I’ll just study, and when they’re through they can take their old movie and go home.” Kate seemed decisive.
Voices came from the living room. “‘Bye, Julie. See you Monday.” Kate went to tell her best friend good-bye. I followed her, thinking I should tell them to leave and wishing her father were home.
Then someone began playing the piano. A few voices took up the melody, and then more voices joined in. From the door Julie saw the coach disconnecting the video machine, and she and Kate walked back into the living room.
We sang and told stories and laughed. The track party was a success.
I later asked why Julie had started for home. Kate replied, “Julie said that when I wouldn’t watch the R-rated movie, she decided that she wouldn’t watch it either. She said that when I had the courage to leave, she also found the courage to leave. That’s what made them change their minds about watching the R-rated video. I guess that this was a time when just one person could influence the crowd for good. And, Mother,” Kate cried jubilantly, “I was the one—and I did!”

When I was about six years old, my grandfather made a life-changing decision for me. He had previously taken me to a shrine, where he served as a fetish priest. As a child, I was drawn by the food offered there. However, one Sunday morning my grandfather forbade me from returning. With a powerful testimony, he declared, “There is no power under heaven or earth that supersedes the power of God, the Creator of all things. His Son, Jesus Christ, is the only Savior of the world. Satan has nothing to offer. Follow Jesus Christ. Pray to God through His Son, who will answer in His way.”
That testimony ignited a desire within me to seek God earnestly. I was in a situation like that of the Prophet Joseph Smith, whom the Savior told, “I was answered that I must join none of them, for they were all wrong” (Joseph Smith—History 1:19). I learned that God reveals Himself to those who seek Him sincerely. The power of testimony can transform lives, opening our eyes to the reality of God’s love and His plan for us.

I have found happiness in doing as the prophets ask, so when President Ezra Taft Benson urged us to read the scriptures every day, I wanted to do so.
But I began making up excuses. I decided that I had too much homework to begin my scripture study that day. I did this for weeks, even months, while my conscience continued to bother me.
One night while I was frustrated over my math homework, I knelt in prayer to ask for strength. When I looked up, the first thing I saw was the Book of Mormon sitting on my dresser. I picked it up and began to read, not really knowing why since I had a lot of math left to do. I finished a chapter in 1 Nephi, then went back to my treacherous math problem. I found I could solve it.
I made a decision to be obedient. I would read the Book of Mormon each night. Then I would see if taking the time to study the scriptures had any effect on my grades. After several weeks, I found that this habit of reading every night, even though it took some time, helped me achieve more academically. I still had to do the work, but the reading gave me an extra push. It motivated me in ways that nothing else could. I was able to understand what I studied, and I had the patience to stick with my work. Not only did my grades improve, but I was easier to get along with and happier than I had ever been.

After Dad was taken away, Mom took care of Grace, her two brothers, and two of their cousins. There were many mouths to feed and not enough food to go around. Their family only got a small amount of flour, vegetables, and potatoes.
One day the doorbell rang. Grace followed Mom to see who it was. When Mom opened the door, there on the doorstep stood a young Nazi officer. Grace’s heart started beating faster, and she held her breath. What did he want?
“How many people live in this house?” he asked gruffly.
“It’s myself, my three children, and my two nephews,” said Mom.
“You have no husband here?” the officer asked.
“No,” Mom answered. “He was taken away.”
The officer looked around the house. “Do you have a radio? We don’t want you listening to programs from our enemies in England and America.”
Mom got the radio and gave it to the officer.
“This is a big house,” he said, glancing around again. “Too big for just the few people who live here. You will have to leave by tomorrow. We are going to take over this house.” He turned sharply and marched away.
Grace couldn’t believe what she had heard. She watched Mom’s eyes widen in shock. Then Mom closed the door and went straight to the back of the house.
Grace followed slowly behind, her heart racing. Could the soldier really come back and take their house, just like he’d taken their radio? What would they do? Where would they go? How would Dad know where to find them again?
Grace stopped outside Mom’s door and peeked inside. Mom was on her knees, praying. Grace quietly went back to the sitting room until Mom came back.
“Oh, Mom, what will we do?” Grace asked.
Mom sighed. “All we can do is pray and trust in the Lord that He will protect us.”
The young Nazi officer didn’t come back the next day or the next. He never came back! Grace and her family were able to keep their house.
Grace knew that God was helping her family. Even though the war was not over, He was still watching over them.
To be continued …

Chaplain Brent Jones served as an army chaplain at Ft. Carson, Colorado, in January 2004. He remembers having the responsibility to provide support and comfort to the family of a soldier who had been killed in action. Because the soldier’s unit remained in Iraq to fight, Chaplain Jones was flown to California to honor the dead, which is one of the vital missions of a chaplain.
Chaplain Jones did not know the family or the soldier and was not asked to participate in the soldier’s viewing, funeral, or graveside service. A ministry of presence would have to suffice. However, “on the morning of the funeral,” he says, “I felt the impression that the Lord wanted me to offer a special prayer at the graveside service that would indeed be a blessing to this killed-in-action soldier and his family. But how could I do this when I was not on the program, and I certainly didn’t want to offend anyone?
“After the funeral, as I was walking toward the grave, his religious leader caught sight of me. We had a brief conversation, and it was determined that near the end of the graveside service, when he looked in my direction, I could step forward and offer a prayer. That’s just what I did: I was given the opportunity to offer that special prayer that the Spirit had told me about earlier that morning. I was extremely grateful that the Lord had prepared a way for me to bring honor and comfort to a grieving family.”