Gospel Story Finder

Walking Hawk moved slowly toward the fire in the center of the village and took a place in the shadows behind the other novice warriors. He tried not to look across the fire at Standing Elk, Eagle Claw, Buffalo Horn, or the other boys his own age who now had taken their places with the men.
Walking Hawk barely heard the talk at the council meeting. His impatience made all other thoughts grow dim. Perhaps if he hadn’t gone with the hunters in search of wild horses, he, too, would be sitting there with the men. A picture of the splendid young roan mare that had been his pay for helping in the horse hunt, however, filled his mind so that he wasn’t too envious of the other boys’ new position of manhood.
Most of the boys who had proven themselves during his absence had killed only antelope or deer, not the great buffalo.
Walking Hawk sat up straighter. That was what he would do. He would not settle for less than a buffalo. Then it wouldn’t matter so much that he hadn’t been among the first.
With the vow bright in his heart, Walking Hawk listened to the words of Long Arm, one of the most famous leaders among all the Sioux.
“The buffalo no longer come to this place as they have in the past,” Long Arm said. Then he paused, glancing around the circle of faces turned toward him. No one spoke.
“The season grows late for securing meat and hides and all else that the buffalo provides for our people. Winter will be upon us before we are prepared. We cannot wait any longer. Tomorrow we must go to the west in search of the buffalo.”
A murmur rose from the men in the circle, for there was danger in going farther west into Crow country, the land of their enemies.
Seeing nothing but a few straggler buffalo during the next three days, the Sioux’s hopes quickened when scouts reported signs that a large herd had been in the vicinity not many days before. The women were pleased when Long Arm announced that a more permanent camp would be made near the ragged, gray bluffs where they would have cover and shade. From here, the scouts would search for the buffalo herd and signal the men to ride out for the hunt.
It was barely dawn when the hunt leader rode out with a few of the most experienced scouts in search of the herd. For those left at camp, the day passed slowly. The waiting was hard for everyone.
Without really tasting it, Walking Hawk ate the supper his mother set in front of him that evening. He walked to the horse herd to watch the animals graze along the stream, and then came back to the tepee to sleep.
Early the next morning Walking Hawk stepped from the tepee. He could not stand this inactivity any longer. He had decided to slip away from the camp to find and kill a straggler buffalo. If no herd were found, he, at least, would have proved himself in his own hunt.
As he had on many mornings in the past, Walking Hawk searched the horse herd for his roan mare.
Impatience pushed at him but still he took time to rub the pony’s coat with a bunch of grass until it gleamed in the first morning light. He casually glanced around at the hunters who had now returned to the village for their morning meal.
Walking Hawk moved slowly, as though he were leading his pony to the stream for water and the better grass growing near there. At the stream, he mounted and sat astride his pony, studying the clouds overhead and the ripples in the water. Then pressing his heels in slightly, the roan started walking downstream. Once around the bend, Walking Hawk crouched forward and dug his heels into the pony’s sides.
He felt a strange uncertainty about running away without telling even his father about his plan. But when he returned with a buffalo, they would all be proud of him.
Walking Hawk had ridden quite a distance without seeing game of any kind, by the time the sun was straight overhead. He decided to ride only as far as the next rise with the stunted trees, and then he would turn back to camp.
Halfway to the trees, Walking Hawk quickly pulled the pony to a halt. Moving from the protection of the trees were two buffalo cows and a partly grown calf. They had not caught sight of him yet and the wind was in his favor.
Sliding off his pony’s back, Walking Hawk paused just long enough to fit an arrow to his bow. Then he ground-reined the pony and crept forward alone.
He would shoot the young cow since the calf was old enough to be weaned. The other cow was too old and tough. Walking Hawk was just about to let the arrow fly, but he paused for a moment. Had he seen a movement beyond the buffalo? His heart jumped like a startled coyote when he realized what the movement was.
In his excitement at seeing the buffalo, Walking Hawk had not been careful and had moved above the horizon line.
Now he had been seen by Crow warriors!
The horsemen were still some distance away, down the west side of the ridge. But they rode swiftly toward him.
The buffalo were forgotten as Walking Hawk bolted for his pony. Sensing his fear, the mare was in motion almost before he had mounted. With this much head start, he hoped to outrun the Crows to the camp.
Then suddenly Walking Hawk’s head reeled, for he recognized the mistake of his thinking. He must not ride toward the camp. To do so would give away the location of his people and make them easy prey for their enemies.
Swallowing his fear, Walking Hawk headed the pony off at an angle from their camp. He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see that the riders had not yet topped the ridge. Is it possible that they haven’t seen me, he wondered.
Twice more he glanced back. Five warriors had ridden into clear view.
Walking Hawk rode on all through the afternoon, beyond the time of dusk and into the night. Though his pony breathed hard, it did not falter. His heart sang with gratitude for such a fine animal.
At last, Walking Hawk brought his pony to a halt. Though there was no sound of his pursuers, he knew that they could be very near just waiting for morning to resume their chase. But now he and his pony must have rest. He wondered if he had come so far that he would be unable to find his way back to the camp.
Morning came quickly and as Walking Hawk scanned the horizon in all directions, he felt certain that he had lost the five warriors who had followed him all the previous day.
Though he was becoming faint from hunger, Walking Hawk climbed on his pony and rode toward camp. Dusk was settling like a heavy robe over the land when he caught sight of the familiar line of bluffs ahead. The camp was so well hidden that, without previous knowledge, he would never have guessed its location.
Walking Hawk swallowed hard at the rough command of a sentry who rose up from among the rocks with his bow and arrow poised.
“It is Walking Hawk, son of Red Feather,” he struggled for words. “I—I have returned.”
“You have brought concern to your family and danger to us all,” the sentry scolded him.
The sound of their voices brought Walking Hawk’s father in long strides. His face was dark with anger.
“Care for your horse,” Red Feather commanded. “And then you shall explain the worry that you have brought to your mother.” He strode away as quickly as he had come.
Walking Hawk wanted to make the task of caring for his pony stretch on for a long time, but he dared not. Never had he seen such anger on his father’s face.
Red Feather’s anger did not lessen as Walking Hawk told of his strong wish to become a successful hunter, of his plan for at last achieving it, of his near success, and then of the coming of the Crow warriors.
“So careless!” his father exploded. “Surely, my son would not be so foolish about his own safety or that of his people. Failing to creep carefully to the top of a ridge when in enemy country is unbelievable!”
As his father spoke, Walking Hawk began to realize the seriousness of his act. He tried to swallow the shame that rose bright in his heart. But he could not look at his father. Now he understood that the laws of his people were not just unreasonable rules set down by adults. His act had been a selfish one.
His father put Walking Hawk’s next thought into words. “No one among us has the right to bring danger to himself if it could also bring danger to our people. There can be no safety for any of our people unless each one accepts responsibility for the welfare of all.”
Walking Hawk nodded seriously. “When at last a buffalo herd is sighted,” he said, “I shall stay behind to help guard the camp. It is what I wish.”
Red Feather looked surprised. But as he left the tepee, his heart swelled with pride. Now Walking Hawk was indeed becoming a man!

Sometime after the collapse of the Teton Dam and the ensuing flooding disaster which affected several counties in eastern Idaho, while serving as the area welfare leader, I was asked to speak on behalf of the Church to a group of people who were responsible for civil defense and disaster relief. They included representatives from city, county, state, and federal organizations as well as a number of religious, volunteer, and service groups. The requested topic was how the LDS Church is prepared to respond to emergency crises.
I realized that they had already observed the response of the Church to the flood. They saw firsthand how the bishops’ storehouse system was almost immediately prepared to ship in truckloads of supplies and then stood by to fill the requests of the local priesthood leaders. They saw the Deseret Industries help bring order out of chaos. Large mountains of clothing were donated from many parts of the country and placed in large, unsorted piles. There were party dresses with work shoes, small sizes with large, men’s with women’s, and clean with soiled. In a very short time the Deseret Industries had these much-needed articles of clothing cleaned, pressed, sized, and placed on racks from which those in need could choose for their particular needs.
They saw how the LDS Social Services was available to help the people in their social and emotional needs as emotional tolerances were pressed to the limit. Many jobs were lost due to the flood, and many new ones were created. LDS employment program was busy as employees and employers were matched together. They saw, as did people from all over the world, the many thousands of volunteers who came, at their own expense, to help in the cleanup effort.
There was a need in the early days of the flood cleanup for heavy equipment. A request was made for tractors and front-end loaders from stakes both near and far. We thought in terms of 5 or 6 outfits. Soon after the request was made, the area welfare leader from Soda Springs, approximately 165 miles away, called and said, “President, I understand that you need some tractors and front-end loaders. We are ready and prepared to bring 150.” I told him that 20 would be marvelous.
There was a need for electricians to restore power to the homes that lost it because of the flood. We estimated that 150 would be a great response. The call went out. We didn’t get just 150. More than 450 licensed electricians and helpers responded to that call. This same type of devotion and dedication was shown many, many times over as a variety of needs was fulfilled.
It was evident to this group to whom I would speak, as well as to others, what had happened in this major crisis, but were they aware of those who are helped every day on an individual basis—for example, the young girl who found love, understanding, and kind assistance from LDS Social Services when she was confronted with a major crisis in her life? Because of wise counsel, she did not compound an already serious problem with a graver tragedy when she found that there is an alternative to the accepted worldly philosophy of abortion.
They did not know of the many other services of LDS Social Services, the childless marriages with loving homes who are blessed with the opportunity to adopt a little infant, the Lamanite program, professional counseling, foster homes, and others.
I was sure that most of them did not totally understand the Deseret Industries; and most certainly did not understand that it is a living example of the principle of consecration, wherein each of us has the opportunity to give freely of our surpluses, and then those great people who are not willing to be spectators in the arena of life are given the opportunity to maintain their dignity by enjoying the blessing of work. Perhaps they were not even aware that Deseret Industries is open for all to make purchases which are so helpful in meeting the pressures of an inflated economy. Shopping at Deseret Industries is like shopping at an exclusive store. There are many items that are one of a kind, and with shipments arriving daily we have an opportunity to make new choices every day.
On one occasion when I had arrived early at Deseret Industries prior to our monthly meeting of the local operating committee, I made a tour of the well-organized displays and racks of commodities. My eyes were drawn to the area of overcoats. One particularly appealed to me. It was a fine, all-wool, English-tailored coat. I thought, “If it fits, I’ll buy it.” I looked at the price: four dollars and seventy-five cents! At that price, I knew it fit. I bought it and I paid cash for it. I took it home and, when I modeled it for my wife, I put my hands in the pockets, and there were a number of rare, one-cent postage stamps. I guess the stamps themselves were worth probably about as much as I had paid for the coat. And I suspect that I was probably the only person who made a purchase at Deseret Industries who not only made an excellent buy but also received stamps!
This group of people to whom I would speak certainly had no way of knowing about the father who found himself with his loving bishop exclaiming, “Bishop, tragedy has struck our family. I have lost my job. I need welfare.” That knowledgeable bishop replied, “Brother, you don’t need welfare. What you need is a job, and you have come to the right place.” That wise bishop had just taught the great principle of work. The bishop’s comment was not an idle remark, because he had available to him, as a part of the great storehouse system, a ward employment specialist, who has access not only to the employers within the ward and stake but also, through the employment center, to those throughout the entire area. If a job could not be found in the open market, that same employment specialist would become a resource to the bishop to help find meaningful work opportunities for the needy brother within the Lord’s plan, thus allowing that father the joy of maintaining his dignity by working for the commodities received. This same employment system serves the needs of all members as they seek employment and seek to upgrade their opportunities.

No plush seats. No ornate decor. No subdued lighting. No modern sound system. No ushers. Of course not. After all, this isn’t a concert hall; it’s Montréal’s busiest metro station. And yet it is a concert hall—the home of la Chorale de l’Accueil Bonneau. Under the harsh fluorescent glare of this noisy, cavernous station stand 18 men in black pants, white shirts, and a smattering of caps, berets, scarves, and bandannas. The singers range in age from 22 to 69. Their weathered faces glow with a joy that almost masks the lingering evidence of misfortune and rejection. “Oh happy day!” they sing, and you can’t help but believe them.
A subway train rumbles to a stop and releases a host of Saturday shoppers, weary students, and weekend workers. Many pause to listen. A few step forward and drop coins into a hat resting on the floor where you would expect the director to stand.
The performers don’t look much like a choir. In fact, they look as if someone just pulled them off the street. They don’t act like a choir either. They don’t stand up straight, and they don’t stand still. One of the older singers—sporting a long, shaggy beard—wanders through the crowd, presenting roses to women. During one of the more lively numbers, two of the singers find partners among the listeners and start to dance.
The choir’s repertoire is varied—everything from “Nearer My God to Thee,” straight from the Latter-day Saint hymnbook, to the pop song “California Dreamin’.” Although some of the men have good voices, these are not professionally trained musicians. One of the soloists even sings a bit off-key. But their energy more than compensates for any lack of training or natural ability. They sing with their whole hearts, and it is clear they are enjoying themselves. So is the audience, which changes about every three minutes as trains come and go.
By the end of two hours the hat is nearly full, and the concert is over. Only then is it evident this choir has a leader. As the last song ends and the crowd disperses, a slender man with dark hair, glasses, and a radiant smile steps from the ranks. His name is Pierre Anthian, and the choir, he will tell you, is merely an extension of his religious beliefs.
The choir ascends the stairs to street level. A yellow school bus will soon arrive to take them to a Catholic church on the outskirts of Montréal where they will perform later this evening. The afternoon sun is pleasant, and the autumn leaves, though past their prime, still adorn the city with splashes of faded yellow and rusty red. While waiting for the bus, one choir member, Jean-Louis, tells how the choir has saved him from harmful addictions. “Now I get high on music,” he boasts. Others have similar stories.
It is late Saturday evening. It has been a long day for the choir, and you can tell they are tired only because their voices don’t blend as well as they did earlier in the program and they hit a few painfully flat notes. But the more than 200 listeners at the church don’t seem to mind. The singers still exude the same level of energy they did this afternoon in the metro, and several of them patrol the aisles, pulling people at random from the audience to join them onstage.
The listeners have been treated to hymns and popular songs—but now comes the audience’s favorite part of the concert. The melody and words might be unfamiliar to a visitor from outside Québec, but it is obvious this song has special meaning to the locals. Everyone is standing, holding hands, swaying back and forth in time with the music, singing with his or her whole soul. Tears flow freely. The song ends, and for a magical moment there is only silence. Then the audience, sensing that this was the final number yet not wanting the magic to end, breaks into wild applause and calls for an encore. The choir obliges, not once but twice, and finally the audience lets them go.

“Liz, I’m selling walnuts so you need to sell something else,” Abby said to her older sister. “And hurry. We’re meeting Hannah and Zack in five minutes!” Abby continued picking up walnuts that had fallen from the walnut trees in their yard.
Liz loved to play store with her neighbors, but today she couldn’t think of anything to sell. She grabbed her bike and headed down the street. She saw Hannah and Zack setting up their stores under some trees in front of their house. Hannah handed Liz some leaves from the trees. “We each get 20 leaves to spend,” she said.
“What are you selling?” Liz asked.
“Mom let me have some granola bars to sell, and Zack got some aloe vera leaves from our backyard,” Hannah said.
“What are you selling, Liz?” Zack asked.
Liz bit her lip. “It’s a surprise.”
Liz rode her bike around their neighborhood looking for something to sell. Her neighbors, the Bakers, had a beautiful tangerine tree in their front yard, and the tangerines looked delicious. Liz noticed that their car wasn’t in the driveway. She hurried to the tree and filled her pockets with tangerines. As she picked them she smelled their tangy-sweet scent. Liz rode back to her friends and piled the tangerines next to Abby’s walnuts.
“Those look yummy!” Abby said. “How much?”
“Five leaves each.”
“I’ll take two.”
Liz handed Abby two tangerines and added the ten leaves Abby handed her to her own. Now she had 30 leaves! She went to Hannah’s store to buy a granola bar. They cost 15 leaves each.
“I’ll take one.” Liz handed Hannah the leaves.
“Where did you get so many leaves?” Hannah asked. “Did you cheat and take them from the trees?”
“No, I sold some tangerines to Abby,” Liz said.
“Really? How much for the tangerines?”
“Five leaves each.”
“We’ll be right over,” Hannah said.
Liz sold six more tangerines to Hannah and Zack. She had never earned so many leaves when they played store! She was able to buy five walnuts from Abby, an aloe vera leaf from Zack, and another granola bar from Hannah. Plus she ate a tangerine. It was juicy and sweet.
Liz saw the Bakers drive their car into the driveway, right next to the tangerine tree. Liz tried to hide her pile of tangerines.
“Liz, did you take those tangerines without asking?” Abby asked.
“No. It’s not stealing if they don’t care, Abby. They have lots of tangerines,” Liz said. But she was scared her neighbors would see the tangerines she had picked. Would they be angry with her?
“We should give them back,” Abby said.
Liz bit her lip. “How? We already ate them.”
Abby thought for a moment. “We can give them some of the walnuts from our tree.”
“That’s not the same thing.” Liz put her hands on her hips. “And don’t tell me what to do, Abby. You’re only five.”
Tears came to Abby’s eyes, and Liz felt bad. Abby was right, but she was scared to tell her neighbors she had taken their tangerines. “Will you come with me, Abby?”
Abby nodded, and the girls gathered up some walnuts to give to the Bakers. Liz went to the front door and knocked timidly. Mrs. Baker answered the door.
“Hi,” Liz said, holding out the walnuts. “We brought these for you.”
Mrs. Baker smiled. “Thank you, girls! What nice neighbors you are!”
Liz looked at the ground. “We brought them because I took some tangerines from your tree while you were gone. I didn’t have anything to sell for our game, and they looked so good.” Liz felt her lips tremble. She didn’t want Mrs. Baker to yell at her. “I’m really sorry.”
“That’s OK,” Mrs. Baker said.
Liz looked up in surprise. Mrs. Baker didn’t even seem angry.
“We don’t eat many tangerines anyway. You can have as many as you want, as long as you ask first.” Mrs. Baker smiled at the girls.
“Thanks, Mrs. Baker!” Liz declared.
She put her arm around Abby as they walked home. “You know what, Abby? You’re a great little sister.” Liz felt good for telling the truth and giving Mrs. Baker walnuts to make up for the tangerines. She looked forward to eating more delicious tangerines from the Bakers’ tree. After asking first, of course.

One night the “mules and horses took a notion they would go and accordingly they went.” The boys started in pursuit “but the night was so dark that we had to take the advantage of the lightning to tell us which way we were going.” When Zeb saw something move in the distance he tried to run to it. “At last I got lost in a swamp but managed, after much trouble, to get back to camp without finding the animals.” Next morning, on foot, the boys found the animals more than nine miles from the camp.

“I feel the Spirit and receive promptings through sudden ideas and thoughts. This happens when my mind is open to God. At Young Women camp, I felt really lonely. I walked to my cabin and prayed about it. Afterward I had the feeling to turn around. I did and met with my leaders. We had a great time ziplining and eating snow cones! This experience helped me learn how I can feel the Spirit.”
Harper J., 14, Oregon, USA

Illustrations by Katie McDee
The grass is thirsty, Mom! It’s all yellow.
I know. It hasn’t rained in a long time.
Ready? We don’t want to be late for church!
Next week is fast Sunday. Please fast and pray for rain.
I want to pray for rain!
Missy prayed for rain every day.
The next Sunday …
I’m ready for church!
Why do you have your umbrella?
I think it will rain.
It doesn’t look like it.
But I know Heavenly Father heard my prayers.
That’s called faith!
Sometimes answers don’t come right away. Now we need to wait and trust God.
Days later …
It’s raining! Heavenly Father answered my prayers.

The winters in France can be very cold, and they can feel even colder when you’re riding a bike. Right after Christmas while I was serving as a missionary in the Belgium Brussels Mission, my companion and I passed a little lady, also on a bicycle.
I immediately noticed this woman had no gloves. On impulse, I asked her if she would like my gloves because I had received a new pair for Christmas. She hesitated and then talked to me about other things. We stopped our bikes and talked some more.
Finally, I took off my gloves and put them on her hands and said, “Merry Christmas.” Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged me. I felt so strongly the love Heavenly Father had for her, and I told her how much God loved her. She said her husband was sick and she had left the house to run some errands. I asked her if we could come and see her, but she declined because of her husband’s illness. I will never forget what I felt as I watched her ride off. I felt the sting of cold on my hands, but my heart was filled with the love of God.
The lesson I learned was that through service we can come to feel the love God has for each of his children. It is often by our service that God blesses others and answers their prayers.
I was just thinking that Mom must have been inspired to send me another pair of gloves for Christmas.

Meanwhile, faithful members of the Church had resided in the German Democratic Republic and in Czechoslovakia during decades of political duress. Of course, no missionary couples served there. Members’ activities were limited by the restrictive regimes of those lands. For example, the first time Sister Nelson and I visited Czechoslovakia in 1975, I had been invited to participate in a medical capacity. While in Prague, we met with a few Saints in a member’s apartment, which we accessed up a dimly lighted stairway. Well do we remember meeting the fifteen-year-old daughter of two members who indicated that they had never before revealed to their daughter their affiliation with the Church. That night—for the first time—she was being entrusted with that potentially dangerous information. After the meeting was over, the district president dropped us off some distance from our hotel so that police would not identify him in our presence. Under such imposed limitations, there was no hope of missionary work either in Czechoslovakia or in the German Democratic Republic, both of which had been blessed with missionaries prior to the onset of the Second World War.

While serving as a young missionary in South America, I likewise benefited from the compassion of a dear friend. One evening while I was driving with my companion to the home of our mission president, a young man on a bicycle turned suddenly in front of the vehicle. It happened so quickly that I could not avoid the collision. Tragically, this young man was killed by the impact. I was devastated over the loss of his life. Terrified and in shock as the awful reality of what had just occurred crashed down upon me, I was taken to jail and locked up. I have never felt more frightened and alone. I was filled with despair and fear that I would be imprisoned for the rest of my life.

A fellow missionary, Elder Brian Kochevar, learned of the accident and was moved by compassion. He came to the jail and pled with the officers to be allowed to stay with me in the cell so that I would not be alone. Miraculously, they agreed. To this day, I feel profound gratitude for this disciple’s act of Christlike love, which calmed, comforted, and consoled me during the greatest moment of distress in my life. His charitable compassion was a telling sign of his discipleship. As President Nelson observed, “One of the easiest ways to identify a true follower of Jesus Christ is how compassionately that person treats other people.”

“Dear Eva, do you really think that my life is perfect?” Aunt Rose sat with Eva on the overstuffed sofa. “There was a time when I was so discouraged I didn’t want to go on.”

“You?” Eva asked.

Aunt Rose nodded. “There were so many things I wished for in my life.” As she spoke, a sadness entered her voice that Eva had never heard before. “Most of them never happened. It was one heartbreak after another. One day I realized that it would never be the way I had hoped for. That was a depressing day. I was ready to give up and be miserable.”

“So what did you do?”

“Nothing for a time. I was just angry. I was an absolute monster to be around.” Then she laughed a little, but it was not her usual big, room-filling laugh. “‘It’s not fair’ was the song I sang over and over in my head. But eventually I discovered something that turned my whole life around.”

“What was it?”

“Faith,” Aunt Rose smiled. “I discovered faith. And faith led to hope. And faith and hope gave me confidence that one day everything would make sense, that because of the Savior, all the wrongs would be made right. After that, I saw that the path before me wasn’t as dreary and dusty as I had thought. I began to notice the bright blues, the verdant greens, and the fiery reds, and I decided I had a choice—I could hang my head and drag my feet on the dusty road of self-pity, or I could have a little faith, put on a bright dress, slip on my dancing shoes, and skip down the path of life, singing as I went.” Now her voice was skipping along like the girl in the painting.

Aunt Rose reached over to the end table and pulled her well-worn scriptures onto her lap. “I don’t think I was clinically depressed—I’m not sure you can talk yourself out of that. But I sure had talked myself into being miserable! Yes, I had some dark days, but all my brooding and worrying wasn’t going to change that—it was only making things worse. Faith in the Savior taught me that no matter what happened in the past, my story could have a happy ending.”

Ten years later I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father, who was the ward mission leader, invited me to listen as the missionaries taught two young ladies in his home. The missionaries challenged us to ask Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet. I accepted the challenge and spent 14 hours reading, meditating, and praying about Joseph Smith. It was a spiritual experience that is sacred to me. I read Joseph Smith’s history in the Pearl of Great Price twice that night. I prayed many times and stayed up all night. At nine o’clock the next morning I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the gospel was true.
I went to the sister missionaries’ house and asked for baptism. They explained that they needed to teach me seven discussions. I told them, “Give me all seven right now. I need to be baptized.” Two days later, I was. I began at once to work in the Church and to study everything the Church published in Portuguese. I enjoyed it all immensely, and my testimony has been strong ever since. The Church and the gospel have given me everything I have, including my family.

Early in his career, Elder Tenorio was approached about a position as manager of the Church’s Genealogical Service Center in Mexico. Doing well in his job in the publishing industry, he was not sure about taking the new position. But following a series of inspired events, he realized it was a job he was supposed to take.

“It changed my life’s course,” he says. It led to a life intertwined with family history and temple work.

After seven years in that job, during which time he served as stake president, he was called as the first recorder for the Mexico City Mexico Temple and as a sealer. He left the temple to preside over the Mexico Tuxtla Gutierrez Mission. He later managed the area’s Membership, Materials Management, and Welfare Services Departments, during which time he served as regional representative and later as Area Seventy.

Elder Tenorio later became the Mexico City Mexico Temple recorder again after his replacement retired.

The class was dismissed. Boys and girls gathered their books with their usual youthful chatter. They left the seminary building singly or in groups, their eyes and interest focused on their next activity.
Alone now, I slumped rather wearily into my chair at the front of the classroom, perhaps a bit discouraged and certainly distraught. Today had been especially trying. I had played center stage in a recurring scene with Dennis.
He had challenged nearly everything I had said about the gospel. He had resurrected for reexamination some questions I thought we had put to rest in previous discussions. Several times he had skillfully forced me into a position where I had to take a stand. I had once again borne testimony to the truth of the eternal principles I was teaching and had added my own personal witness.
Now, sitting at my desk, I began to wonder if on some things I had been too firm, too dogmatic. Certainly, I had taught the Church position supported by scripture, by the Brethren, and by my own personal experience. But had I been so firm that youth could not accept? Would I lose boys like Dennis or girls like Alice who sometimes took his part?
I was prayerfully pondering this question as I began straightening my desk at the front of the classroom. John, one of the students, stopped by to collect some books he had left behind.
“How ya’ doin’,” he said.
“Fine John. How are things with you?”
“Great! I enjoyed your class last period, even if Dennis did lead us away from the lesson for a while.”
John was a little cautious as he framed his next question. “Does it bother you when he challenges what you say and takes the negative side?”
I quietly admitted that it did but that my real concern was my apparent inability to reach Dennis and convert him to a more positive attitude of faith in the Lord’s teachings.
John smiled. “I thought you felt that way,” he said. “Let me tell you something about him.”
“Dennis has many friends who are not members of the Church. He seems negative here in class, but when he gets over to high school, he becomes you! The arguments he gives in class are the arguments he gets from his friends. The answers you give him are the answers he gives back to them. He’s just storing up ammunition.”
John picked up his books and smiled a good-bye. I sat down again at my desk, smiling. Suddenly everything fell into place. When Dennis asked questions in the future, I would understand. I would be glad to help him find answers.
Then a fear swept over me. What if I had faltered? What if I had compromised? I would not have won Dennis over—I would have betrayed him and I would have betrayed the sacred trust of being his teacher.
It was the Apostle Paul who said, ““If the Trumpet Give an Uncertain Sound”, who shall prepare himself for battle?” (1 Cor. 14:28.) We don’t blast the trumpet in someone else’s ear, but neither do we indiscreetly sound its message; rather, the call should be sweet and sure and certain of sound.

Nathan jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The sun was streaming from a bright blue sky.
“All right!” he said. It had been raining for days, and Nathan couldn’t wait to ride his bike. He pulled on his clothes and ran to the bathroom. His little sister, Aria, was already there brushing her hair, wearing a dress.
“Oh no!” Nathan groaned. “It’s Sunday!”
“You better hurry,” Aria said. “We’re going to be late for church.”
Nathan went back to his bedroom and looked out the window. His friend Isaac was outside riding his bike, and David was zooming around on his skateboard. It looked like they were having fun.
Normally Nathan liked going to church. He liked learning scripture stories and singing Primary songs. But today he wanted to play outside.
Nathan knocked on Mom’s door. “Mom,” he said, “I don’t want to go to church today.”
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“Because it’s been raining all week and now my friends are playing outside. Can’t I miss church just one time so I can play? I’ll go next week.”
Mom smiled at Nathan. “I know you want to play, but do you know why we go to church every week?”
Nathan didn’t feel like hearing a lesson. “Because it’s a commandment,” he said in a bored voice.
“That’s true,” Mom said. “But the commandments aren’t just rules that are made up to be hard. They’re actually things Heavenly Father wants us to do because they make us happy.”
“But right now riding my bike would make me happy.”
“Riding your bike may give you a fun feeling, but feeling the Spirit when you do something right feels even better.”
Nathan scrunched up his face. He thought about times he had helped Mom or was nice to Aria. Those things had made him feel good. And riding his bike would be fun, but he wouldn’t feel very good about missing church.
“Besides, when you go to church, you always get a blessing,” Mom said.
“What kind of blessing?”
“Well, sometimes it’s something you can hold, like a scripture bookmark. But most of the time it’s something you can’t hold, like learning a new song or feeling the Spirit.”
“I guess,” Nathan said. “Maybe today I’ll see if I really do get a blessing at church.”
Nathan got ready, and soon they were at church. Nathan took the sacrament and listened to the talks. Now that he was here, he felt like he’d made the right choice. Was that his blessing?
Nathan was surprised when they announced the closing song. It was “Praise to the Man”—his favorite. He smiled. Maybe that was his blessing.
In Primary he raised his hand and got to help with a game. Could that be his blessing?
After church Nathan found his family. As they walked to the car, Sister Silva gave them some leftover cookies from her class.
“Thank you!” Mom said. “These cookies look delicious. Nathan, see what you would have missed if you’d stayed home? Was I right about the blessing?”
“Kind of,” Nathan said. “But you said there would be one blessing. I counted a bunch!” He climbed into the car. “I’m glad I came.”
“I’m glad too,” Mom said. “Here, have a cookie.”
Nathan bit into a cookie. “What a yummy blessing!”

Bye, Molly! We love you!
Be a good helper for Grandma!
I miss Mom and Dad. When will they get home from the hospital?
After your sister is born. Then you’ll get to meet her!
I don’t know if I really want a sister.
Hey, I need your help with a special surprise.
Let’s make a treat for your parents. What should we make?
Brownies are Mom’s favorite!
Wow, you are a good assistant chef! You know something else your family needs help with?
Eating brownies?
Probably! But you can also help by being a kind big sister.
Really?
Yes! I can tell you know how to help your family.
I have an idea for another surprise.
I can’t wait until Mom and Dad AND the baby come home!

Elder Derrick’s father worked for ZCMI for thirty-five years as a crockery specialist, which required that he travel almost continuously throughout Utah, Idaho, and southwestern Wyoming. He was more often than not away from home for three months at a time. “Although we didn’t see a lot of him,” Elder Derrick said, “he set a tone of spirituality in our home. He retired in January of 1937, and I started on the road as a traveling salesman the following month. I met many of the people with whom he was acquainted. Every one of them spoke so highly of him that I began to realize that my father was a man of great integrity, a trait not usually found in traveling salesmen, or drummers, as they were called then.
My mother’s parents lived next door to us while I was young. They came from England and Scotland and had also joined the Church and crossed the plains. My mother also set a tone of love and spirituality in our home. I remember one occasion when we had used all our credit at the grocery store. In those days you bought groceries on credit. We had also used up all of the food that Mother had bottled the previous fall. I noticed an expression of great concern on her face as she looked at the empty shelves and the empty flour bin. I followed her upstairs and saw her go into her bedroom and kneel in prayer. Later that afternoon one of my cousins came to our house with several boxes of bread. He had been driving up Fifth East Street when the back door of a bread truck flew open and some boxes of bread fell out in front of his car. By the time he got his car stopped and had surveyed the situation, the bread truck had disappeared. He put the boxes of bread into his car and then drove to our home, which was a short distance away. He knew nothing about our need, but there is no doubt in my mind that the bread was a direct answer to my mother’s prayer.
“All I remember about my baptism is that it felt good. That feeling has stayed with me; it still feels good. I was baptized in the Tabernacle on Temple Square by my oldest brother because Father was on the road.
The hardest thing that I had to face as a boy was shyness. It was very difficult for me to recite in class. One day while studying the Bible, I read the words of the Savior that ‘all things are possible to him that believeth’ (Mark 9:23) and then the words of the Apostle Paul, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me’ (Philip. 4:13). I suddenly realized that a person can do whatever he makes up his mind to do. This gave me both confidence and commitment.
I believe that youngsters should read,” Elder Derrick said, “because reading gives a person a broader viewpoint of life and the world around him. Particularly, we should read the scriptures every day and come to understand the prophets of God. Doing so will pay greater dividends in our lives than almost anything else we can do. It will help us to become better people, more obedient and more committed to principles taught by the Savior, which result in a life of integrity and moral purity.”

Arriving home, we retired to a quiet room, just Devin and I. He said, “Father, there’s much to do. I need some special help as I get ready for my mission, and it’s only a few weeks away. Would you lay your hands upon my head and give me a special father’s blessing?”
There in the quiet of that room I had the privilege of blessing my son. After the blessing we stayed in the room for some time. We talked more of the future than of the past. During that choice time together, I knew that everyone who tries forever to do a “$5.00 job” and who puts his hand into the hand of his Heavenly Father is a winner. I still don’t know whether or not we should pray about the outcome of basketball games, but I do know that we should constantly pray about the game of life, for in that game there don’t have to be any losers, only winners, for that championship on high is available to everyone.

In April 1847, Sam Brannan and three other men left San Francisco Bay in search of Brigham Young and the main body of the Saints. They did not know exactly where to find them, but most emigrants followed the same trail west. If Sam and his small company headed east along the trail, they would eventually cross paths with the Saints.
After stopping briefly to pick up supplies at New Hope, the men trekked northeast to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains. People who knew the Sierras well had warned Sam not to cross them so early in the year. The mountain pass was still choked with snow, they said, which meant the journey could be a two-month ordeal.
Yet Sam was sure he could cross the mountains quickly. Urging their pack animals forward, he and his men hiked for hours up the mountains. The snow was deep but tightly packed, making it easier to find footing along the trail. The mountain streams ran high, however, forcing the men to risk dangerous swims or hazardous alternative routes.
On the far side of the mountain range, the trail led them along hulking granite crags to a view of a beautiful pine-wooded valley with a lake as blue as the sky. Descending to the valley, they found a few abandoned cabins at a campsite littered with human remains. Months earlier, a wagon train bound for California had become stranded in the snow. The emigrants had built the cabins to wait out a bad winter storm, but low on food and unprepared for the cold, many of them slowly starved or froze to death, while some resorted to cannibalism.1
Their story was a grim reminder of the dangers of overland travel, but Sam refused to let their tragedy frighten him. He was captivated by the wilderness. “A man cannot know himself,” he exulted, “until he has traveled in these wild mountains.”2

This story happened in Finland.
Jonas laughed as he raced his brothers to the living room for home evening. He could still smell the yummy roasted lamb from Easter dinner. And he could still taste the sweet pasha, their traditional Easter dessert.
After the family was sitting quietly, Jonas’s older brother Tristan stood up.
“Happy Easter!” Tristan said. He started their home evening with a song and prayer. Then it was time for their special music program. Everyone had prepared a song about Jesus Christ to share.
Tristan played the guitar, strumming each string carefully. Then his brother Einar played the piano. His fingers moved across the keys. Mom, Dad, and Jonas’s other brothers also played songs. Jonas loved hearing his family’s music.
At last it was Jonas’s turn. He took a deep breath and started to sing.
“At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice, but I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, ‘Love one another as Jesus loves you.’”
As Jonas sang, his heart filled with love. His eyes filled with happy tears. It felt like the Holy Ghost was telling Jonas that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him.
“Thank you all for sharing your talents,” Dad said. He held up a picture. It showed Jesus Christ kneeling and praying next to a tree. “Who knows what’s happening in this picture?”
Jonas raised his hand. “That’s Jesus praying in Gethsemane.”
Dad nodded. “Yes. That’s where He felt all of our hurt and sadness.”
“He went to the Garden of Gethsemane before He died,” Mom said. “After He died, He lived again. This is all part of His Atonement. Jesus did all of this because He loves us.”
Mom turned on a video about the first Easter. When the video ended, everyone was quiet for a minute. Jonas felt Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love again.
“Now is it time for our activity?” Jonas asked.
Mom stood from the couch and went to the cabinet. “Yes! Jonas, will you help me?”
Jonas and Mom got out glue, scissors, and a pile of Church magazines. They spread them out on the floor. Then Mom gave everyone their special Easter journals. “Let’s make picture art of Jesus Christ in our journals for Easter.”
Jonas sat on the floor and opened his notebook.
Dad picked up a pen to write in his journal. “Next to your pictures, you can write down what you will do to follow Heavenly Father and Jesus so you can become more like Them.”
Jonas turned the pages of one of the magazines. He found a picture of Jesus Christ smiling.
Jonas cut out the picture and glued it in the center of his journal page. He thought about all the love he had felt from the Savior that day. Then he wrote, “I will follow Heavenly Father and Jesus by listening to Dad and Mom and helping with chores. I will love my brothers more.” He held it up to show Mom. She read what he had written and smiled.
Jonas would remember this Easter for a long time. He felt Jesus Christ’s love when he sang and learned about Him. And he felt Jesus’s love when he tried to be like Him.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ really did love Jonas. And Jonas loved Them too.
Pasha is a sweet custard dessert. Do you have an Easter treat you eat each year?
Illustrations by Steliyana Doneva