Gospel Story Finder

During my high school years my relationship with my parents was not always smooth sailing. In particular, I felt that I should be given more independence. Why should I have to tell my parents everything I was doing and everywhere I was going? And why did I have a set time to be home at night and then have to check in when I got home? I had a difficult time understanding them when they said I’d have more freedom if I was more obedient to the rules. With all those rules, I wouldn’t be free; I’d be a slave.
At the beginning of my senior year in high school, I figured out a plan. I would prove that obedience would not bring more freedom. I would become the ideal child. If Dad said, “Be home by 10:30,” I would come in by 10:15. If Mom asked, “Will you please take out the garbage?” I would already have done it. I would do everything they asked of me and more. Then, after graduation, I would confront them with the facts: “I have been totally obedient this year. Do I have more freedom? Have I become independent because I have demonstrated my responsibility? No! But now I declare my independence! Good-bye.” I smiled as I thought about it. The plan was a good one.
Although my motives were far from pure, my actions brought a positive change in our home. We rarely had any disagreements, and my relationship with my parents improved. Occasionally I would remind myself of why I was doing this. I would think, “Sure, things are going great. Why shouldn’t they be? You are their slave.” For the most part, however, I just enjoyed the year and the harmony within our home.
On a Wednesday evening around the first of April, my friend stopped to say that he couldn’t give me a ride to school in the morning.
Dreading the thought of having to take the bus I asked, “Why can’t you give me a ride?”
“My brother and his family are moving to a town just outside of Las Vegas, and I am going to drive a truck filled with their stuff to their new home.” Then he added, “When I finish helping them move in, my brother said he will let me take his car and drive into Las Vegas.”
Then an idea popped into his mind. “Come with me. We’ll only be gone for a couple of days,” he said.
“A couple of school days,” I reminded him. “There’s no way that my parents will let me go to Las Vegas.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Let me know in the morning. It will be a blast if you can go.”
When I got home, everyone had gone to bed. I turned off the clock light over the stove. My mom always left it on so that the last person home would turn it off, and she could simply look at the clock in the kitchen and know that everyone was safely home. Turning off the light was in addition to checking in. It always amazed me that I could report in, have a brief conversation with my parents, and they would still have to get up in the night to see if I was home. I remember them often saying in the morning, “We didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“I talked to you when I got home!”
“Did you? I don’t remember.”
On this particular night, I stood at the door of their bedroom and went through the ritual. “I’m home,” I said softly.
A sleepy okay came from Mom.
But this night I added, “Can I go to Las Vegas in the morning with Boyd?”
My mom again, “Okay.”
And that was it. I had permission! As I began to step quietly from the room, my Dad’s voice came out of the dark, “Rich?”
“Yeah,” I replied, knowing it was over.
“There’s a $20 bill on my dresser. Take it.”
“Okay.”
I picked up the $20 and made my way down the stairs to my bedroom in the basement. What’s going on? I wondered. And then I began to get angry. They were asleep and didn’t hear me. They weren’t going to let me go to Las Vegas. Tomorrow morning was a good time to throw my lack of freedom in their faces.
In the morning I wasn’t as angry, but I was apprehensive about the forthcoming confrontation. I came upstairs and walked quietly into the kitchen. My mom was cooking breakfast.
“What time are you leaving today?” she asked.
She didn’t seem upset. Maybe she was going to let Dad lower the boom. “I’ve got to call Boyd to find out for sure, but I think we’ll be leaving at about 10:00.”
“How long are you going to be gone?”
“Just two days.”
“Two days?” my dad said, coming out of the bedroom.
Here we go, I thought.
“Then you might need more money,” he said as he handed me another $20.
I was stunned.
My dad must have noticed my surprise. “You do know why we’re letting you go, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
He continued, “You’ve shown to us this past year that you are responsible and that you can be trusted. Here’s some of the freedom you wanted. We’re letting you go because we trust you, and we know you won’t do anything foolish you or we would be ashamed of.”
I went to Las Vegas with Boyd. We had fun, and we didn’t do anything that would bring shame to us, our parents, or our Father in Heaven. I was never able to confront my parents with my lack of freedom.

Tonight I would like to talk to him and tell him some things he may not know about the priesthood he holds. I’d also like to visit with his friends—the members of his deacons quorum—and, in fact, with all of the young men—the deacons, teachers, and priests—throughout the Church. I’d like to visit with you about this very special Aaronic Priesthood authority you now have.
I recognize that to some of you this special authority may not mean so much right now. Others of you may really be excited about it, but you may not know why you feel as you do. And some few of you may not yet have qualified yourselves to receive it.
Now, to my grandson for a moment: Darren, I remember a few weeks ago when we visited your ward sacrament meeting in Arizona. I was seated on the stand and you were assigned to pass the sacrament to those seated there. You passed the bread and the water to me in remembrance of the Savior. In your office as an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, you actually helped me rededicate my life to keeping the commandments of God. Even though I am your grandfather and a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, you used your authority to help me renew my covenants. I was thrilled with that experience we shared together. As I saw the reserved smile on your face I sort of thought you had figured it to be pretty neat too. Did you know that I’ve passed the sacrament during sacred times to the Presidency of the Church, as well as to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the other General Authorities? Isn’t it terrific that you and I use this same priesthood authority to help each other make these covenants with the Lord?
Sacrament time is a very special time, and you are now an important part of it. You are different now than you used to be. The Lord has said he is going to share with you some of his power and authority to help others through life. He is going to let you do some sacred things now that you couldn’t do before. Let me tell you some more of them.
If you live worthy of it, as a teacher you will be able to go into the homes of some of the members of your ward with the responsibility to help them understand some of the gospel teachings. You don’t need to be afraid; you’ll be surprised and thrilled when you feel the inspiration to say certain things to your families. One of our home teachers is an Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He comes every month. Three weeks ago he prayed with us and left a blessing on our home. We all felt good.

World War II had just ended, and most people in Germany had very little food or money. My birthday was coming up just a few weeks before Christmas. I did not expect to receive any Christmas or birthday presents, knowing quite well—even as a young girl—that our parents were struggling to meet our basic needs. In our big city, hunger was always present. It was a sad and dark time.
On the day of my birthday, to my surprise and delight, a wonderful present—just for me—was placed on the kitchen table. It was the most beautiful present I could have imagined: a tiny little Weihnachtsbaum, a Christmas tree, just one foot (30 cm) tall, covered with delicate handmade ornaments of tinfoil. The tinfoil reflected the light of our living room in an enchanting way. As I inspected the tinfoil ornaments, I realized with amazement that they were filled with small pieces of caramelized sugar. It was like a miracle. Where did my mother get the tiny evergreen tree, the tinfoil, and the rarity of sugar?
To this day, I do not know how she made this miracle happen at a time when none of those precious things was available. It remains in my heart as a symbol of my parents’ deep love for me, as a symbol of hope, love, and the true meaning of Christmas.
During the Christmas season, we still have in our home a Christmas tree, now decorated with electrical lights and ornaments of every variety. When we are together with our children and grandchildren, the beauty of the tree and the sparkling lights warm my heart and bring back sweet memories of a happy family moment that came from a tiny tree with shiny tinfoil ornaments.

After World War II on a cold night in a train station in southern Japan, I heard a tap on the train window. There stood a boy wearing the same ragged shirt, a rag tied about a swollen jaw, his head covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out. I will never forget that hungry little boy standing in the cold, holding up his empty tin can.
Now in my 78th year, I understand what President Kimball was seeing; I know what he meant. That boy in Cuzco and the one in Japan and the other children about the world profoundly influence what I think and how I feel and what I pray for most earnestly. I constantly think of little children and their parents who struggle to raise them in ever more perilous times.

“When I was nine, my family moved to Phoenix, Arizona,” Elder Gibbons continued. “Even as a young boy I had wanted to be a court reporter. So at the age of seventeen I studied shorthand and qualified to become one. Soon after that I lost my desire to be a court reporter. However, I used the skills that I learned, both in school and in my work as an attorney.
“In 1970 Joseph Anderson, secretary to the First Presidency, was sustained as a General Authority. I was Joseph’s bishop, and he told my wife, Helen, and me of the difficulty the Brethren were having trying to get someone to replace him. They needed someone who had had administrative experience in the Church, someone who could work well with the General Authorities and who could take rapid shorthand because they don’t use recording devices in the First Presidency meetings or in the temple.
“When we got home that night, my wife said, ‘Frank, I could hardly restrain myself from telling Joseph that the man the Brethren are looking for is you.’ We prayed about it. I called Joseph the next morning and said, ‘Can I see you?’ He said, ‘Yes, why don’t you come in at ten o’clock.’ Joseph told me later that he hung up the phone, turned to his wife, Norma, and said, ‘Frank Gibbons is going to come in and offer his services to the Brethren.’ Norma said, ‘You’re mistaken. Frank wouldn’t give up his legal practice for that.’ And he said, ‘Well, we’ll see.’
“I saw Brother Anderson at the appointed time and told him ‘I just wanted you to know, Joseph, that if the Brethren have need of my services, I’m available.’
“He called me the next day and said, ‘The Brethren would like to see you in the morning.’ So I went in that Thursday morning, and the Brethren asked me how long it would take me to free myself from my law practice. I said that it would take several months. Then President Tanner asked, ‘How can you afford to do it?’ President Lee spoke up and said, ‘Frank has come to the point in life where he knows that he can’t afford not to do it.’
“When I was a teenager, the thought of learning shorthand in order to work for the First Presidency never occurred to me. But I had a strong desire to learn shorthand, and I acted on it. Likewise, you children ought to dream, have ambitions, and set goals. It doesn’t make any difference if over the years those goals change. The fact that you’re striving to attain a goal means that you’re developing skills. And you can never tell how those skills will be used in the years ahead.”

J. R. Beeman and his little brothers always look like a school of sharks when they come at you on their bikes. They charge at whoever is around, and they back you into a corner if they can.
Todd and Aaron and I were shooting hoops late last Tuesday afternoon when they showed up and bumped their bikes onto the gravelly asphalt of the school yard. They kept rearing up their front wheels, making the dust go all over the place.
“I’m not afraid of those guys,” Todd muttered, looking quickly over his shoulder. I knew he was checking to see if any of the men at the gas station on Ohio Street were around, just in case.
Aaron didn’t say anything, but he got even quieter than usual. He had the ball and began bouncing it slowly and evenly. As the bikes raced closer, I saw him swallow—just one long swallow.
Then we all three automatically moved farther into the middle of the basketball court, away from the chain-link fence behind the hoop. Nobody wanted to be backed up against a fence by J.R.
“Hello, infants,” J. R. yelled, chewing open-mouthed on what looked like a whole pack of greenish-colored gum. His two little brothers laughed real loud at J.R.’s big, hilarious joke.
“Infants!” Tommy, the one in second grade, echoed.
Of course, there really wasn’t anything funny about it, since J. R. is ten-going-on-eleven, just like Todd and Aaron and me. I guess because his mom’s been sick for so long and he has to take care of his brothers and the house and everything while his dad’s away, he seems to think that being mean to everybody makes his brothers look up to him.
With his brothers following him, J. R. veered left and began making circles around us. Just like sharks, they kept circling us tighter, tighter. J. R. spit a mouthful of gum juice onto the court.
Right then Brother and Sister Damore and their four little kids walked by on the way to the park. They were singing silly songs and giggling and carrying a blanket and a big picnic basket. J. R. turned so fast and stared so hard at them that he nearly lost control of his bike. He stopped chewing, and his face got kind of … ordinary … even kind of sad.
His brothers looked where he was looking. “Do we get to eat dinner tonight?” his littlest brother asked in a kind of puny-sounding voice.
“Hey, I’ll take care of it, like I always do!” J. R. barked at him. He jumped up on the bike’s pegs to make his front tire rear, then came down hard on its left pedal and nosed his bike to the right, toward his own neighborhood.
I could almost feel Todd go limp with relief.
“See you, infants!” J. R. called back to us.
His little brothers followed like pets, pumping hard to keep up. Todd, Aaron, and I headed home.
“Hi, sweetie. How did your game go?” Mom asked when I dragged into our kitchen. “There’s juice, an apple, and some cheese in the fridge, but don’t spoil your supper.”
I opened the refrigerator door and hung there, looking things over, checking out the fruit. “What’re we having?”
“Fried chicken.” She turned to smile at me. “I bought extra legs.”
“Is that hard to cook?” I asked. “I mean, could a kid cook it for his family?”
I noticed then that she was dunking pieces of chicken into a big bowl of buttermilk and then into flour. Her hands had globs of wet flour sticking to them. She pushed her bangs back with her arm and gave me one of her smile-frowns, shaking her head. “What questions you come up with, Josh! Chicken? Depends on the kid, I guess. Older ones, maybe. Chicken’s pretty hard. As you can see, it’s messy, and the grease can splatter.”
“And burn you?”
She nodded. “It’s possible. Too big a chance to take.”
I shuffled things around in the meat bin. “Why? I mean, why wouldn’t you want to take the chance?”
She took the flour bowl over to the sink and turned the water on with her arm. A pan on the stove was making a popping sort of sound, and another pan was beginning to send steam spurting into the air. She washed the gunk off her hands, hastily dried them on the towel she had stuck into her jeans pocket, then hustled toward me.
I braced myself, but she didn’t sneak a hug. She just put her damp hands on my shoulders and maneuvered me out of the refrigerator, handing me a pear and shutting the door of the fridge. “Josh, I kind of need my concentration while I get this going. And you should get a little homework started—OK?”
We didn’t play basketball after school the next day, or the next. Our science projects for Mr. Fosnow were almost due, and I spent my time organizing the fossil collection I was putting together. On that second gameless afternoon, Thursday, I walked to Quigley’s Store to get some more rubber cement for my project. You go right past the school on the way. I heard the thunk of a basketball for half a block before I actually saw J. R. shooting really hopeless-looking shots at the basket in the school yard. He was by himself. Who would play with him?
He didn’t see me. I quickly turned to hurry back the way I’d come. I didn’t need the rubber cement that badly—I could use some of my little sister’s paste.
Then I heard laughter coming from the park. It was the Damores again. I turned back and watched J. R. He was listening, too, holding that ball perfectly still at chest level. When they started singing “We Are a Happy Family,” he suddenly jerked into motion and violently threw the ball more at the basket than toward it. It missed by so much that it even cleared the fence and rolled into the street.
J. R. kicked the loose gravel of the court. He whirled around under the net there by himself, kicking and hitting the tops of his own legs with his fists, and whisper-yelling something over and over while sweat ran down his neck and his face got red.
Meanwhile, the ball rolled clear across Ohio Street and jumped the curb. It rolled, slightly bouncing, toward me.
I went over and got it. When I straightened up, J. R. was looking directly at me, open-mouthed. My heart lurched like a fish inside my chest. I meant to throw the ball back to him, then run home. But I didn’t.
Instead I dribbled it across the street, around the fence, and onto the court. I could have shot an easy basket. But I bounced it to J.R., instead, threw up my arms, and jumped around like guarding in a real game.
For maybe half a second he looked confused, but I was right on him, so he ran, dribbling, then took a shot himself. He missed, but not by too much. With practice, he would get it.
I lunged to get possession of the ball. Above me, the orange hoop made a circle in the sky.

Zoe and Michael are a couple with two young children. Before the fires, they were living in a small town in the Bega Valley called Cobargo. They had purchased a remote rural property complete with house and an orchard and were about to move in when the fires destroyed both their rural property and their house in Cobargo. Since the fires they have been living rough, camping in a borrowed caravan on the rural property. They received a water tank, a shed (donated by another group) and a bathroom pod built into the shed and connected to the water tank (which will be added to their house when it is rebuilt).
Even though the location of the shed and tank is quite a distance from their current camp, they are very appreciative as they can now bathe their children properly—one of whom had been regularly ill, and one who’d had a broken leg. They say that the newly donated infrastructure has helped to reduce their anxiety levels.
Mark and Denise noted, “During the inspection weekend, we were shown properties, such as Zoe and Michael’s, which had not only received one of our tanks, but the households had also received a bathroom pod and shed donated by another organisation that were willing to provide the pods because we had provided the tanks.”

My birthday party is next week! I hope you can come.
My mom said I could only invite five friends. Sorry.
Hi, Becky! How was—
Sweetie, what’s wrong?
Kristie’s having a party, but I’m not invited.
I feel so left out.
That’s really hard. I’m sorry your feelings are hurt.
It’s not fair!
Maybe there’s a reason we don’t know about.
Dear Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Kristie for not inviting me.
The next day …
Hi, Kristie.
Hi, Becky. Sorry I couldn’t invite you to my party.
It’s OK. Do you want to jump rope with me?
A few months later …
Time to plan your birthday party! Who are you going to invite?
Kate and Jenny and Latisha. And …
Kristie didn’t invite me to her party. But she’s still my friend.
Do you want to come to my party, Kristie?
Yes! Thank you for inviting me!

The family finally arrived at the refugee camp in Batdambang, but because it was located in Cambodia, Brother Thach requested that they be transferred to safer refuge at Panat Nikom, Thailand, where they arrived in May, two months after leaving Vietnam. From Thailand, they relocated to the United States where Minhdan Thach was baptized. She now serves as a Relief Society counselor in the Taylorsville 40th (Vietnamese) Branch, Taylorsville Utah Central Stake. Brother Thach, second counselor in the branch elders quorum presidency, is now an electronic test technician with a national engineering and research company with a manufacturing plant and offices in Utah.

Laysa belongs to a group of astronomy lovers in Brazil. One day a group member shared a link to an opportunity to analyze telescope images to look for asteroids for NASA. Laysa signed up.

“They send images from the Pan-STARRS telescope at the University of Hawaii,” she explains. “I used the astrometric software to analyze these images, and I was looking for some point movement with the characteristics of an asteroid.”

After scouring images and sending reports for analysis, one day she got a confirmation. She had found an asteroid. For now, it’s called LPS0003. But eventually she’ll have a chance to choose a permanent name for it.

November 1831: William E. McLellin listened intently as he sat in a Church conference with Joseph Smith and a few other elders. Just a few days before, Joseph had given him a revelation that answered five questions that William had shared only with God (see Doctrine and Covenants 66). Now the members at the conference had decided to publish the Prophet’s revelations in a compilation called the Book of Commandments (later called the Doctrine and Covenants).
The challenge: Some elders were not convinced that the revelations came from God. They thought the language was not refined enough. To answer that claim, the Lord issued a challenge: “Appoint him that is the most wise among you” to write something “like unto” the revelations. If one could do that, the elders could say the revelations were not true. If one could not, the elders needed to “bear record” that the revelations came from God (see Doctrine and Covenants 67:5–8).
The result: William, a former schoolteacher, took the Lord’s challenge and tried to write a revelation. He failed.1 William’s failure strengthened his testimony of Joseph Smith as a prophet. Along with other elders at the conference, William signed a statement declaring that he knew “through the Holy Ghost” that the revelations were “given by inspiration of God” and that they were “profitable for all men and are verily true.”2

My interest in the Church had been sparked the winter before, and with the help of a friend, I began receiving the missionary discussions at her home.
After my fifth discussion with the missionaries, I went to church. That Sunday was fast Sunday, and during the testimony meeting I had an overwhelming feeling of peace and warmth. I had never felt so much love in one room. That day, my testimony of the Church started to grow.
A few weeks later, I went to my first Mutual activity. The people there were so welcoming, and their actions set them apart from the other kids I knew at school. It was a fun activity that added to my fledgling testimony.
I had started to feel like I was on my way to building a strong gospel foundation, but my aunt’s visit really shook me up. Since I had promised to read her book, I did. I decided that reading the book couldn’t do much harm. Boy, was I wrong.
After reading the book I was confused and sad and didn’t know where to turn. To make matters worse, a friend of mine encouraged me to read more material that was critical of the Church. I found that much of the literature had little or nothing to do with the Church, and little of it made any sense. Now I had more questions than ever.
In search of some answers, my friend and I went to the temple visitor’s center. Two missionaries showed us videos and bore their testimonies. I asked them all the questions I had about the books I had read. The missionaries answered every single one.
Shortly after my experience on the temple grounds, I received my first priesthood blessing. The special feeling I had experienced in my first testimony meeting returned. I was awestruck by the power of the Spirit.
Finally, it seemed everything was getting back on track, except for one thing. My mom was trying hard to talk me out of going to seminary. Although it was difficult, I stood my ground. Seminary is important to me.
I can now relate to the pioneers who traveled across the country to Utah so they could practice their religion. I used to think, “Why would anyone give up that much just for a religion?” Now I know.
I know the Church is true, and I have been able to build my testimony ten times stronger through prayer and studying the scriptures.
Because of this trial of my faith, I have learned not to take the valuable messages of the gospel for granted. I can’t be baptized until I’m 18, and even though three years seems a long time to wait, I am happy to have the time to prepare. I cannot deny the feelings that the Church and the scriptures give me, and I cannot deny what I almost lost forever—my testimony of the gospel.

I was baptized in April 1992, the first member of my family to join the Church. As a single mother, I found that it was not always easy to face people’s negative reaction to my conversion. But my baptism was a glorious experience, and I have never regretted my decision to join the Church. It is wonderful to have the opportunity to help my four-year-old daughter develop her testimony.
I find spiritual support in a wonderful magazine, Lys over Norge (Norwegian). I read it from cover to cover. My daughter loves the children’s section. Whenever we go to our mailbox, she asks if the children’s magazine has arrived for her.
I share the magazine with my mother and sister, who are now members of the Church, and with my nonmember friends; they all enjoy it very much. I also place copies wherever I can—at my doctor’s office, on passenger ferry boats, and so on—so that others may read it.
Eldrid Helén AntonesenBergen 1st Branch, Stavanger Norway District

Matt, 16, and Camille Baughman, 18, of the Summerville Ward were told by their parents to get together a change of clothes, their scriptures and journal, and a flashlight, in case they had to leave home quickly. Camille said, “It was hard because Mom said we should get two things we wanted to save. At first I wanted to take all my clothes, but then I decided on my violin.”
After the hurricane Matt pitched in to help his father, who as stake president was coordinating relief efforts. Camille saw a side of her brother she had never seen before. “I was impressed,” she said. “He got up early, worked all day, and went to bed exhausted. I thought, ‘Wow, that’s not the brother I knew.’”

An instance when Japanese leaders appreciated the Church’s timely assistance was when local priesthood leaders identified an overwhelmed refugee shelter set up at a school in an isolated area. Together with the public affairs council and the local Church welfare manager, the priesthood leaders arranged for food and other relief supplies to be delivered to the shelter, which was housing approximately 270 displaced tsunami victims.
Although those at the shelter were initially surprised to receive assistance from a Christian church, the second time Mormon Helping Hands volunteers came, wearing their yellow vests, one child yelled, “Here they come! I wonder what they brought this time!”
After receiving the donations, the shelter coordinator told Elder and Sister Grames, “Your church brought us the first meat and fresh vegetables we had after the earthquake.”
“It felt good,” says Sister Grames, “to really be a helping hand not only to the shelter but also to the priesthood leaders who were trying so hard to reach those in need.”
Elder Niiyama explains another positive result of the council’s efforts: “We found that sharing information about the Church’s relief work with members as well as outside opinion leaders was very vital to our public affairs objectives. I feel people outside of the Church now have a better image of the Church and members are more confident in the strength of the Church in Japan.”

As a young bride, newly arrived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I experienced some cultural shock. In those days Boston billed itself as the hub of culture, which included the leading families of a society very unfamiliar to me. In our first Relief Society meeting in a little old house on Brattle Street in Cambridge, I listened as a strong, faithful, wise woman (a long-time resident) implored us:
“Now don’t you Utah girls come here and hold your noses for four years wishing you were back in the only true West, where things are done right. Absorb this wonderful culture! Learn New England cookery. Get to know your Yankee neighbors. That may take some patience, but it’s well worth it. Catholics are people. Take the subway over to the Esplanade and hear the Boston Symphony, free, this summer. Do it; then you, as well as your husbands, will have something to take home.”
I believed her. Her sound advice changed my responses, and changed my life. When our four years were over, my husband brought home a Ph.D., and I came back loving New England—its speech patterns, seafood, Catholics, and all. This kind sister taught me about differences and a most impressive lesson on tolerance, and I learned that tolerating differences can lead to love.

Others John has taught have also found ways to personalize their instruments. Freida Maize from Shiprock, New Mexico, carved an “S” on her flute to stand for her home town. Ray Delgarito of Crown Point, New Mexico, fashioned part of his in the shape of a quail. And Jackie Smith of Dustin, Oklahoma, carved a thunderbird and other tribal symbols of the Creeks and Seminoles on her flute.
“The thunderbird symbolizes power, and to me music is a powerful way to influence people. In my tribe and every tribe it plays a vital part because it is involved in everything—religion, everyday singing, powwows, war dances. Everything is tied in with some form of music or other.”
She explained that her mother, who is not a member of the Church, heard her playing the LDS hymn “I Need Thee Every Hour” on the flute and asked her about its meaning. “I was able to show her that she can kneel before God and meet him any time, every hour.”

“When I was a girl growing up on a farm in Montana, there weren’t any children living close-by. So, of course, I often felt lonesome. A lady living on the other side of one of our fields became my best friend. Her name was Delfina.
“Whenever I was bored, I would head for Delfina’s one-room home. There wasn’t much furniture in her house, but if I took off my shoes, I could sit on her bed. Then she would share the contents of her jewelry box with me.
“It was the most beautiful jewelry box I had ever seen. In fact, it may have been the only one I had ever seen—shiny ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. To me it whispered of an exciting world I had only read about in books. Its red lacquered interior was filled with tiny trinkets and jewelry.
“One day I went to visit Delfina, but she wasn’t home. I opened her door and went inside anyway. For a while I played with her trinkets. Then instead of putting all the jewelry back into the box, I put some of it into my pocket. When I arrived home, Mom discovered the jewelry. She asked me where I’d gotten it. When I told her I had taken it from Delfina, she said, ‘I know you probably wanted to have something of Delfina’s because she is your friend. If these things are special to you, think how precious they must be to her! Of course, stealing is wrong, no matter whom you steal from. The important thing now is what you’re going to do about it.’
“As I walked back across the field, I looked for every excuse I could find to take more time. Delay as I might, my feet finally took me to her door. Shame and fear overcame me as I knocked.
“When she answered, I looked down at the floor. In a quavering voice I told Delfina what I had done. ‘I’m glad you brought them back,’ she said. ‘They’re keepsakes that belonged to my mother. We all make mistakes. I’m sure you won’t do it again.’
“Then to cheer me up, she fixed my favorite treat of chocolate milk made with corn syrup and cocoa. As I sipped it, I felt as though a heavy load had been lifted from me.”

All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to muster up enough courage to direct the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.

This story took place in France.
Jared dribbled the ball across the court. Players ran around him, their shoes squeaking on the floor.
“I’m open!” Gabriel called.
Jared passed the ball to Gabriel and kept running. Then Gabriel passed the ball back. Jared threw the ball at the hoop.
SWOOSH!
It went in!
“Nice work, Jared,” his coach said after the game. “You know, tryouts for the regional team are in two weeks.”
Jared grinned. Only a few players were invited to try out for that team.
“The tryouts will be on Sunday,” the coach said. “Do you think you can make it?”
Jared’s excitement was gone as quickly as it came.
“On Sunday?” Jared asked.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Jared thought about it. This was his chance to play on a really good team! But Sundays were when he went to church and focused on the Savior.
“Sundays are a special day for me,” Jared said. “But I’ll talk to my parents about it.”
That night, Jared sat on his bed with his parents. He tossed his basketball in the air while he thought. “I really want to try out for the team,” he told Mom and Dad. “But I don’t want to do it on a Sunday. I know God is more important than basketball.”
“What can we do to help?” Mom asked.
Jared turned the ball in his hands. “Can we say a prayer together?”
He put his basketball away and knelt down with Mom and Dad. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “I really, really want to try out for this basketball team. But the tryouts are on a Sunday! I know Sunday is the day I give to Thee. What can I do?”
After the prayer, Jared felt a comforting feeling.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“I’m not going if the tryouts are on a Sunday,” he said. “But I have a feeling it will all be OK.”
Two days later, Jared’s mom got an email. It said the tryouts would be on Saturday now instead!
Jared could try out and keep the sabbath day holy! He knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer.
For the next two weeks, Jared practiced basketball as much as he could. When the big day came, Jared did his best. He ran quickly between plays, made most of his shots, and cheered for his teammates.
“The following players will continue with tryouts for the team,” the coach said after the first round. “Please listen for your name.”
Jared’s heart thumped loudly. The coach called one name. Then another. And another. Jared felt his hope of making the team start to fade.
Soon the coach finished the list. He hadn’t called Jared’s name. Jared would not be moving on to the next round of tryouts.
Jared sat on the bench outside the gym and stared at his shoes. He had worked so hard. But it felt like all his work was for nothing.
When Mom picked him up, Jared shook his head. “I didn’t make the team.”
Mom wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how we wanted,” she said.
Jared took a deep breath. Then, a comforting thought came to him.
“Things won’t always work out how I want,” he said. “But Jesus Christ knows exactly how I feel. He’s on my side.”
Mom smiled. “You’re right! He does know how you feel.”
Jared smiled back. He was still sad, but he felt better knowing the Savior understood how he felt. Jared knew Jesus would always love and support him.
Illustrations by Britain Morris