Gospel Story Finder

Honesty is a moral compass to guide us in our lives. … I would like to tell you a story of an excellent athlete—a young man with superb character. He never went to the Olympics, but he stands as tall as any Olympian because he was honest with himself and with his God.
The account is told by a coach in a junior high school. He states:
“Today was test day in climbing the rope. We climb from a standing start to a point 15 feet high. …
“The school record for the event is 2.1 seconds. It has stood for three years. Today this record was broken. …
“For three years Bobby Polacio, a 14 1/2-year-old ninth grade … boy, [trained and worked, consumed by his dream] of breaking this record.
“In his first of three attempts, Bobby climbed the rope in 2.1 seconds, tying the record. On the second try the watch stopped at 2.0 seconds flat, a record! But as he descended the rope and the entire class gathered around to check the watch, I knew I must ask Bobby a question. There was a slight doubt in my mind whether or not the board at the 15 foot height had been touched. If he missed, it was so very, very close—not more than a fraction of an inch—and only Bobby knew this answer.
“As he walked toward me, expressionless, I said, ‘Bobby, did you touch?’ If he had said, ‘Yes,’ the record he had dreamed of since he was a skinny seventh-grader and had worked for almost daily would be his, and he knew I would trust his word.
“With the class already cheering him for his performance, the slim, brown-skinned boy shook his head negatively. And in this simple gesture, I witnessed a moment of greatness. …
“… And it was with effort through a tight throat that I told the class: ‘This boy has not set a record in the rope climb. No, he has set a much finer record for you and everyone to strive for. He has told the truth.’
“I turned to Bobby and said, ‘Bobby, I’m proud of you. You’ve just set a record many athletes never attain. Now, in your last try I want you to jump a few inches higher on the takeoff.’ …
“After the other boys had finished their next turns, and Bobby came up … for his try, a strange stillness came over the gymnasium. Fifty boys and one coach [watched] breathlessly [as] Bobby Polacio … climbed the rope in 1.9 seconds! A school record, a city record, and perhaps close to a national record for a junior high school boy.
“When the bell rang and I walked away, … I was thinking: ‘Bobby, … at 14 you are a better man than I. Thank you for climbing so very, very high today.’”

In 1932, Lauri Lehtinen of Finland was favored to win the 5,000-meter run. An American named Hill challenged Lehtinen on the home stretch, bringing the crowd to its feet. As Hill moved to pass, Lehtinen swerved into his path. Hill tried to pass on the other side, and Lehtinen blocked his path again and forced the American to break stride. Hill barely missed catching Lehtinen at the wire.
The fans booed so long and loud that officials held up naming the winner for more than an hour. But since there was nothing illegal about the blocking, they declared the Finn the winner.
As Lehtinen mounted the victory stand’s top step, an enormous chorus of boos erupted. When the olive wreath was placed on his head, Lehtinen removed it, stepped down, and placed the wreath on Hill’s head.

The friendship with Quitovac didn’t end with just two visits. As this story was being prepared for publication, we learned that the youth from the Rincon Stake had been to the Alberque School again.
They brought quilts they had made, one for each child at the school. An LDS dentist came along to check the children’s teeth. And they also brought a foot-powered sewing machine, with the promise that a Relief Society sister would soon be along to teach villagers how to sew.
“When we arrived, the children lined up on the left and right of the road, clapped their hands, and saluted us,” Brother Rehm said. “We played the same games, had the same fun, left with the same feelings.”
And, he noticed, the school was cleaner. The students all had shoes and proper clothing. And even though there were still some broken windows in need of repair, it seemed like there was a brighter, happier feeling in this place in the sun.

And now another example. [Some of the actual names and places have been changed.] In March of 1978, a letter was received by the Wilson family, who live in Idaho. It began, “Dear Brother and Sister Wilson, Just a short note to see how things are going with you and let you know how things are with me.”
This letter was written by the Wilsons’ Lamanite foster daughter, Celia Red Horse, whom they had not heard from for several years.
The seeds of their relationship had been planted in 1965 in a talk delivered by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Brother Wilson, who was a bishop at the time of Elder Kimball’s address, was impressed with the words of a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “I will soften the hearts of the Gentiles that they shall be like unto a father to them” (2 Ne. 10:18). As the meeting continued, Bishop Wilson was further touched in his heart and determined within himself to help with the Indian student placement program. In the fall of 1967, a wonderful new experience came into the lives of the Wilson family when sixteen-year-old Celia Red Horse came to live with them for the school year.
To quote the Wilsons: “We enjoyed Celia and had some special times with her. She was a good student and very obedient. When she went home to the reservation, we communicated with her for some time, but gradually, as the years passed, there was less communication.”
After Celia left, the Wilsons had several other young Lamanites in their home over the years, all of whom they came to love, appreciate, and have a special relationship with. By 1978, when Celia’s letter arrived, eleven years had passed. The Wilson family had grown to include ten children of their own, and they had not participated in the placement program for two years. May I continue to read from Celia’s letter:
“Right now, I am working as a secretary. I am saving a lot of my pay so that I can buy clothes for my daughter before she can go on placement.
“I guess I haven’t seen you or your family for about ten years. I know everyone has changed quite a bit. I imagine the kids are all grown up and gone. …
“I have one little girl. Her name is Margaret. She is seven and will be going on placement this fall. She wants to go. I have told her all about the program. She has never been away from home in all her seven years.
“Do you remember my brother David? Well, he has already been on his mission, and now he is at BYU. He is coming back this summer to baptize Margaret. He came home in December for the Christmas vacation. Then, while he was back for Christmas, he blessed my brother’s little girl. Before that, he baptized two others in our family.
“How old are Joy, Curt, Rhonda, Gary, and Jenny? I remember them all—Joy and her allergy, Curt and his accordion, Rhonda and her ballet lessons, and how Gary used to swim like a little frog in the swimming pool. I can still remember Jenny and her red hair. All of these kids are probably teenagers or older. How are they all doing?”
Celia goes on to mention that the problems of modern youth having to do with alcohol and drugs have infiltrated the reservation as seriously as they have the inner city. She indicates deep gratitude for the Church and its teachings, which have such a profound effect in keeping young people from some of the mistakes of their peers. She also indicates that through the teachings of the Church her family is closer and more secure. She tells us that most of her little brothers and sisters are going to be involved in the placement program this year, and then she goes on to ask:
“Are you still participating in the placement program?
“Please write and tell me all the news. …
“I think I better close here. Take care, and may the Lord bless you in all your righteous endeavors. Love. …”
As Brother and Sister Wilson read this lovely letter from Celia, Brother Wilson vaguely remembered a portion of the address he had heard Elder Kimball deliver twelve years earlier. “Elder Kimball had said that success would not be felt in the first generation, but real success would come in the second, third, or fourth,” Brother Wilson recalled. “When this statement came back to me, I felt that we should invite Celia’s daughter to come into our home, for this would be the second generation of the same family in the same home.”
An inquiry was made through the Indian placement program as to whether it would be possible for Margaret to live with the Wilsons. When Celia found out this was possible, “she immediately called us and with tears said how pleased she would be to have Margaret come to the home where she had once lived,” Brother Wilson said.
Margaret spent the 1978–79 school year with the Wilson family and, like her mother before her, brought as much to the Wilson family as she received from them.
“She is very generous with others,” Sister Wilson said. “If someone comments on something that she has and says, ‘I like that,’ then Margaret will give it to him. Each of our children receives an allowance, and since Margaret is considered one of the children she also gets an allowance.
“Last Christmas we talked about doing something as a family to help somebody else. Margaret had saved up quite a bit of her allowance, which she gave to the family project.
“She helps out with household chores just like any other member of the family. She and Angela, who is also eight, share kitchen duties one night a week. They also have other responsibilities in the home.”
Brother Wilson recalled that when Margaret first came into their home, she was very quiet and did not express herself very well. Her mother, Celia, had asked the Wilsons to help Margaret learn how to pray and express her feelings.
Now “she asks if she can ask the blessing on the food or if she can offer prayers,” Brother Wilson reports. “And when she prays, the rest of us really listen because she has some very good thoughts.”
As the end of the school year approached, the Wilsons made arrangements for Celia to visit with them in Idaho, and a special reunion time was held with her at that time as she came back to her foster home and stayed with her daughter and her foster family. She took Margaret home with her and, in discussion with the Wilson family, decided that Margaret should remain home with her family this year and attend school on the reservation.

Recently, I read a fictional story about two brothers who lived on adjoining farms and fell into conflict. After having shared machinery, goods, and land for decades, their collaboration fell apart. It started with a small misunderstanding which grew into major differences, anger, and weeks of silence.
One morning, a carpenter who was looking for a few days of work knocked on the older brother’s door. “Is there anything I could help you with?” asked the carpenter with his toolbox under his arm.
The older brother said, “Yes! Look across the creek at that farm. That belongs to my younger brother. Last week he dug a wider passage for water and ended up creating a very wide creek between our farms. Please build me something so we don’t have to look at each other’s face from across the creek.”
The carpenter said “I think I understand the situation. I can help you.” With that, the carpenter went to work and spent all day measuring, sawing, and nailing.
At sunset, the elder brother returned to the creek as the carpenter had just finished his task. The brother never could have imagined what he saw. It was a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! It looked beautiful! To his surprise, his younger brother crossed the bridge to meet him with a big smile and his arms wide open to hug him.
“You are really humble and kind, my brother. After all I have done and said to you, you still show that our relationship can never be broken! I am very sorry for my behavior,” the younger brother said as he hugged him.
They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox onto his shoulder. “No, wait! Stay a few days. I have lots of other projects for you,” said the older brother.
“I’d love to stay,” the carpenter said, “but I have many other bridges to build!”

After devastating forest fires that ravaged much of northern California during the summer of 1993, the youth of the Chico First Ward, Chico California Stake, were ready to take action to help re-forest the area surrounding their homes.
Picking up shovels, gloves, and an attitude of love and service, the Young Men, Young Women, and their leaders planted 1,500 seedlings on a Saturday morning. Although the work was exhausting and took lots of patience and team work, the group was glad to know that the mountains they love will again be green because of their efforts.

Thanks for the birthday card. Brenda said that she got one from you too. It’s fun to have a cousin born on the same day. Sometimes we pretend that we’re twins. Because it was our eighth birthday, we had our party together with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. Everyone went bowling—and Grandma Richards won!
Then we came to our house and played games. We had a piñata, and Mom blindfolded us and turned us around and around before we could swing the bat at it. Brenda got too dizzy and knocked a lamp off a table. It didn’t break, though. Whew!
After that, we made our own pizzas. They looked funny, but they tasted great. Because our birthdays are in the middle of July, Brenda made a pioneer face on hers and I made mine look like an American flag. Scooter wanted to put chocolate chips on my pizza for the stars, but Mom stopped him. She let him put some on his piece of cake, instead.
We had one huge birthday cake. One half was chocolate, and the other half butterscotch. It had yellow candles, and Brenda and I blew them out together. We had ice cream, too, and I ate a scoop of pralines-and-cream for you.

The Christmas I remember best happened when I was 12 years old. It all started one evening about a month before Christmas. The room had fallen totally silent. We all stood staring at Father, our jaws dropped in shock.
Just moments before, my three brothers and I had been wrestling with our two big dogs. My mother had watched, smiling, from the nearby kitchen table. But now, even her hands had gone perfectly still, stopping in midair as she sewed buttons back on a blue Scout uniform.
“What do you mean ‘No presents this year’?” my 16-year-old brother Mick asked slowly.
“Just what I said,” Father answered calmly. He sat down across the table from Mother. “Christmas has become all about ‘things.’ We worry too much about what we’re getting, how many presents are under the tree. Your mother and I have always taught you children the real reason we celebrate Christmas.”
“It’s Jesus’ birthday!” I piped up.
Father nodded. “That’s right, Nellie. But even though we all know the story of baby Jesus and can recite Luke chapter 2 by heart, I just feel that our home doesn’t have the right spirit in it during the holiday season. I think that if we forget about buying presents and really concentrate on the true meaning of Christmas, we’ll be more in tune with Jesus Christ and His gospel.”
“But, Dad,” I said, “we’ve always talked about how giving each other presents at Christmas is symbolic of Heavenly Father giving Jesus Christ to the world. Isn’t that true?”
Father considered this. “You’re right, Nellie. OK, let’s do this. No gift given in this family may be store-bought. Whatever you give each other must come from you,” he put his hand on his chest, “from inside you. You figure it out.” He got up and left the room.
“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever,” I thought.
“Is he serious?” Tyler asked Mother.
“He sure sounded like it.” She had already resumed her uniform mending.
“No presents …” Mick seemed in a daze.
Neil, my eight-year-old brother, looked like he was going to cry.
“So, what are we supposed to give each other?” I asked.
“Well, you all have about a month to ‘figure it out,’ as your father said,” Mother replied. She stood up with the finished shirt and left the room, humming a Christmas song.
Over the next four weeks, our house slowly filled with the Christmas spirit. We were all very secretive about what we were planning for everyone else, and we were excited about what we were giving. I never even thought about what I was getting.
Christmas morning dawned, chilly and white outside. For the first time since they had become teenagers, Mick and Tyler were the first ones up.
“Come on! Come on—get up!” They ran from room to room, waking up the rest of us.
Mother laughed. “I can’t believe you two. This alone has made my Christmas!”
Right after family prayers, the gift-giving started. What a wonderful, spirit-filled morning! We exchanged original poetry and songs. Neil had made “I’ll-do-you-a-favor” coupons for everyone. Mother had made copies of black-and-white photos of both sets of grandparents and framed them by hand for each of us.
All the gifts were truly given with love. But the one I remember the most was the one my father gave to me.
He handed me a plastic bag. Inside, I could see a slightly browned paper folded in thirds. All eyes were on me as I took the paper out and unfolded it. I gasped. It was the letter Father’s mother had written to him when he was 14 years old and she was dying of cancer. Her name was Nell, and I’m named after her. I had heard about this letter but had never seen it. I knew how precious it was to my father. And now he was giving it to me.
I started to read. The faith and spiritual strength of my grandmother radiated from her words. I read the six-page letter over and over again. The love she expressed for my father made me cry. The part that touched me the most was when she talked about leaving her family to join the Church:
I shared the letter with my brothers so that they could know Grandma, too. We’ve all grown up now, served missions, and been married in the temple. Every now and then, I pull out my father’s letter and read it again. Ever since my father gave it to me that Christmas long ago, it has been a source of strength for me. And I know, without a doubt, that my grandmother kept her promise to my father and has always been “right there beside” us.

I am sometimes made fun of for the way I look. I am half Japanese, which means my eyes are smaller than other people’s eyes. It really hurts my feelings when I am not treated equally. I talked about my problems with my parents and they told me to remember that Heavenly Father thinks I’m beautiful, and His opinion is the only one that matters. From that day I learned to forget the mean things people say. I also learned to not make fun of the way others look.

The following day at Far West Church leaders met to hear four demands from General Samuel Lucas: Mormon property was to be confiscated to pay for damages, Church leaders were to surrender for trial and punishment, the balance of the Saints were to be disarmed, and they were to leave the state under militia protection. Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, Lyman Wight, Parley P. Pratt, George W. Robinson, Hyrum Smith, and Amasa Lyman were taken prisoner while the militia plundered Far West. A court-martial quickly sentenced the prisoners to be shot the following morning, and General Lucas ordered General Alexander Doniphan to carry out the order. Doniphan, who had served as an attorney for the Saints previously, responded with a memo: “It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order. My brigade shall march for Liberty tomorrow morning, at 8 o’clock, and if you execute these men, I will hold you responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.” Doniphan’s fearless response prevented the execution. (CHC 1:482.)

In this instance Elder Naylor and Elder Jensen greeted me warmly and immediately began sharing with me how the work was going. Early in our conversation Elder Naylor said, “President, the thing I really want to tell you about is this old man named Amos Singer. He has two very bright grandchildren who live with him. He asked us to teach them so they can join the Church and enjoy the blessings of Church membership.
“We were teaching them for the first time last Saturday, and the grandfather came in to listen to our lesson. We were talking about God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost, and prayer. After we were through he started telling us a few things that really amazed us. It was like all those stories I’ve heard about but never thought would happen to me. He told us he is 79 years old and had been trained to be a tribal medicine man when he was very young (about 15 years old). He was taught by his great-grandfather and has an incredible memory of very, very old Navajo Indian beliefs. Most people don’t know the real old traditions.
“He talked to us about how he has studied the organization of many different religions. He says they are all different except the ‘Mormon Way.’ He told us the things we teach are the same things taught by the old Navajos, although the Navajo religion has changed lately. He talked about ‘eternal life’ and how the earth would be destroyed in the near future by fire and then be made new and would be a place of happiness and no troubles for the righteous. He said that when Christ comes again it will be in glory with angels singing all around him. His great-grandfather taught him the song the angels would be singing, and he even sang part of it for us. He said that as far as he knows there are only two people alive today that know that song. He told us of the legends of ‘ahix kee naa’aashii,’ the ‘two who walk together’ and how they would bring the gospel back to his people. He pointed at us and said, ‘You are what this is talking about! The two who walk together.’”
As Elder Naylor concluded telling me his story he was trying to blink back the tears.

My heart feels warm tonight. Broken, bruised, torn, certainly. But beautifully warm. I feel intense gratitude—gratitude so deep and encompassing that it seems a new hole has opened in my soul to make room, gratitude so filling and so personal that it won’t stop coursing down my cheeks in silent tears. My husband is breathing. I can hear it, deep and soft.
Just a couple of hours ago, I climbed into his hospital bed, ignoring the gentle kicks from our soon-to-arrive baby, and found a spot among all the wires hooked to his chest where I could rest my head. Listening to his heartbeat in my ear was an experience that will be burned into my memory forever.
His heart beats still. Not as well as it did before the heart attack. But it beats still.
But mostly I feel gratitude to the Lord for my husband’s life—his deep breathing, his heart pumping blood, his living body and soul. His life is my Christmas miracle.

Ryder was so excited. His best friend, Jacob, had agreed to go to church with him! Ryder loved playing with Jacob. They played video games together and pretended they were dinosaurs. Ryder just knew Jacob would love Primary.
When Ryder and Jacob got to their class, Sister Johnson smiled and welcomed Jacob. Ryder smiled too.
Then, during the opening prayer, Jacob poked Ryder and talked right out loud. Ryder was worried. Jacob was great at playing video games and being a pretend dinosaur, but maybe he didn’t know how to be reverent.
Sister Johnson had everyone show how to sit during prayer. She reminded them that they were speaking to Heavenly Father and they should listen to the words of the prayer. Ryder watched Jacob listen closely to Sister Johnson. Maybe no one has ever taught Jacob about prayer before, Ryder thought.
Later Jacob made his handout into a plane and kept throwing it around the room. During sharing time he wouldn’t sit still. While Sister Myers led everyone in singing Ryder’s favorite song, Jacob kept jumping out of his chair.
“Jacob, you need to stay in your chair,” Ryder whispered. “You need to be reverent.”
“What does reverent mean?” Jacob asked.
Ryder was surprised that Jacob had never learned what it meant to be reverent.
“It means you sit quietly and fold your arms like this,” Ryder said, showing his friend. “This way, it’s easier to learn about Jesus.”
Jacob sat in his chair and copied what Ryder did.
Ryder was glad that Jacob was learning, but he still felt bad that his friend hadn’t been reverent for most of church that day. At the end of Primary, he went up to Sister Johnson.
“I’m sorry about how Jacob acted,” he said. “He’s never been to church before.”
Sister Johnson put her arm around Ryder’s shoulders. “That’s OK, Ryder. I’m so glad Jacob is here today,” she said. “Primary is for everyone. I hope he’ll come with you again.”
Ryder had a warm feeling inside. He looked at the picture of Jesus on the wall. He knew Jesus loved all children and wanted them to be closer to Him. He was glad his friend had been able to come to church and learn more about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

While planning things that needed to be done at Providence House, several items on the list became good ideas for one person to take on as a Laurel project or as part of an Eagle Scout project.
Steven Ellsworth took on the canned-food drive. Checking with the center about its specific needs, Steven set a goal to collect 750 cans. He also created a Web site to keep stake members informed about youth conference and about what specifically was needed for the food drive.
Amy Kreiger accepted the assignment to create school boxes suitable for the children at the center. She organized painting and assembling the boxes and arranging for the school supplies to go inside.
Megan Baillio was excited to take on the redecorating of several rooms used for children who stay overnight. She worked with her mother in learning to sew quilt tops and curtains for the rooms. She organized groups at the youth conference to tie the quilts.
Esther Crandall accepted the assignment to make baby-sized blankets for the center. She worked with her mother to learn to make blankets with decorative edgings.

The happiness those gifts and acts of kindness brought my family made me think that someone I knew could probably use some extra happiness. A few years later, when Christmas rolled around again, I decided to repeat the project myself. I chose to help a mentally handicapped girl at my junior high. She had red hair that hung to her shoulders, and she seemed to smile all the time.
Unfortunately, she never received friendliness in return from the kids at school. They would criticize her while she was standing just two feet away because they thought she couldn’t understand their sarcasm. I knew she was hurt by this though, because she would run home alone after school to avoid the other junior high students.
I figured she needed a boost, so I planned to smuggle small gifts like a gingerbread sleigh, hairpins, and personalized stationery to her with notes about how special I thought she was. Unfortunately, as soon as I began my project, I was bombarded with homework, special projects, piano recitals, and Christmas preparations. Sometimes I had to stay up until 2:00 A.M. getting everything done and then get up at 5:45 A.M. for seminary. But I decided this project was worth the extra work it required of me.
I spent long hours gathering and preparing her gifts. I took her quotes and riddles along with the presents and sneaked over to her house late at night delivering my surprises. When it was all over, I was exhausted from the effort on top of all my other responsibilities, but I was happy because I knew it was worth all my extra work. The sacrifice had truly been enjoyable.
Words can’t really describe the calm and clear feeling I had knowing that I had done what we have all been asked to do. I finally understood the note from our secret friend about the best holiday season, thanks to us. I felt like I had repaid the secret friend that helped my family by doing my part to carry on the tradition of service.
These feelings would have been enough reward, but I was given even more. After I finished my project, I saw the little red-headed girl running toward me down the hall. She was carrying a homemade doll I had given her on top of all her books. She showed it to me proudly and said, “It’s from my secret sister. I need you to help me find out who she is.” It was a wonderful feeling to know that although she would never find out who gave her those presents, my service changed her Christmas like the service given me had changed mine.

When I was young, I questioned the existence of God because of my arrogance and doubts about my self-worth. I desired worldly praise at school, at work, and even at church. I belittled those closest to me because the lower I pushed them, the higher I would see myself.
I ruined relationships with my pride. I put my love of the world before the love that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had for me and the love that I should have had for Them. This all caused so much grief and heartache.
As I got older and experienced some challenges, I realized I was seeking the glories of the world because I thought they defined my worth. I wasn’t aware of what truly gave me value—my divine identity.
After realizing I was seeking the things of the world, I eventually decided to turn toward Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I sought to know more about Their love for me and who I truly was.
As I studied the scriptures, I was able to deepen my faith in the blessings we can gain when we understand our identity. I love the story of Moses speaking with God on a mountaintop. In just a few verses, God calls Moses His son three times (see Moses 1:4–7). Shortly after this experience, Moses is tempted by Satan and is able to use his knowledge of his divine identity to resist him (see Moses 1:12–24).
Like Moses, I’ve been strengthened by the knowledge that I am a son of God. Because of this knowledge, I’ve been able to keep an eternal perspective and focus on what really matters. And as I’ve studied further, I’ve realized just how personally Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know us.

“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” Brandon pushed his red toy convertible across the kitchen floor, driving it around the table and under the chairs in a zigzag pattern.
“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” Daniel echoed, driving his blue sedan in the same pattern.
Brandon parked his car under his chair. “Mom, what are we having for breakfast?”
Daniel parked his car right next to Brandon’s. “Yeah, Mom, what are we having for breakfast?”
“How about pancakes?” Mom asked.
“Yea, pancakes!” Brandon cheered.
“Yea, pancakes!” Daniel cheered just as loud.
“Will you make me a car pancake?” Brandon asked.
“Yes, I will,” Mom said.
“Will you make me a car pancake too?” Daniel asked, climbing up on his chair.
Brandon frowned. “Why does Daniel always have to copy me?” he asked. “Everything I do, he has to do, and everything I say, he says.”
Mom smiled as she stirred pancake batter. “Little brothers like to follow big brothers because they think their big brothers are really special. When Daniel copies you, he feels special too.”
“But it bugs me, Mom.”
“I can understand that,” Mom said. “But remember that Daniel’s not trying to be annoying. He thinks you’re great, and he wants to be just like you. That’s why it’s important that you set a good example for him.”
Brandon shook his head. “Daniel is lucky that he doesn’t have a little brother to copy him all the time.”
Mom poured batter onto the hot griddle. A wonderful smell soon filled the room. “Brandon,” she said, “you aren’t the only big brother who has a younger brother imitating him. Don’t you like to build model jets just like the ones Jeffrey builds, and drive your train on the track he put together?”
“Yeah, but Jeffrey doesn’t care if I copy him,” Brandon said. “And besides, I don’t say the same thing every time.”
“Jeffrey doesn’t care if I copy him either,” Daniel added.
Mom laughed but then grew serious. “I can think of a person whom we honor when we try to follow His example. Do you know who I mean?”
“Who?” Brandon and Daniel asked together.
“Jesus Christ. Did you know that He is the Firstborn of Heavenly Father’s spirit children? He is our Savior and sets the example for us.”
“Oh yeah,” Brandon said. “You told us that before.”
“He wants us to follow Him. One of the reasons He came to earth was to show us the things we should do and how we should act. Can you think of some ways you can follow Jesus?” Mom asked.
“We can get baptized,” Daniel said.
“And love little children,” Brandon added.
“Good answers,” Mom said. “And how about little brothers? Do you think Jesus loves little brothers?”
“Yes,” they both answered.
“What kind of things do you think Jesus would do to show His love for little brothers?”
“Help them clean up,” Daniel said.
“Help them build things,” Brandon said.
Mom turned the pancakes over. “You’re both right,” she said. “When you help your brother, you’re treating him the way Jesus would treat him.”
“So I can follow Jesus by letting Daniel follow me?” Brandon asked.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Whenever you treat someone with kindness you are following the Savior.”
“OK, Daniel,” Brandon said. “Should we both have syrup on our pancakes?”
“Yes!” Daniel exclaimed. “I like being like my brother!”

In fact, some job experiences are so valuable that it might be worth your time to work for nothing. A young Latter-day Saint college sophomore in public relations (PR) volunteered to do publicity and general PR work for an entertainment center. At first his duties were far removed from public relations. He did errand work and was a general office boy much of the time. The next summer he was hired, this time receiving a little pay for his work. Meanwhile he was gaining experience and meeting people. When it was time for him to leave school, his first out-of-school job was helping to manage an entertainer and movie star he had worked with during the previous summer. His starting salary for his first job was higher than that of the dean of his college.

A family consisting of my grandmother, my mother, and two or three of the younger children were seated before an open door, watching the great display of nature’s fireworks as a severe thunderstorm raged near the mountain where our home was located. A flash of chain lightning followed by an immediate loud clap of thunder indicated that the lightning had struck very close.
I was standing in the doorway when suddenly and without warning my mother gave me a vigorous push that sent me sprawling on my back out of the doorway. At that instant, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove, out through the open doorway, and split a huge gash from top to bottom in a large tree immediately in front of the house. If I had remained in the door opening, I wouldn’t be writing this story today.
My mother could never explain her split-second decision. All I know is that my life was spared because of her impulsive, intuitive action.
Years later, when I saw the deep scar on that large tree at the old family home, I could only say from a grateful heart: Thank the Lord for that precious gift possessed in abundant measure by my own mother and by many other faithful mothers, through whom heaven can be very near in time of need.

Over 100 years ago, in the Samoan Islands of the Pacific Ocean, a young man named Tom Fanene was an important help during a life-and-death situation for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Tom lived in a village called Sauniatu, which had been founded by Latter-day Saints in the area as a place for them to gather and make a community. Just like Saints of God in other times and places, they experienced trials as well as miracles as they worked to build God’s kingdom together. One trial came in 1918, when an influenza pandemic reached the village.
As soon as the illness arrived, it was devastating, and it spread quickly. Nearly every one of the roughly 400 villagers was bedridden because of it. Only a couple of them were well enough to get around: an older man and 12-year-old Tom.
During the 1918 influenza epidemic, Tom exercised faith as he worked hard to care for the people of the village. “Every morning I went from house to house to feed and clean the people and to find out who had died,” he said.
He fetched buckets of water from a spring and brought water to every house. He climbed coconut trees, picked coconuts, husked them, and opened them to collect the juice to bring it to the sick. He also killed all of the chickens in the village to make soup for each family.
The 12-year-old Tom Fanene helped nurse his village to health during a pandemic.
Illustration by James Madsen
During this pandemic, around one-fourth of all of the people in Samoa died of influenza. Some of the people in Tom’s village died as well. Tom helped dig graves and bury more than 20 of them, including his own father, Elisala.
But thanks to Tom’s hard work and loving care, many people in his village survived. He made a big difference to those people and to the building up of the Lord’s kingdom in Samoa. He was “laying the foundation of a great work.”
The 1918 influenza pandemic hit them hard. But Tom helped many to survive. Children went back to school, and villagers again formed the Sauniatu Branch Band (above).